Ten
For Halloween, I should have chosen the Pinocchio costume. Thanks to Austin, the lingering guilt over lying to Ryan is as strong as the guilt for still not speaking to Charlotte. Instead of going to costume parties, I should stay home and atone for my sins. If I ever get to Ryan’s place, I plan to tell him the truth tonight.
“Hey, Roger,” I say, struggling into the back of his Uber car.
“Hey, Chloe. Let me get that door for you.”
He exits the car in a rush, and he’s very kind.
Because it’s a literal door I’m holding.
“Thanks for your help.” For sentimental purposes, I had the bright idea that Ryan and I would be Jack and Rose for Halloween. A romantic throwback to our time when he sketched me. My even brighter idea was to surprise Ryan with the best part of my costume—the infamous door.
You can’t be Rose without a door.
You also can’t get in a Honda with a door.
Mind you, it’s not a heavy-duty full-size door. It’s thin plywood I had specially cut at the hardwood store and painted myself, but it’s still too cumbersome for Roger’s car.
“It’s not going to fit,” I lament.
“I’ve got some rope in the trunk,” Roger says, after failing to make it fit in the back seat. “We may have to tie it on the top.”
It’s alarming he has rope, but again, kind of him to help me. Part of me wishes my date were picking me up—like Austin harped upon again before he left for work—so Roger wasn’t forced to assist me. Oh, well.
While I shiver in my empire waist gown—it’s a beauty with pink and white chiffon accents, and a matching sash—the chilly breeze undoes the curls I spent an hour perfecting to transform myself into Rose.
“I really appreciate this,” I tell him as he ties the knots to keep it in place atop the roof.
“No problem,” he says, tugging the rope. “It’ll take a tornado to blow this off.”
I glance up at the clear sky, splashed with shades of sunset. With my luck, one will appear out of nowhere and rip it off. Roger gives one last check to ensure the door stays secured, then we’re off.
“So a Halloween party, huh? You even dyed your hair. You look good as a redhead.”
“It’s a temporary color,” I explain, quite proud of the way it turned out. “I guess I could’ve picked something easier, but we have a little inside joke I wanted to expand on.”
“Nah. Always go for the harder option. Rewards aren’t as sweet when they’re not a struggle to achieve them.”
“You’re very wise. Wish I had your wisdom.” I sigh.
“Still having life problems?”
Since he asked, I tell him the things I’ve been holding inside this gorgeous gown. Things with Ryan are good. I’d like to report they’re great, but I can’t. It really is like dating myself, and we have great conversations about history and art, but…his mom, ugh.
She’s a lovely woman, bless her, but she wasn’t kidding about showing me how to fold his shirts. And that’s fine, but I can never do it to her satisfaction. The sleeves are never correct, and my lines are not crisp. It’s not like I took a course in retail clothes folding. Ryan seems to be okay with my performance under his mom’s tutelage, which begs the question, why isn’t he folding? Maybe because he’s always high?
Regardless, his approval of me only seems to spur Ruth to find more things wrong with my housekeeping abilities. I streak the mirrors, the bedroom carpet is going the wrong direction when I vacuum. And why am I cleaning his house, anyway? I don’t clean my own. Not that he would know, because we only hang out at his place.
On Sundays, with Ruth.
The rest of the time he’s busy working and painting and making a mess for me to clean. But it’s okay, because at the end of the day, he’s got a beard. And a very important job. But I am no saint since I lied to him and never fessed up. And I still haven’t spoken to Charlotte.
“Wow,” Roger says, when I’ve finally let it all out. “Wasn’t expecting all that. This is like ten years married kind of problems and you’re just dating. Is this the guy you texted about?”
“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way.”
“No worries. You’re a trooper for hanging in there.” He shakes his head. “Let me just say this…it doesn’t get better. Might as well just tell him the truth cause you can’t build a relationship on lies. If you’re thinking he’s suddenly going to clean, he’s not. But sounds like you probably know this and are just dating his beard.”
“Well, no. I like him. And other than those things, I think this relationship is going well, so I’m determined to make this work.”
“Why? You don’t sound thrilled. Are you happy?”
Hm. “I’ll think about that.”
The rest of the ride Roger tells me about his side real estate business and again encourages me to move out. It’s so hard to avoid things when people keep bringing it up. After assuring him I’ll five-star him, even though he deserves a galaxy, I head up to Ryan’s, and don’t think about Roger’s advice because in my mind, if I think about it, I’m thinking about Austin, and I need to focus on Ryan. That may be my best excuse yet.
I knock on Ryan’s door. With my door.
“Oh, look at you,” Ruth says, with nary a smile. “Come in. Ryan’s still getting ready. He had an important call to take and I’m just doing some light cleaning.”
Ryan didn’t inform me his mom would be here, of course. I take a moment to digest that she’s in costume too. As...older Rose.
“Hi. Love your costume.”
In her gray wig and nightgown, she hustles over to a basket of laundry on the couch. “I don’t get many trick-or-treaters at my place, so I thought I’d come to Ryan’s to hand out candy while you two have fun at the party. They’re a blast. Last year, I went with him, but this year...” She leaves that sentence unfinished and it’s so awkward, I grab some laundry to fold.
“You look great,” I say. “Love your necklace.”
She stops folding to fondle the blue rock around her neck. “I went and picked up Ryan’s costume while he was working, so I grabbed this outfit for myself. Can’t give out candy without a costume.”
“Hey,” Ryan says.
I turn at the sound of his deep voice. Time slows to a crawl, like I just ate a mountain of edibles, as Ryan dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and black pants with suspenders hugging his broad shoulders, walks toward me.
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
The piece de resistance of his costume leaves my chin on the floor. Ryan took the costume way too far. The shirt in my slack hand drifts to the floor.
He’s beardless.
I repeat, beardless.
This can’t be happening. Ryan and a beard go together. This is like Sampson shorn. Superman with no kryptonite. A twin flame with no twin.
“Wow,” he says, letting out a low whistle, eyeing my costume. “You even have a door.” He knocks on it. “Knock. Knock.”
“Who’s there?” Please, let it be your beard.
“Not Jack, cause he’s dead.”
Somehow, I manage to laugh, but it’s shrill and joyless.
“So, where’s your beard?”
He rubs a hand against his nude jaw. “You like?”
This is a perfect example of one of those situations that are excusable lies. “I do. I mean, love the beard too. Wonder how long it’ll take to grow back?”
“I might not grow it back,” he says. “You know, I never would’ve done it if Mom hadn’t suggested it.”
Ruth smiles. “Can’t be Jack with a beard. Ryan told me you liked it a lot, but I think he looks nicer without it. Shows off his handsome face instead of hiding it under all that hair.” I lean on my door for support, lest I faint. “You two should get going. I’ll be here when you get back.” She looks over at me. “I’m spending the night, because I’m having some renovations done on my house. Tell everyone I said hi,” she turns back to the clothes, “and wish I
could’ve been there.”
Ryan is oblivious to her hint, so I say, “You should come with us.”
“Oh, okay.” She drops a towel, mid-fold. “I can finish this when I get back.”
She puts a bowl of candy outside the door for potential trick-or-treaters and luckily, she has a minivan. Ryan rides up front and my door and I sit quietly in the back, hoping this relationship isn’t a sinking ship.
Ghosts, ghouls, and a variety of pop culture characters mingle in the lobby as we join the fray. Well, Ruth and Ryan are in the fray. I’ve slipped away to the bar to avoid Ryan’s endless knock-knock jokes. Methinks he had a gummy or two before I arrived at his house. The first five times, I found it charming.
Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Monet.
Monet who?
Monet doesn’t grow on trees.
Cute, right? The next five hundred times, not so much. I’m all about a wonderful sense of humor, but some of them don’t even make sense. Maybe I’m just moody about the beard? And the fact that Ruth won the costume contest. She thanked Ryan for the inspiration. Hello, Jack and Rose were my idea. It’s fine, though. At least I’m not folding laundry.
“Want another drink before I head out?” Bud, the bartender asks. “My shift is ending.”
Ever get a sense of déjà vu? That’s how I feel looking at Bud, but I can’t place him. “Heineken, please. You look so familiar,” I say as he turns to retrieve my drink.
He tucks a chunk of shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear and his blue eyes, the same shade as mine, show no recognition. “I bartend a lot of parties for this company.” He slides the glass to me. “Do you work here?”
“No, I’m a guest tonight.”
“Ah,” he says. “Well, have a good night.”
He leaves and I sip my beer, thinking about Roger’s words. A relationship can’t be grounded in lies.
“Tell the truth,” I encourage myself. “It’s not as rude as you think.” He can half the half-truth.
I scope out the crowd and see Ruth dancing with a werewolf, but no Ryan.
“Knock. Knock.”
Since it would be rude to say no one’s home, I ask who’s there for the millionth time.
“Ryan.”
“Ryan who?”
“Forgot me already?”
I faux-laugh and let the truth out, “This probably seems like a bad time, but I need to confess something.”
“Go ahead.”
I tell him about my fight with Charlotte, the whole truth. What it was about.
Austin.
His gray eyes stay focused on me as I confess the crush I’ve had on him forever. And I leave out the part that I haven’t actually made up with Charlotte. Ryan remains silent when I’ve finished my story.
“But I like you. I really do.”
He blows out a breath and shocks me, “I was trying to move on too. I had a crush on someone else too.”
“Oh. So you had an Austin?”
“Yeah.” He looks over at Bud. “That guy. Bud.”
“Is he your ex?”
“No. I’ve been in love with him for as long as I’ve been working in the cannabis industry.”
Not crushing—love.
“But you never dated?”
He shakes his head, cutting wistful eyes in Bud’s direction. “No. Just talked at Happy Hour every Thursday from six to ten. A couple of hook-ups. Then he met someone. He’s got a boyfriend. The guy over there with the perfect hair.” Wow, we are identical twins, but not in the flaming way I’d originally envisioned. “And then I took a very long break from dating and when I met you, I figured maybe I just needed to get back in the ol’ saddle.”
I finally place Bud. It’s his face on my drawing. The freckles and the shorter blond hair make sense now.
Turns out telling the truth is very freeing.
But hearing isn’t always.
Eleven
Hopefully, Halloween isn’t ruined for me for the rest of my life. That would be a travesty because none of the other holidays do it for me like Spooktober. Christmas is a close second, but it’s just not the same vibe. I’m sure Henry, the internet expert, would say I prefer this day over the others because I get to disguise myself and hide who I really am from the world. I’ve got news for Henry, I do that year-round. Ha. But I’m changing like the leaves on the trees.
As much as I loved Ryan’s beard, and even if it will grow back better and stronger, I need to do the right thing. If we’re both pining over others, it’s probably not in mine—or Ryan’s—best interest to continue dating. Sure, I could drag it out in hopes things change, but I saw the look in his eyes.
When his smoke-colored eyes glanced over to Bud, the yearning they held made me uncomfortable, until he tucked it away and shrugged it off. I don’t need internet expert advice to know that will not change.
You can’t wish those feelings away. Speaking from experience over here.
Plus, we don’t get a lot done together. If we keep dating, we’d sure have a lot of great discussions about art, but not so much art getting done. And I need to get things done. Correction: I will get things done. I’m on the cusp of achieving my goal, and Mae’d With Love is as important to me as finding a relationship. Birds of a feather flock together, and Ryan and I are two cuckoo birds. Did you know cuckoo birds don’t even build their own nest? This is why I need an opposite who will push me to sign up for craft fairs and call me out for excusable white lies.
I take Ryan’s hand in mine, mainly because I saw his knuckles headed toward the door to knock. “I guess you know what I’m going to say.” Since he’s basically me, he should know but I elaborate, “I think we’re not destined to be.”
He rubs the nape of his neck and sighs. “Yeah. But damn…I don’t want to let you go.”
“I’ll never let go,” I whisper, because how can I not when I’m dressed as Rose? “Obviously, I have to let you go as far as dating. But not in a pry your cold dead hand from mine kind of way.” He gives me a wry smile. “You know, why should we let go?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, why can’t we still hang out? There’s no reason we can’t still be friends.” His brow arches, full of suggestion. “And do other stuff.”
Hm. That’s a curveball I didn’t see coming, but it’s an interesting proposition. “You mean like no strings stuff?”
“Yeah, if needed. Booty Calls. Wingmen. Whatever’s needed.”
“So, friends with benefits?” It’s a bit unorthodox, but so am I, it seems. Besides, I may never find another nap partner at this rate. “I’m down for all that.”
“So, uh, we’re breaking up?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, wishing it could be different. “It’s best to not drag it out.”
Not to harp on the Titanic theme, but the old Chloe would hold on until Ryan realized for himself what I already know and dumped me. To put it in Jack and Rose terms, six months ago, I would’ve dragged his frozen body around with me. Horrifically morbid, I know, but that’s how tight I hold on to something and refuse to let go.
As he stares at me, my chest squeezes. On paper, Ryan seemed perfect for me. In my heart, not so much. This picky bitch in my chest may never be satisfied and that’s a scary thought. I wonder if there are any romance books where the lovelorn heroine goes from guy to guy, has fantastic sex, but ultimately dies on a hill alone? Someone should write that book.
He steps closer and trails a finger across the pink satin sash beneath my breasts. “So how do you feel about breakup sex?”
This may be the most satisfying breakup I’ve ever experienced. No pun intended. “Is that a thing?”
“We can make it one,” he says.
“I like that idea.” A last goodbye to the beard. “But where? Your mom is staying at your place and I’ve, uh, got a roommate.” Who is very judgy.
He glances across the room over to where Ruth is surrounded by a group of people, staring in r
apt fascination to whatever she’s saying. “Mom’s occupied, so she won’t miss us. Follow me.”
Hand in hand, Ryan leads me through the throng of people out of the lobby to a side door covered in spiderwebs. We slip through to a long corridor and then it’s all very Jack and Rose as we run to the exit at the end. Well, it’s not as graceful as in the movie since I’m lugging this door, but I do giggle and act all breathless as he swings it open and leads me outside. In a giddy rush, we race across a large grassy lawn area and slip into an alcove of tall bushes.
“Oh, it’s like a maze in here,” I say, eyeing the surrounding space. “How very Bridgerton.” Forget Jack and Rose, I may shift fantasies to the Duke. Ugh. I can’t even stick to one guy in a fantasy. Okay, back to Jack.
“This is my secret spot,” he says. “I come here to get high sometimes.”
“It’s cool.” I drop my door on the ground. “You know, you look really hot in suspenders.” I fondle the straps, slipping my fingers beneath the dark fabric, and yank him toward me. “Did you know they originally intended them to be an undergarment? To wear them over your clothes was considered risqué.”
His hands clasp my ass, squeezing the cheeks and pulling me against his crotch. “I knew that. You think they’re hot, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.” I lean in to nip his earlobe. “I’m glad you wore them.”
“Yeah? Mom said they were a free add-on.” He cups my breasts and leans down to lick the valley between them. “What do you want for goodbye sex? Should we have anal? I’m your guy to experiment with.”
That’s a valid point, and if I’m going to attempt butt stuff, it should be with someone who has experience. However, no matter the level of expertise, on the hard ground does not seem the ideal place for butt stuff. “I’m not really comfortable with that yet. Just the regular sex will do.”
“Okay.” My breath hitches when he squeezes my nipples. “I love this dress. Wish I had my pad to sketch you.” His hands caress their way down to my waist. “I’d make sure to shadow all the curves I want to lick.” Yards of material inch up my legs, exposing them to the chilly air, as Ryan creates a wave of goosebumps, slipping his warm hand between my thighs and into my panties. “Mm. You’re wet.”
Fall Hard (Dating Season Book 3) Page 7