I just told her yes, but she still looks about to break into tears.
I drop my beer and take Faye’s hand. Her fingers curl around mine, and the contact sends electricity straight to my chest, where the anger has been festering, splintering it apart.
And I know I’m doomed.
No matter what she’s done or lied about, I can’t let her go.
31
FAYE
“You have to lead,” I tell Ryder, not meeting his eyes. “I’m still not great at this.”
His mouth quirks—not a full smile, but close. “I saw. Your line dancing was atrocious.”
Heat floods my cheeks all over again. “I had to get a crash course.”
I glance over his shoulder where Rebecca stands near the bar, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, giving me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“Ah.” Understanding crosses Ryder’s face as he follows my gaze. “An inside job. I should’ve known.”
Then his hand settles on my hip, and the world narrows to that single point of contact.
Gosh, I’d forgotten how overwhelming it is to be this close to him. His scent. His touch. The way his presence fills every one of my senses until I can’t think straight.
The contact doesn’t seem to have the same effect on him.
Ryder is holding himself like he’d rather not be touching me. His shoulders are stiff and he maintains a careful distance even as we move together, his grip on my hand unsure, like he’s still deciding whether to hold on or let go.
I can’t stand it.
But I came here to talk. This is my chance to explain myself, and I won’t waste it.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t respond.
“I want to tell you everything, but I can’t talk about it in a bar full of people.”
Ryder still doesn’t reply, but at least he’s not running out. He keeps dancing, guiding me through the steps even as more tension coils through his frame.
“I never meant to lie to you,” I continue. “But I didn’t know when or how to bring it up.”
His hand on my hip flexes, fingers pressing harder for a second before loosening again. “You could’ve told me the night we started dating.” His voice is controlled, but I hear the hurt underneath. “When I said trust was everything to me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I have no excuse.”
We sway in silence for a moment, the music washing over us while my pulse hammers in my ears. His expression is unreadable, shadows playing across his face in the dim bar light.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question is quieter than the first time he asked it, stripped of anger, but still full of pain.
“Can we—” My throat closes up. “Can we go somewhere else to talk? Please?”
For a long moment, he looks at me like he might say no, then his chin dips in a sharp and decisive nod.
We step off the dance floor together, his hand still loosely holding mine, but I’m not sure it’s a conscious gesture. Rebecca and Remy are waiting near the bar, both grinning, satisfied.
“Heading out?” Rebecca asks.
