Page 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ryan carries all sixty-some pounds of a mud-covered Freddie up the three flights of stairs and into my bathroom, setting him in the spacious tub. It’s the only one in the house, so today, Freddie gets to bathe in luxury. As we fill the tub with lukewarm water, Freddie has other ideas. He thrashes and scrambles, trying to escape, leaving Ryan and me wrestling to keep him in place.

“This damn dog is strong.” Ryan struggles, leaning over the tub and holding Freddie around his middle.

“Should we do this in the shower?”

“Probably would have been easier, but we’re too far in to change tactics,” he grunts.

He’s still bundled up in his winter coat, having only managed to kick off his shoes in an attempt to keep our wood floors from being caked in dirt before hauling Freddie upstairs. I dropped my coat in the entryway, leaving me in jeans and a sweatshirt.

“I’d say he’s not a big fan of the water. Surprising, considering how much he loved the puddles at the park,” he grumbles.

Freddie wiggles and whines as Ryan tries to bathe the poor pup. Sensing their growing frustration, I strip down to my sports bra and boy shorts, then hop into the tub with the dog. Ryan’s attention briefly slips from the dog, and Freddie nearly escapes before I pull him back to me.

“Some warning would be nice.” Ryan not-so-subtly adjusts himself, his once light-gray sweatpants are now splattered with dirt and soaked, turning them shades darker.

I trap Freddie between my legs to keep him still, rinsing the dirt from his fur before lathering him with soap. Ryan stands nearby, refilling the cup with clean water as needed, and calming Freddie whenever he gets antsy.

The soapy water makes the bottom of the tub slippery, so when I lean over to wash Freddie’s belly, I lose my footing. Ryan’s quick reflexes come in handy, as he grabs my hips just in time, preventing me from falling into the now murky water.

I giggle, while he mutters a curse. Apparently not trusting my ability to stay upright, he finally loses his jacket and rolls up the legs of his sweatpants, climbing into the tub behind me. Now, all three of us are squished into the tub: Freddie, wishing this torture known as a bath would end; me, bent over and hoping we can clean this dog without an accident; and Ryan, standing behind me with his hands firmly on my hips, trying to ensure we both stay on our feet. I can only imagine how ridiculous we must look right now if someone were here to witness the scene.

Ryan groans, and I look back over my shoulder to see his face pinched and his eyes closed. “Are you okay?” I ask, failing to hide the humor in my voice.

His eyes pop open and meet mine. “Not really.” He tilts his hips forward, and I feel his hard length against my butt.

I wiggle my hips, ignoring the voice in my head that says I shouldn’t, too caught up in this playful ease between us. When he lets out another pained sound, I can’t hold back my laughter, which quickly turns into a startled yelp. “Ahh!”

Before I realize what’s happening, I’m sitting in the water, Ryan’s lap breaking my fall. Our legs are a tangled mess, sprawled out in the tub, while Freddie seizes the opportunity to wriggle free. He leaps out, shaking himself off and spraying water everywhere. The previously pristine bathroom is going to need a thorough cleaning.

My body continues to shake with laughter, and Ryan’s chest rises and falls with his own. His body relaxes back in the tub, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me back to rest against him. If it weren’t for the earlier chaos, it’d almost look like a romantic bath… though fully clothed and soaking in dirty water.

“Something tells me your coach wouldn’t be too happy with me. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mutters. “Get a dog, she said. It’ll be fun, she said.”

I turn my head, narrowing my eyes. “Hey!”

He chuckles, the sound cutting off almost as quickly as it starts, leaving an echo of silence.

His eyes roam across my face, scanning my features like he’s trying to commit them to memory. They pause on my lips before slowly rising to meet my gaze. “You’re so beautiful.”

I can’t imagine that I look anything close to beautiful in my current state, but the way he says it makes me believe it’s true. My stomach flutters and my chest tightens in a way I’ve started to recognize all too well. It’s a feeling that’s been happening more and more lately, and it seems to be connected to the man in the tub with me.

He brushes away the wet hair stuck to my face and kisses the spot on my temple. I’m helpless to do anything but melt further into him.

“What is this?” I whisper, the words escaping my lips involuntarily.

“I don’t know… but I really like it.”

“Me, too,” I admit.

It takes me the length of my shower and drying my hair to finally calm my nerves. When I head downstairs, Ryan is already waiting for me on the oversized couch in our living room.

“Ready? There’s a spot down the block I’ve been wanting to check out.”

“Yeah, I’m starving. Who knew bathing a dog was such a workout.” I look down at my outfit of oversized sweats and an equally large hoodie. The one I stole from him in Florida. “I should probably change.”

He scans me from head to toe. “Nah, I like you in my clothes, and this place is casual. Don’t worry, Sunshine.”

I shrug my shoulders. Who am I trying to impress anyway? The man across from you , my brain offers unhelpfully. “Okay, let’s go.”

I hadn’t noticed this place on any of my walks with Freddie. It’s unassuming, with only an old wooden door and a plaque displaying the name. At first glance, it looks like it could be an entrance to someone’s apartment.

Once we step inside, a long hallway leads us into a spacious dining area that extends to a patio at the back. Ryan greets the hostess, and she leads us to a cozy table tucked in a corner.

When the waitress arrives moments later, an unexpected wave of insecurity hits me. She’s stunning, with long, perfectly styled platinum-blonde hair and flawlessly applied makeup. Her winged eyeliner is something I’ve tried to master but never quite managed to create.

She’s dressed in high-waisted black pants that hug her figure, paired with a button-down shirt, a few top buttons undone to reveal just enough cleavage. I glance down at my own outfit, feeling like I’m swimming in it. My face is bare, and my hair is its usual bland, brown-blonde shade. I can’t help but compare myself to her.

She looks like a woman Ryan would call beautiful. She looks like a blonde version of Rebecca Solera, the woman my ex decided was perfect enough to date less than three weeks after our breakup. A woman Ryan dated.

I give her a smile—or at least that’s what I’m going for—but it feels more like a grimace, even to me.

“Can you give us a minute?” Ryan asks the waitress, bringing my attention back to where he sits across from me. His face is pinched with concern. “Everything okay?” He reaches across the table for my hand, but I pull back before he makes contact. Why did I do that? The hurt in his eyes only makes me feel worse.

“Sorry, I’m fine.” I force a smile, hoping this one is more convincing. His expression doesn’t waver, telling me I’ve once again failed to hide my feelings.

“Are you ready to order?” The pretty waitress is back, much too soon if you ask me.

Ryan seems to think so too, judging by the scowl he shoots her way before he relaxes his features back into politeness. “Do you know what you want?” He returns his attention to me.

“Um.” I scan the menu, hoping something will jump out, but I can’t seem to focus on the words in front of me.

He must sense my struggle because he takes over and orders for me. “She’ll have the grilled chicken caesar wrap with a side of sweet potato fries, and I’ll have the chicken parm. Can I swap the cutlet for grilled chicken?”

The waitress looks at Ryan as if he just confessed his undying love rather than simply placed a lunch order. Her bright, white smile is both friendly and flirty. How does one accomplish that? This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a woman try to capture his attention, but it bothers me more now than it ever has before.

Does he want her attention? Like it? The thought puts a tight knot in my stomach, completely killing my appetite.

When Ryan hands over our menus, she places a hand on his forearm and lowers her voice as if to leave me out of the conversation, but I still catch every word. “Is she your sister?” she asks, tilting her head toward me before returning her gaze to Ryan with a flutter of her lashes.

First of all, we look nothing like siblings. Ew. Second, does she have no shame? I can’t help but roll my eyes. And if I thought Ryan’s earlier scowl was withering, the look he directs at her now is aimed to kill.

He swiftly removes her hand from where it rests on his arm. “She’s my girlfriend,” he says as I blurt out, “We’re friends.”

“Awkward,” the waitress draws out the word. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

When I look back at Ryan, his lips are turned down in a grumpy frown. “What was that?”

I was thinking the same thing myself. The words shot out of me before I even considered their implication. Did I want Ryan to entertain this woman? Heck, no. But that little voice in my head—the same one that keeps telling me that I need to be independent, which means being alone—spoke before I could. It’s the same voice that tells me to keep my walls up, to protect that fragile organ in my chest, currently beating more frantically than usual. It’s the voice that’s scared, terrified of being rejected and left behind again.

I thought I had that fear squared away, but a bit of insecurity was all it took to make it rear its ugly head. It spoke before my brain could catch up with the truth of the matter.

I’m already chastising myself, but the worry and disappointment on Ryan’s face make me deflate even more.

“Hannah.” Ryan reaches for my hand again, and this time, I let him take it. His face softens slightly, the worry easing by a margin. “Do you not feel this thing between us? Am I crazy?”

I might have admitted to myself that I have feelings for him, but saying them out loud is a whole different ball game. I open my mouth to reply, but Ryan continues talking, his eyes fixed on our joined hands. “Listen, I know this fake dating shit was technically my idea. But nothing I feel is fake. The other night, that wasn’t fake to me. If you want to tell yourself this is nothing, by all means, do that. But when you realize that we…” He finally meets my eyes and gestures toward the space between us, a silent plea for understanding. “We’re real. This is real. I’ll be right here, waiting.”

I’m speechless. I want to leap from the table and shout, “It’s real to me, too!” Too real. Instead, I just nod and give his hand, still intertwined with mine, a reassuring squeeze.

He reaches across the table and gently pulls a lock of my hair, running it through his fingers before letting it fall back into place. “Let’s keep practicing , okay? But while we are, no more ‘we’re friends.’ We’re so much more than that, right?”

“Right.” I’m able to give him at least that much, because no truer words have ever been spoken. We are so much more, and that terrifies me.