CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After a silent car ride to work this morning, I’d hoped for more from Ryland this afternoon. But we’ve both carried on with our childish game of giving each other the silent treatment. We’re really making our first fight worth its money.
He parks in a designated space for the condo while the other two remain empty, and I shake my head at more proof of Ryland’s ridiculousness. I jump out of the car and close the door behind me.
“Could you not slam my car door so hard?” Ryland’s eyes drill me to the spot as he leans over the hood of his car glaring at me.
Deep breaths, Marissa. Deep breaths. “Why don’t you leave me a sticky note?” I yell back at him and walk on the elevator pressing the close button repeatedly. Unfortunately, he makes it in before the doors close on him and we stand side by side on either side of the small space.
The door dings and I squeeze through as fast as possible. I stomp through Ryland’s condo and stop in front of my door searching my purse for the keys I never use any longer.
“You locked your door?” Ryland leans against his doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest stretching another stupid white shirt and making his arms look nice. Stupid arms. Stupid Ryland. Stupid men.
A nail scrapes the bottom of my leather purse, but I grazed the single key on my leather ring and rip it out. “Yeah, I didn’t want Goldie to feel unsafe.”
He snorts, his head facing the ceiling. “Unsafe? What were you even planning to feed the fish while he lived in a water pitcher?”
He didn’t question my fish raising skills, did he? I turn, purse my lips and narrow my eyes, “Bread.” My fingers pinch together to highlight the size of this answer, one I'm aware is ridiculous, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. “Little pieces of bread, Asshole." Truth be told, I hadn’t considered food at the time, but I would have…eventually.
I walk into my apartment and slam the door behind me. It rattles the picture and I smile. That’s a door slam. Let’s hear him accuse me of shutting a stupid car door too hard again.
There’s nothing to eat in the refrigerator and I shut the door harder than necessary for good measure. Clothes litter my room. Shoes are piled up in front of the closet door and I kick them out of the way as I stand in the small walk-in closet. There’s nothing I want to wear in here either, but I change into a pair of jeans and a big yellow boyfriend sweater to get out of my work clothes.
With nothing else to do, I grab the clothes from the bed and work on hanging them back up. It’s something to get rid of my pent up anger over Ryland and his stupid pretty face. By the time the bed’s cleared, I’ve deflated from our current argument, but I’m not ready to apologize.
Eventually I’ll break down and order food or go raid Ryland’s fridge where we’ve been storing our leftovers, but for now I'd rather continue to stew. There has to be an angry housewife on TV having a crappier day than I am.
With hope I’ll find someone else’s misery to replace my own, I flick through the few hundred channels. At least the apartment came with a good cable package. The hunky landlord used to be my favorite part, but theTBS channelwill never accuse me of fishy neglect. On the other hand,TBSdoesn’t have a six pack and short hair I like to tickle my palm with.
My butt vibrates from where my phone is stored in a back pocket and I lift up to grab it.
Ryland:I’m an idiot.
I try to stay angry and ignore his lame attempt at an apology, but it’s impossible. Before the next commercial break of a show I’m not even watching, I decide I’m not totally pissed anymore. What were we even fighting over in the first place?
Of course I’m not ready to give in and let him know I’ve forgiven him just yet.
Me:Yes, you are.
My apartment door opens and Ryland peeks his head through but doesn’t enter. Maybe he’s worried I’ll throw my phone at him…… it’s not too far off. The thought did cross my mind.
“I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” He hesitates, but when I don’t scowl or jump up he enters the rest of the way keeping his eyes on where I sit on the couch.
His clothes differ from when he picked me up from work. His shiny black workout pants have been replaced with a pair of sexy ripped jeans. Rather than his normal plain t-shirt, his chest is covered with a big and baggy grey sweatshirt, a weird red devil image in the center. A well-worn black San Francisco ball cap covers his short hair. It might be the most clothing I’ve ever seen him wear. He’s like a sexy bum.A sexy bum? I’ve officially lost my fucking mind.
“In what way are you planning to make it up?” I ask without moving. An orgasm or two might do it. That or food. I’m always up for food.
He sits on the couch beside me and lifts a hand turning my head toward him. “A movie?”
“I could go for a movie.”
His lips seek out mine, but the kiss is over before I want it to be. “That’s my girl. Let’s go.” His hand leaves from where he’d twisted it in my hair and he pats me on the knee like he’s encouraging on a best friend.
Shouldn’t I get make-up sex? I’ve never had it before, but I’m pretty sure it’s a thing. There isn’t time to think about it as Ryland bounds out the door stopping in the hallway for me.
**
The theater is bright as Ryland picks seats in the middle placing me on the aisle. A few pieces of popcorn fall over the top of our shared bucket as I put my individual liter of cola in the holder to my left.
