“Well, I’m going to have a shower,” he says, going in the bathroom before I can press the issue.
I look at the clock again. It’s ten past seven, and I’m already exhausted.
I have to wait half a day before hitting the gym to release some of this pent-up tension. I can’t go running because we’re not allowed to overdo it.
What other options do I have?
I could break Ryan’s face, but maybe I shouldn’t. I’m starting to think he might not have many career options other than underwear model.
I look at the phone sitting on the counter and anxiety pulses through me. I grab it and flip through the messages.
A full 24 hours have passed. No reply.
A big, fat nothing.
Ryan walks back into the living room with a towel around his waist, dripping onto the floor that I’m going to have to wipe up.
He stands in front of me with his hands on his hips as if I was thirteen years old and he was my big brother.
“Is that what I think it is?”
I ignore him.
“Don’t do it, Ian. Don’t call her.”
Shit.
Our roles really have been reversed.
