“You seriously want to do that?”
“If you do.” He shrugged again, as though he had no investment in this. But he was lying. I didn’t always used to be able to spot when he was, but I could now. It was in the tension in his jaw. The increasing power behind his hits on the bag. “Whatever. I don’t care. We can talk about it, or we can just agree that everything stops now and we return to how shit was before. You can go back to punching the bag and it’ll be like the past few weeks never happened.”
I swallowed hard as Dominic stepped back and gestured at the bag. He was putting the ball in my court. Letting me decide what would happen next.
Which would have been awesome if I’d had the first fucking clue as to what I wanted to do. Did I want to talk to Dominic? How would I even start?
You drive me fucking crazy, but I can’t stop getting off to the thought of you. I can’t decide whether I hate you or not. I’m obsessed with you, but not in a healthy way. I’m jealous as fuckof your relationship with Max, but not because I want to spend time with him.
Because I want to spend time with you.
I had the words. They were all right there, but what would they change?
Did I even want them to change anything?
I pulled back my arm and let my fist fly. This was better. Easier.
For now, anyway.
I pretended not to see the flash of disappointment on Dominic’s face.
Even though I knew I’d be drawing it later.
15
Ryan
Dominic didn’t come to my room that night.
I’d held my breath after hearing him leaving Max’s room, waiting for the tell-tale scrape of his boots on the porch.
But it never came.
It didn’t happen on any of the nights that followed, either.
It wasn’t like I was seeking him out though. After parting ways with him in the gym, I’d taken the chickenshit option and avoided the smoking area. I was back to having lunch in the library.
Alone.
Worse, Dominic never appeared. He didn’t insist my place was at his side or drag me out of there.
It was like none of it had ever happened at all.
Just as he’d said it would be.
I wished I could say that stopped me drawing him. My sketchpad would call me a liar, though.
It hadn’t stopped me thinking about him either. Replaying our last conversation and wondering if I’d made the right call. If talking about shit would’ve made all this better.
It wouldn’t have though, not with what I wanted to say. It would’ve just complicated things further. Because the truth was, I didn’t even knowwhatI wanted, other than to be around him. I’d thought that getting a break from him might help. That distance would help normality return.
But it didn’t. I just…missed him. Missed his intense stares and dark chuckles. The soft sound of his breathing as he slept. How he challenged me. The way being around him made me feel…alive. Like someone was finally seeing me for the first time. It was a heady, addictive feeling. Now it had been stripped away, I was yearning for it.
I was lying on my bed, headphones on, when my door banged open.
Max was in my doorway, saying something. Sitting up, I yanked my headphones off, thankful my sketchpad was closed. “What?”
“Why aren’t you ready?” he said impatiently.
