Now I just watch wistfully from afar, wishing he was someone different, and that I was too.
“James.” Wriggling his hand, Ryan bobs around before me as though he’s been trying to catch my attention for some time. Reluctantly, I unglue my eyes from where they shouldn’t be, to where they should.
“Sorry, you were saying?”
He waves it off like me ignoring him is nothing, and smiles. “I was just asking how things are going at home with Dylan?” With no conscious decision to do so, I release a slow, deep, indicative of my mood, breath. “That good, huh?”
Nodding, I take a drink. “It’s good and bad, rewarding and defeating all within the same hour. Today, he was heightened as it’s Monday. Mondays are a Manny day, but today, Manny was off sick.”
“Manny’s a carer?”
“Yep. A brilliant one at that. He worked with Dylan at his old day service, and agreed to take on private work for us while we sort out the insurance. With Dad gone, and Faith and I moving in, Manny has been his one constant.” The weight of it all settles over me, and I physically sink in my seat. I need to change the subject before I end up on the floor like Cory’s drinks. “God, I’m so fucking depressing. That’s enough about me, how are you and Kane doing? Still renovating?”
“Divorcing, actually.”
“What!” The generous sip of red wine I just took flies from my mouth and all over Ryan’s shirt. His crisp white shirt. “Shit, I’m so sorry.” Jumping to my feet, I rush at him with a stack of napkins, and squat at his feet, patting and rubbing his chest.
He stills for a moment, then chuckles and takes hold of one of my wrists. “Don’t worry about it, it’s Kane’s shirt. Fuck him.”
“Oh.” Slightly relieved, I move to return to a non-crouched, almost in his lap position, but he grips me tighter, holding me in place.
“I know another way we could get to him that might be fun.” I feel the pad of his thumb swipe over my pulse point.
This is not good.
I force myself to laugh, feigning cluelessness as to where this is heading, and make my way back to my seat. “What, are the pants his? Want me to ruin them as well?”
“No, they’re not. But technically what’s inside them is. Since you already fucked his shirt, why don’t you fuck his husband, too?”
“Umm. Well. I. Umm.”
In my mind, I count the days since someone, not on an app, propositioned me. I lose count at around eighteen months. Ryan is a good looking guy. Very good looking. In fact, when I first met him, I harbored a tiny crush.
That was a long time ago.
A lifetime ago.
Ryan’s marriage has begun and ended. As did my time with Brandon, and Dad’s gone. I’ve lost everything, and am trying to carve out some semblance of an existence in a world where nothing feels the same.
Through no fault of my own my gaze lands on Cory as he takes a sip from Sam Bailey’s beer, leaving a thin layer of foam on his top lip.
Huh.
In general, I don’t fancy beer, but I suddenly have an unquenchable thirst for it. Those lips curl into a hint of a smile, causing a tiny crinkling of his eyes. They really are the most alarming shade of blue.Not remotely appealing though, I tell myself.
Remembering I still haven’t replied to Ryan, I force myself to look away.
“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Oh, it’s not.” Reaching out, Ryan cups my jaw in his palm, caressing his thumb over my bottom lip and dragging it down. “But fuck it. I’ve been through hell and back in the last twelve months. I know my shit is nothing compared to yours, but maybe it’s time we don’t think and just …”
“Fuck?”
“Exactly.”
At the most fortuitous time blonde man mountain, Brady Basse, and Quinn Harris approach the table. “Ah, it is you, Plummy.” Smirking, Ryan raises a brow on my behalf. He knows I hate nicknames. I’ve told Brady this too, but Faith and he are tight and I’m sure she’s told him to do it regardless.
“We told Cubby it was you,” Quinn adds, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Would you and your friend like to join us?”
