“That’s funny, coming from the most uptight eighteen-year-old that ever lived.”
“I was not uptight.”
“You almost clawed my eyes out like a crazed possum when I didn’t give the book back.”
“That’s because it was personal.”
“It was personal because you were reading literary porn.”
“It was a historical romance!”
“My mistake,” he says calmly. “It was literary porn masquerading as historical romance.”
“Stop calling it porn. That’s not what it is.”
“That’s absolutely what it is. I scanned a few pages and I went through a second round of puberty on the spot. My voice dropped a full octave.”
“Oh, please. Romance novels are an art form and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sullivan.”
Ryan turns and picks up his fork with a grin as I glance over at Cristina. She’s smirking back at me like the cat that got the cream.
Perfect.
The rest of dinner goes by without incident and before I know it, we’re all outside and Cristina and Jason are hopping into a cab. I ask Cristina if Ryan and I should go with them, but she basically kicks me away with the heel of her foot and slams the door shut. The car screeches off and Ryan and I are left alone in front of the restaurant.
So much for this not feeling like a setup.
If Ryan feels uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He stands confidently in front of me, the glow from the streetlights bouncing off the shoulders of his pale blue button-down as he slides his hands into his pockets.
“Where are you staying?” I decide to ask.
“The Shelburne Hotel. It’s in Murray Hill, I think.”
“Nice. That’s actually right near my apartment.” He nods his head and continues to look at me, waiting for something. I’m not sure what. “Okay, so I’m going to go.”
“Do you want to share a cab?” he suddenly asks. “Or we could both get dropped off at my hotel if your place is that close.”
“I’d rather not.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Why does everything have to be a fight with us? Let’s just share a cab.”
“Oh, well, when you ask so nicely.”
I walk past him with a sarcastic smile and head for the curb. I’m scanning the street for available taxis when I sense him standing next to me. His arm touches mine and, this time, I know it’s intentional.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is so gentle that I consider it alarming. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Would you please share a cab with me, Kara?”
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan and I step out of the taxi in front of his hotel. I’d rather walk than have the driver take me the few extra blocks.
“Here we are,” I say, glancing up at the maroon hotel awning. The nearby doorman keeps an eye on us, trying to gauge whether we’re about to walk in or not. Ryan leans back on his heels and looks at the double glass doors.
“How far are we from your apartment?”
“Not far at all. About a ten-minute walk.”
He stays quiet, his eyes still trained on the doors. I’m fully anticipating that we’re about to go our separate ways when he blurts out, “You want to go for a drink?”
