There wasn’t pity in her voice or judgment. I looked over my shoulder and found her staring right at me, fire brewing in her eyes. Pressure in my chest grew to the point it was almost painful, and I dug my fingernails into the material of my shirt. “I feel lost.”
“I know what you mean.” She walked over to me again, wrapping her arms around my waist and laying her head on my chest, right over my pounding heart. She smelled like lavender and coffee, and I rested my chin on her head, wishing somehow nothing would change between us.
“I hate that she left you, screwed your dad over, and is putting you through this.”
“I’m sorry I’m complaining to you. I just…”
“Jonah, stop apologizing. When you care about someone, you’re always there for them. There is nocomplainingwhen you’re upset.” She looked up at me, long lashes fanning over her cheeks. I drank in the birthmark under her left eye and her expression showing a strength I wish I had. She continued, “Let me finish up this study group, and we can head home. We can talk if you want, drink the beer your dad left to get drunk, eat snacks, watch TV. Whatever you need.”
“What if I want to do something else?” I moved my hand to cup her ass. Her face turned red.
“We can definitely do that,” she said, laughing and standing on her tiptoes to kiss me again, just once. Then twice. “I need about an hour. Want to hang around and walk back together?”
She could ask me to wait all day and I would. But I said, “Sure.”
She kissed me a third time before walking away, and I wasn’t sure if it was the leftover emotions from seeing my mom or the way Ryann was always on my side, but herjust becausekisses confused me in a whole different way.
Those seemed like more than roommates with benefits.They seemed like caring, and the idea didn’t freak me the fuck out.
If anything, I liked it and wanted more of them. But as quick as the thought came, another one ran it over and popped the momentary bubble of happiness.
How thefuckwas I going to survive when this was over?
19
Ryann
With only a week left until the season started, the last thing I wanted to do was put a damper on the numbered days with Jonah. Some things couldn’t be stopped though, no matter how hard I tried.
It would’ve been our mom’s fiftieth birthday. She always talked about wanting to go on a cruise, sing karaoke, or get a tattoo. Michael seemed to go overboard with the tattoo thing, since he had a sleeve of colorful designs, and I always wondered if the idea came from our mom’s wish list.
I had to work the late shift again, giving Hannah another Saturday night free for date three, and there was homework and budgeting to do. Yet I didn’t have the motivation to get out of bed. It was warm here, safe, and comfortable. I could cry and roll over and doze for a few minutes, just to repeat the process again.
My comforter smelled like clean laundry, and since I shaved my legs the night before, rubbing my skin against the material was a smooth, small slice of heaven. It wasn’t until my phone buzzed on my nightstand that I realized the time.
Almost lunch.
Jonah: You okay?
Ryann: Yeah
His footsteps thudded outside my door, but the shadow remained for a minute. No knock came, but I knew he was there, so I forced myself up, running my hands over my eyes to try to refresh my puffy face. Some people could cry with dignity. I was not one of those people.
I threw on an old sweatshirt and padded to the door to find Jonah standing outside it, his mouth flat.
“Hey,” I said, feeling nervous fornoreason. We’d had sex in almost every place in our place, yet this felt personal. “Happy Saturday.”
“What’s wrong? Why are your eyes red?” He reached out and cupped my chin gently, tilting my face in his direction. He sucked in a breath. “Ry, what happened?”
“It’s nothing,” I said, twisting out of his grip and moving into the kitchen. Everything felt heavy. My emotions, my feet, my arms, my eyelids. Eating something would give me enough sugar to gain motivation, so I put bread in the toaster and leaned against the counter, avoiding Jonah’s intense stare.
He must’ve showered because his hair was wet and part of his white shirt stuck to his chest. His strong shoulders and wide chest were so not fair. His jaw tightened, and he seemed to get taller when he stood straight. “Bullshit.”
“Hmm?” I said, raising my brows as he walked toward me with his lips pressed together.
“Tell me what happened. You’re sad.”
“Yes, Jonah, I am sad.” I swallowed, my breathing a little shaky. “I’m allowed to be sad without telling you why,” I snapped, regretting the harsh tone. Nothing was his fault.
