“Get out,” Ryan growls. “There’s only one desperate woman in this apartment, and it’s you. You arenothingto me. Go, before I call security.”
I can’t see his face, but it must be scary, because Petra doesn’t say another word. I hear her fumble with something, anda moment later, the elevator doors open. She rolls her suitcase into it, then, mercifully, she’s gone.
Ryan groans. I say a silent prayer that he’ll go back to his room before he sees me, but apparently god hates me, because the ice machine in his freezer chooses that moment to refill itself. Ryan’s eyes flash over to the kitchen, and he sees me in the shadows.
“Pippa? Is that you?”
My face burns with embarrassment. I take a few steps forward and hold up my glass. “Sorry. I was just getting some water. I didn’t mean…”
I trail off and Ryan sighs. “So you heard all that.”
“Yeah. Thanks for defending me,” I say awkwardly. “Even though I’m not sure why you’d bother.”
Ryan doesn’t answer. He just walks over to the couch and collapses onto it, hanging his head in his hands. He just sits there silently, like I’m not even there. I could go back to my room, but something about his body language looks broken.
“You could just say ‘you’re welcome,’” I joke weakly.
No answer. No arguments, no banter. It’s like he’s not even Ryan—like he got replaced by some imposter whocanresist picking apart everything I say.
It’s scary, honestly.
I put down my glass and take a seat next to him, careful to leave space between us. “Are you alright?” I ask.
“No.”
The word sounds hollow. I bite my lip, not sure what I should say next. “You got back from the tournament early.”
He laughs bitterly. “I lost. Badly. My worst tournament ever.”
“I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”
He lets his hands fall from his face, but he doesn’t look over at me. “There’s another game in a few days. Maybe I can dobetter, if I find a way to keep my head on straight. But I don’t think that’s happening.”
My heart thuds dully. It’s like I can feel his anguish, echoing in my body.
I should walk away from him—he’s not my problem to fix. There are dozens of flight attendants and grad students and waitresses out there who think that Ryan belongs to them. I hate myself for caving so easily, but I can’t help it. I run my fingers through his hair, copying the motion he always does to soothe himself. He doesn’t stop me, so I do it again, grazing my nails against his skull.
Then I don’t know if it’s me pulling him closer or him leaning in to my touch, but he lays his head on my lap, pulling his legs up while I keep gently stroking his hair. The cloud of angst hovering over him doesn’t get any lighter, but now it’s shared.
“You’ll figure it out, Ryan. Like you said, there are other tournaments, and you’re a great player. One loss isn’t that big of a deal.”
He turns his head toward my thigh, like he’s burrowing into me. “That depends on what you’re losing.”
The words send a pang through my chest, and I can feel what he means.
We’ve both lost something much bigger.
Ryan shifts slightly, and his lips accidentally graze my thigh. I can’t hold back my breathy gasp, or the way my hand falters on its way through his hair. He freezes, seeing my reaction. Then, he does it again, this time purposefully pressing a feather-light kiss to my skin.
God, I should be smarter than this. I should stop him when he kisses a path up my thigh, each time with more pressure. When I don’t, he grips my hips in his hand, moving me until I’m lying down and he’s crawling over top of me. In my shortpajamas and cami top, I’m exposed to the hot brush of his skin against mine.
It feels so natural. My body sings at being under him again, my hips grinding against his while he kisses my neck. His musky, familiar scent surrounds me, and I never want this to end. I never want him to stop kissing me.
Which is why I have to be the one to stop this. I told Cat that I would put myself first, that I would put distance between Ryan and me now that he’s admitted he can’t give me the relationship I need. He might care about me, but that doesn’t mean he treats me with it.
If I keep up the physical part of our relationship, I’ll end up giving him my heart, and he won’t be able to hold the weight of it in his clumsy hands. It’ll only shatter when he lets it drop. It’s beyond stupid to let this keep going.
Yet I squeeze my eyes shut and pull his mouth to mine. In a few days, I’ll be gone. So I’ll be stupid one last time.
