“He was after sex, and when I wasn’t interested, his pride was wounded. Especially when a taller and better-looking guy staked his claim on what he wanted.” His mouth quirks up further when I say better-looking, but I’m not here to stroke his ego, so I continue. “The best way is to let guys like that believe that the rejection is not about them specifically.” I shrug. “Plus, he knew you were bigger than him and he’s not totally stupid.”
Ryan shakes his head. “Where did you come from?”
I toss him a wink. “Boston, remember?”
He laughs and pulls me back to him, hugging me again. I try to hold firm. I try to hold back and resist the urge to sink into him. Into his warmth and comfort. I try really hard.
“I’m glad you’re okay. I’ve never been the possessive caveman type, but apparently you bring that out of me. I was ready to beat that guy’s ass.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t. I’d hate to have to deal with the cops.”
He chuckles against my cheek before pulling back.
“Let’s go back to the hotel. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.” I agree with him. Only, Ryan is the one who really got my heart racing tonight. Not the dancing, not the guy hitting on me. No. It’s all Ryan. Now I just have to figure out a way to shut that off.
7
Ryan
* * *
Two days later we’re hanging out at the pool of our hotel in Miami Beach. I’m sipping on a beer and Katie went straight for a vodka tonic with lemon instead of lime. She’s resting on a lounge chair with her shades on and her knees bent up, and I can’t seem to pull my eyes off of her. Thank god I have reflective sunglasses and she can’t see where I’m looking, otherwise I’d have a lot of explaining to do.
But I’m not the only one staring.
And though that shouldn’t piss me off, it does.
She’s wearing the smallest white bikini that struggles to hold in her gorgeous curves. Her golden skin is toned yet soft looking.
I’m in trouble.
I know this and I’ve officially admitted it to myself.
I should have known better before this whole trip even started. Screw that, I did know better and chose to do this anyway. I tried to resist. I had been fighting it, but those two nights in Charleston changed everything, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Ignore it.
Right.
That’s the only thing I can do.
But the truth is, I have no idea how I’m going to get through the next few weeks traveling in a car and being with her constantly. Last night we stopped somewhere in northern Florida and she asked if I wanted to go out and get dinner, but I declined saying I was tired and opted for room service.
So when I woke up this morning, I resolved myself to the fact that nothing can or will ever happen. That helped until I saw her in that damn bikini.
She’s fiddling with the pendant on her neck that I assume is a mindless habit or something, because she does it all the time.
“What are you up for tonight?” I ask, forcing my eyes back to the beautiful blue water of the pool in front of me.
The same shade as her eyes. Shit.
“Well,” she rolls on her side to face me. Fuck. Not helping me with that view, Katie. “I sort of made a reservation for dinner at a steak place.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
That was so thoughtful of her. We had talked about favorite foods the other day and I mentioned steak, though I did not mention my affinity for Thai—my other favorite—for some reason. We’d talked about so many things that day, and I can’t believe she actually remembered.
“That sounds great, thanks.” I can’t help the smile I feel spreading across my face.
“Of course,” she waves me away like it’s nothing. “I heard there is a really hot club in our hotel, so I thought, if you’re into that sort of thing, we could check it out. If not, I’m open to whatever.”
“A club?” I would not have pegged her as the clubbing type.
“Sure,” she rolls back, propping her arm behind her head, and I’m grateful that she’s not facing me anymore. “I like dancing, but if you’d rather do something else or nothing at all…,” she trails off.
“Uh.”
I have to think on this.
Going to a club with her could be a bad idea. Dancing with her like that is very tempting in more ways than one. But it’s what she wants to do, and she has been in a really good, happy mood today, and I want to keep her that way. I can suck it up and deal. I mean, I know nothing will happen, so what does it matter if I dance with her?
“Sure. The club sounds fun.”
She smiles wide, but doesn’t say anything else.
After a few more minutes of silence, she turns her head to look at me. “Ryan?” she asks softly, almost like she’s not sure if she wants to ask me her question.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you’re over Francesca? I mean, do you think you ever get over someone you loved and lost?” She’s hesitant, and I can’t tell if she’s asking out of curiosity or for herself.
“I am over Francesca,” I tell her with assurance, turning to face her and propping my head up with my hand. “I thought I loved her, but in retrospect, I’m not sure if I actually did, or if it was the idea of her.
“What do you mean?”
“Francesca was very shallow. She enjoyed my money and the lifestyle it provided her. She was selfish. Very selfish. And the things that were important to me, that mattered to me, were not important to her. That’s not love.”
She nods like she understands this. “I know she hurt you, but if she truly is the way you describe her, then I’m happy you’re not with her anymore.”
“Me too, Katie, me too,” I smile over at her. “But in answer to your other question, I think the people we truly love are always a part of us. That said, we can move on and find someone else to love. Maybe we even love that new person as much as the one we lost, but that doesn’t mean we have to forget them. Moving on doesn’t make the love we have for the person who is gone any less real.”
She swallows hard and nods at me.
“I’m going to go back to my room to take a nap,” she puts on her best fake smile. I hope my words didn’t hurt her or make her feel bad.
“Dinner is at eight, cowboy,” she winks, getting up and leaving me here without another word.
I know she’s struggling, coming to terms with her loss, and I wish she didn’t have to go through that alone.
But she does, to a certain extent, because only she can find peace in her situation.
I’m showered, my beard is trimmed up, and I feel like I look good. I’m wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, my dark gray pants that sit a little low on my hips, and my black dress shoes. I managed to tame my hair by brushing it back, and tonight I’m rocking my contacts that I rarely wear—mostly because they bother me after extended use.
I knock on her door at seven forty-five, and when the door swings open, I gasp, making her smile and laugh a little.
“Is that a you look hot gasp or a you look terrible go change now gasp?” She cocks her head to the side, and her long blonde hair falls over her bare shoulder.