I picture the morning. I still make coffee, still snuggle with Waffles, still drag out my laptop to write about other people’s love stories instead of my own. At first, it almost works. Then my brain hits a snag on the smallest details. Who will be there to top off my coffee?
To turn up the heat when I shiver?
Every future I try to storyboard has a Ryan-shaped blank space cut out of it. I can fill it with someone like Jacob, but the edges will never properly line up. It’s like trying to paste a different sky over a photo; the lighting will never entirely match.
I throw off the covers and hop to my feet. My body hums with gratitude—it feels ready to use all that pent-up energy for something like a nice five-mile run. It’ll have to settle for a walk to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Fortunately, the apartment is dark and empty when I venture down the hall. I was half-afraid that Ryan would be camped out in a chair, waiting for me in the dark like some creep from a horror movie.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it. The first sip of water feels so refreshing, I practically down the entire glass. Maybe I can blame the reason I feel so shitty on dehydration instead of heartbreak. It’s way easier to refill your electrolytes than it is to somehow undo the last day of my life. Make that month. What the hell, might as well go back years, past that stupid high school kiss, back to the day Mom first went out on a date with Jack.
A mechanical whoosh interrupts my thoughts—the elevator doors.
Who thefuckis coming to our apartment at this hour of the night?
Maybe it’s one of the guys. Maybe I didn’t hear Ryan slipping back downstairs at some point. Whoever it is, I know that I don’t want to talk to them. I slink back to the back of the kitchen, behind the open pantry door.
“Ryan?” a female voice calls out. “Ryan, are you awake?”
A light switches on in the foyer, a small lamp you’d have to be familiar with the apartment to find. I hear the clack of heels and the soft noise of a rolling suitcase. Then she comes into view, a gorgeous blonde in a charcoal and red flight attendant uniform. Whoever this is, she had her own key card to take the elevator, and she knows the apartment well. Because she’s beautiful and because Ryan’s Ryan, all signs point to hookup.
My stomach sinks. He didn’t even wait for me to move out to invite another woman over. I grip my glass of water tight and pray she doesn’t see me. If I’m lucky, she’ll go right to Ryan’s room, and let me sneak back to bed to cry myself to sleep.
“Ryan!” she says again, but this time in greeting. From around the door, I see him emerging from his bedroom, and ithurtsto see him in the usual low-slung pajama pants. He’s far from the light she turned on, the blue light from the windows illuminating the lines of his lean body. His hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it, like he’s been pulling at it all day.
“Petra?” he says groggily.
She grins and heads straight toward him, her hands going right to his chest. My heart squeezes tight, seeing another woman touch him so familiarly. I should look away, but I can’t. Some cruel, messed up part of me has to watch this happen.
So I see it when Ryan takes a step back from her.
“I just got in from Chicago,” she says, oblivious. “I’ve been on my feet for hours, and I need you to kiss me better.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me you got a girlfriend since the last time I saw you.”
She reaches for the string on his pajama pants, but he pulls back again. “I’m just not looking for anything casual right now. Sorry, if I’d known you were coming, I would have told you. But you need to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
“But I always spend the night when I’m in town. I didn’t book a hotel or anything. Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan messes with his hair. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I’d offer you the guest room, but my stepsister’s staying there.”
Her hands go to her hips. “So it’s true, what they’re saying about the two of you. Youarescrewing each other.”
The acid in her tone makes me flinch. She says it with such disgust, like she’s looking at a squashed bug or something.
Ryan ignores it. “There are same-day hotel apps you can use to find a room. Send me a Venmo request if you need to.” His voice isn’t unkind, but it’s firm.
“How long has she been spreading her legs for you?” Petra snaps. “Must’ve been nice for you, always having a slut on call. You didn’t care that she was your fucking sister?—”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ice drips from every word. “Don’t you dare say another word about her, because she didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong.”
Petra laughs cruelly. “Can’t handle the truth, huh?”
“Give me your key card. I don’t want you coming back here, ever.”
“So you’d really rather stick your dick in that desperate whore than?—”
