They’ve gathered their things and are out the door in a single file before I can lower my hand from my face, the door shutting behind them with a soft click. Chuckling at the absurdity of the past five minutes, I blink at the door before turning my focus back to Ryan. “Hi. How’s your day treating you?”
Ryan chuckles, that smooth buttery sound that makes my insides tingle, and he says, “It’s going. I wanted to know if you’d care to have lunch with me. I figured you probably haven’t eaten properly yet.”
Sure enough, he eyes the half-eaten cup of fruit still on my desk, and I give him my best “aw shucks” look that doubles the amusement on his face. Before he decides to lecture me about nutrition like Caid has done before, I say, “Lunch would be beautiful. Are you ready now?”
Ry nods. “Ready when you are, trouble.”
So, without further delays or jump scares, I gather my purse and follow Ryan out of the building. All the while, I find myself growing distracted once more, my eyes glued to his ass as he walks. Mentally, I admit once more that I’m no better than a man, but it’s simply impossible to look away. So, while we walktoward the car, I make peace with my filthy thoughts and take in the view as God intended.
I mean, they wouldn’t have given him an ass like that if it weren’t meant to be ogled, right?
“I’ve never had more aggressively sad fries in all my life,” I murmur, sounding as offended as I feel, though I realize I’ve probably been spoiled after the feast I finally got to eat yesterday. Well, half of it, at least.
Ryan grins as though he finds me entertaining, but I shake my head.
“I’m serious. These are fries that have given up on life. The potatoes must have been depressed before they went in the fryer or something,” I complain, eyeing the poor, pale slices of undercooked potatoes and feeling sorry for them.
Ryan snorts into his drink. “You’re so dramatic. The fries are fine.”
“If you consider fries that look like they’ve spent the last six months socially distancing themselves from society fine, then by all means, you eat them,” I counter, glaring at the plate like it’s offended my ancestors and their ancestors.
“You literally just described me,” Ryan jokes, and I roll my eyes.
“That’s different. You’re hot. You’re allowed to be pale,” I deadpan.
Ry chokes on his lemonade before he sputters a laugh, and I flash him a victorious grin, completely unbothered by the fact that I almost killed him in the middle of a diner at one in the afternoon. Just casual things, you know?
The place hums softly with steady conversation from several patrons sitting at different booths, the clinking of cutlery adding to the soundtrack of our lunch. Light spills through thewindow we’ve been seated by, the sunlight catching against the salt and pepper shakers between Ry and me.
It’s cozy and relaxed, and I mentally acknowledge how my mind switches off when I’m around these guys. My shoulders don’t ache as much, my brain isn’t moving at a hundred miles per hour, and Ryan is looking at me like he’s never known a funny woman in all his life.
“I still think we should sue,” I repeat, lowering my voice as I carefully lean over my double-stacked burger that is slathered in cheese and crispy onions. At least that doesn’t look anemic. Silver linings, am I right?
“For what? Emotional damage?”
I shake my head. “Culinary crimes. Is that a thing?”
“I don’t think so,” Ryan snickers, stealing two of the fries because apparently theft is legal now.
Just as I open my mouth to respond, my hand suspended in the air and ready to swat Ryan’s hand away, the diner door chimes and every muscle in my body locks in place when I spy the figure that walks in.
Ryan notices instantly, his eyes flicking over his shoulder where I stare with my heart sinking into the pits of my stomach.
Toby fucking Moore.
He looks terrible, standing in the sunlight and looking paler than I’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t look bad enough to satisfy me completely, but enough that it’s clear there’s something wrong with him. His clothes are slightly wrinkled, and his usually immaculately styled hair is messy as though he’s been dragging his hands through it constantly. Shadowed bruises sit beneath his eyes, which isn’t surprising given the ungodly hours he’s been spamming me with texts and photos and emails.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s something twitchy about him, like he’s filled with a restless energy that vibratesunder his skin while he scans the diner. I already know he’s looking for me, and the table Ryan and I are sitting at isn’t big enough for me to hide under this time, so I can do nothing but stare back when his eyes meet mine.
Stomach dropping, I swallow hard just as Ryan goes still in his seat. He’s not tense, exactly, just kind of alert in a quiet way I’ve learned means he’s very aware of his surroundings and is paying close attention to every move Toby makes.
My ex doesn’t drop his eyes the moment they meet mine. They stay exactly where they are, bypassing Ryan entirely, that wrongness spilling from him in waves. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in weeks, like something inside him is unraveling, and an unpleasantly cold feeling slithers down my spine.
“Man,” I mutter with an irritated huff. I reach for my purse as I prepare to leave, Ryan having already finished his burger. “There goes my appetite.”
“Ready to go?” Ry asks, never hesitating, and I nod quickly.
Neither of us acknowledge Toby when we stand, Ryan’s hand settling on my lower back as he guides us through the diner. We’re heading for the door Toby has just shuffled from, and he shifts slightly as though he’s about to approach.
