My toes start prickling, pins and needles. A reminder that they’re not only swollen and exhausted, but cold. I’ve exhausted my time in denial-land. It’s time to go back upstairs and warm up before my feet detach from my body and go find an owner who will treat them better.
The warm air in the lobby feels like a reprimand for not finding Ryan out there in the cold. There’s still some little ball of worry, bubbling in my chest, telling me that I have to find him.
Or maybe…telling me that he’s closer than I think.
Inside the elevator, I press the button for the third floor. This time, it seems to go too fast, spitting me out into the poker room before I’m ready.
There, sitting at his usual table and playing with a stack of chips, is Ryan. Just like I somehow knew he’d be. He canceled poker night so he could be here alone, in the only place that feels more like home than his actual apartment.
He looks like hell. His hair is in an unforeseen state of chaotic messiness, like he’s spent the past three days fiddling through it. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks drawn, like he hasn’t let himself really eat or sleep. There’s no sign of his usual cockiness in his slumped shoulders.
And he’s never looked more beautiful to me.
He glances up at me, his dark eyes meeting mine. There are no hidden messages in his gaze, no feelings transmitted silently between us. No, whatever happens next, I have to be brave enough to say it out loud.
42
RYAN
She’s a mirage. She has to be.
When Pippa walks into the poker room, her red lipstick perfect and her dark hair more tousled than usual, I’m not sure it’s real. How can it be, when I’ve spent the past three days fantasizing about the exact same thing happening?
“Why haven’t you answered your phone?” Maybe-mirage Pippa demands, putting her hands on her hips.
I shrug. “Nothing on my phone I wanted to see.”
“What about your friends looking everywhere for you? We’ve been on a manhunt, you know.”
“You have?” I blink. “But I was right here.”
“Well, they didn’t know that because youweren’t answering your fucking phone.” She rolls her eyes and stomps over, which is probably not as scary as she wants it to be, because the carpet muffles her clacky shoes. She yanks out a chair from the other side of the table, and I’m pretty sure she’s real, because mirages shouldn’t be able to move physical objects.
“Deal me in,” she snaps.
“I’m not playing.”
She gestures at the table, which is set up for the poker game I canceled. Five sets of chips, including stacks in front of each of us.
“Play with me, Ryan.” Her voice is softer this time—almost a plea. It cuts right through my fog of depression, like a flaming arrow burning away the clouds.
While I was sulking, Pippa has been starting her new Ryan-free life, complete with a new apartment. I have no idea where she’s living now, which is a first. Even when we weren’t in the same building, I always had a general idea of where she was. I should have asked Nate to stalk her and find out her current address, just so I could make sure she wasn’t living in some dump. Speaking of which…
“Where’s Waffle?” I ask. “Is there someone watching her? She’s doing okay?”
Pippa’s expression softens. “She’s fine, Ryan. She’s at my apartment, and she’s okay by herself for a few hours.”
“She’s not too stressed out? I know cats don’t like going to new places.”
“She’s fine. Really.” She points to the cards in front of me. “Now deal.”
I grab the deck and give it a quick shuffle. It’s habit—I’ve already shuffled it a bunch of times while I sat here, brooding. “What are we playing for?”
“A secret.” Pippa folds her fingers. “If I win, you have to tell me one. If you win, I’ll tell you one of mine.”
She barely glances at her hand when I deal. I’d call it careless, if I hadn’t played against Pippa before. There’s nothing careless about the way she plays—it’s unpredictable, but it’s chaos by design. Perfectly calibrated to mess with me.
Even though I don’t have the option to sit out, my hand is good enough to play, at least. A ten and ace of hearts. As small blind, Pippa buys in without raising.
