“How light?”
“Like a flamingo.”
This could be our life—the two of us making dinner together, relaxing in our apartment, fucking in our bed “They eat shrimp, right?”
“That gives them the color, yeah.”
“Oh. Duh.” I trip over my tongue. “We… uh… we need rice, right?”
“Yeah. You need a play-by-play for that?”
My cheeks flush. He’s teasing me. I feel it everywhere. “No. I know that much.” I find the rice in the pantry, scoop a cup into the rice maker, add two cups of water. “I used to cook for my mom.”
His voice softens. “Yeah?”
“Well, cook isn’t the right word. I’d make her TV dinners. Or sandwiches. I got about as far as mac and cheese. But not the stovetop kind. The microwavable kind.”
“You still fed her.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t guess. You did.” His eyes meet mine. “You were a kid. You weren’t responsible for taking care of her.”
“It felt like it. It has since I realized how out of it she was.”
“But it wasn’t.”
I bite my tongue. “I didn’t do a great job. We ate like shit.”
“That why you love junk food?”
“No.” I press my ass against the counter. “I hate junk food. It tastes like wondering why my mom wasn’t there. I guess that doesn’t make sense.”
He shakes his head it does. “Still can’t eat penne arrabiata without thinking of Penny.”
“Penny making penne. That’s—”
“It’s Penelope now.”
“Of course it is.”
He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”
“Did you eat it together a lot, or…”
“It was the dish she always wanted to perfect.”
“She was the cook?”
He nods.
“Oh. Is that… is there some sort of I don’t need you anymore to you learning to cook.”
“Maybe.” He stirs the shrimp. “It was more a distraction at first.”
I nod.
“I gotta eat.”
“You didn’t for a while. I thought you were gonna disappear.”
“Me too.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
His eyes fill with something I can’t place.
“I, uh, I’ve never had that problem. Of not eating when I’m miserable. If I did—”
“I don’t want to hear any more shit about how you aren’t a solid ten, Leigh. You know you’re hot.”
“But not thin.”
“Your body is perfect.”
I dig my fingers into the counter. Between the matter-of-fact tone of his voice and the freefall of discussing my mom…
This is weird.
I try to find something solid to grab onto. “I’ve always liked to eat. But I hate preparing stuff too. So I…”
“Eat nothing but street tacos?”
“Eat at restaurants a lot, yeah.” I bite my tongue. “I’m sorry, we—”
“Don’t apologize for sharing shit with me.”
“We were having a nice conversation.”
His eyes bore into mine. “We still are.”
“Oh.” The intensity of his gaze makes my knees knock together. There’s a possibility of me and Ryan. That changes everything. “What about you? Your parents cook?”
“The maid.”
“You were that rich?” I swallow hard. “Never mind, I saw your house.”
He nods. “They both worked too much.”
“You love them?”
“Of course. They’re assholes sometimes, but they mean well.”
“I’m not sure you’ve ever admitted that.”
“It’s between us.”
“Of course. My, uh, my hair this morning is between us too.”
“It looked good.”
I shake my head. “It was a mess. It’s still a mess. And it’s practically platinum.”
He gives me a long, slow once over. “Looks good on you.”
“Oh. Thanks. But I… uh… I prefer the lavender. Platinum is kinda trashy.”
“Looks punk rock on you.” He brushes a hair behind my ear. “Guess I should be used to that by now, Punk Rock Princess.”
My blush spreads to my chest. “You, uh… what kind of stir fry are we making?”
“Craving anything?”
You. “Ginger. Like last night.”
He nods to the fruit bowl. “Grab it for me.”
I do.
He shows me how to peel the ginger with a paring knife. How to grate it into tiny pieces and warm it with the oil.
How to chop carrots and broccoli and set the pan at just high enough to cook without burning.
How to test the shrimp is done, drain it, add it to the pan.
We add rice vinegar, garlic, fish sauce, sesame oil, scallions.
I don’t hate it.
Not even close.
Then we bring the plates to the table, and we taste our perfectly imperfect dish, and I fall completely in love.
With cooking.
And with Ryan too.
Chapter 20
Ryan
Finishing Leighton’s website takes until nearly two a.m. Not that we’re on task. We spend half our time talking about nothing. Or teasing each other. Or trying to prove some point about each other’s cover model worthiness by doing mock-up after mock-up.
I nail her bright smile.
She nails my “broody blue eyes.”
She drags me to the couch to watch Gone Girl, spends the entire movie talking about how the cheating husband got what was coming to him, and falls asleep in my lap.
I carry her to the bed, brush my teeth, wash my face, take out my contacts, lay down next to her.
Fall asleep next to her.
An obnoxious beep fills the room.
It goes again. Again. Again.
Fucking alarm.
I blink my eyes open. Squint at the bright light flowing through the window. Not that I can make anything out. I’m blind as a bat without my glasses.
Leighton’s fingers dig into my t-shirt as she stirs. Her eyelids flutter open. Her blue-green eyes meet mine. A dopey smile spreads across her face.
Then she snaps up, blinks, shakes her head like she just woke from a weird dream. “Shit.” She pulls her hand to her side, pushes herself up, slides out of bed. “What times is it?”
I reach for my cell. “Seven.”
“You get up at seven?”
“Not normally.”
“You set an alarm for me?”
What else would I do? “You have class at eight.”
“Oh. Thanks.” She smooths her sundress. “Am I really doing the walk of shame again?”
“Some of your shit is here. Check the closet.”
“Really?” Surprise drips into her voice.
“You’re the one who left it.”
“Thanks.” She moves to the closet, pulls the door open, pores over her options. She decides on something, but I’m not sure what it is beyond a black blur. “I’m gonna shower super-fast.”
“You want breakfast?”
“No. I should leave now.”
“Coffee?”
“I can get some on campus.”
Fuck that. But I don’t have time to object. She’s already out of the room. The bathroom door—the one across the hall—presses shut.
Clothes hit the floor.
The shower turns on.
I move through my morning routine, dress, fix her favorite French roast.
The shower turns off.
I press my back against the counter. Then my palms. There’s something about Leighton coming out of my shower, some intimacy there.
Different than before.
Fuck, last night was the first time another woman slept in that bed.
It was just sleep.
And we’re just friends.
But my head keeps blurring that line. It keeps beg
ging for more. For shit that can’t happen.
She steps into the hallway in a tight black dress. Her hair is dry but messy. Her face is bare.
She looks just as gorgeous without makeup.
But knowing no one else sees her like this…
Her cheeks flush as her eyes meet mine. She smooths her dress. Adjusts its straps. “It smells like coffee.”
“I can fill a thermos.”
“Thanks.” She moves to the dining table, takes a seat, digs through her messenger bag for her makeup. “I have more clothes here than I thought.”
“You want a drawer?”
“Oh.” She flips a compact mirror. Stares at her reflection as she lines her lips in red. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
I don’t.
But then I can’t offer her this either.
Not when she’s after some other guy.
Not when—
Fuck, my head hurts.
I stay busy filling a thermos with coffee, fixing it the way she likes. I find a second, fill it with what’s left, add a hint of cream and sugar.
It’s warm, rich, sweet, but it’s not satisfying.
Leighton swipes purple over her eyes. Outlines them in grey. Coats her lashes in black.
There’s an intimacy to this too.
Like she’s inviting me into her world.
I watched Penny get ready a million times. In the beginning, it felt like this.
Like she was mine.
But Leighton isn’t mine.
She isn’t gonna be mine.
I need to destroy that idea.
I down half my coffee in three gulps. Move to the table to hand Leighton hers.
She looks up at me with a blissful smile. “Thanks.” She takes a long sip and lets out a soft groan. “Mmm. Perfect.”
“We should go.”
Her gaze goes to the clock on the microwave. “Shit. You’re right.”
“You could have eaten breakfast instead of putting on makeup.”
“Girl’s got to have priorities.”
“Here.” I find one of those individually packed bags of nuts in the pantry. And a banana. Hand both to her.
“What do I do with this?”
“You want to get creative with it?”
“No. I…” Her cheeks flush. “You’re pushy.”
“That news?”
“No. But I didn’t realize you were this obsessed with feeding me.”
“Someone has to do it.”
She slides the snack into her bag, pushes herself up, slips on her shoes. “I’m glad it’s you.”
I want it to be more.
I want to keep waking up next to her.
To keep fixing her coffee, and cooking her dinner, and wrapping my arms around her.
I try to shake it off as I slide into my shoes, but the idea sticks in my head.
It gets brighter, bolder, bigger as we climb into my car.
I turn the key, let the latest pop hit masquerading as rock fill the car, pull onto the street.
Leighton takes another long sip of her coffee.
Her moan fills the car.
It drowns out the music.
And every one of my thoughts.
It takes every ounce of my attention to focus on driving. Santa Monica College is close, but traffic is already clogging the roads. It’s not as bad in the morning, especially not this early, but it’s enough to slow us down.
She lets out another low moan.
I stop at a light. “You fucking that or drinking it?”
“Can I really?” She draws a heart on the thermos. “Or could I skip right to marriage? This is like sex, Ryan.”
“It’s been too long since you’ve had sex.”
“That hurts coming from you.”
“Even I know coffee can’t compare to sex.”
“Maybe. Or maybe sex is overrated.”
I shake my head. “No fucking way.”
Her eyes meet mine.
“Nothing is better than sweaty, exhausting, can’t stop until she’s coming so hard you think she’s gonna pass out sex.”
Her cheeks flush. Her tongue slides over her lips as her eyes glide over my body.
It’s an I want to fuck you look.
I grab the nearest distraction. “Still say you’re wasting your time with this class.”
The lust in her eyes fades to something I can’t place. “I still say you don’t know what it’s like to start a business from scratch.”
That’s fair.
“Without rich parents to fall back on.”
“I haven’t taken their money since—”
“Who paid your tuition?”
“You want me to admit I have advantages having wealthy parents?”
She nods.
“Of course I do. And, yeah, there’s a safety to knowing they’ll bail me out of shit. But I haven’t taken money from them since I graduated.”
“I like working at Inked Hearts.”
“Forever?”
“Until I’m ready to leave. Not until you think I’m ready.” Her voice gets defensive.
My fingers curl around her wrist. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t push so hard. But you’re so fucking amazing, Leigh. I hate seeing you waste your time.”
“Even if it means I’m in your life more?”
“Even then.”
“Oh. Well. Thanks, I guess. But drop it.”
“All right. I won’t tell you to leave.”
“Good.”
“You can start designing while you work at Inked Hearts. You can moonlight forever.”
She shoots me a get real look. “That isn’t dropping it.”
“We made a deal. One month of you taking clients.”
“And?”
“And advertising. We posted on three forums.”
“I’m aware.”
“You get any interest?”
“I may have had some.”
“Leigh—”
“One person. That’s all.”
“You have to take it.”
“Maybe.”
“You already agreed to take it.” Though that isn’t going to buy me shit. If Leighton doesn’t want to do something, she won’t. End of story.
“But…” She takes a long sip of her coffee. “What if they hate my work?”
“They won’t.”
“What if they do?”
“You’re amazing.”
“You’re amazing. You still have unsatisfied customers from time to time.”
That’s true. Sometimes, you never manage to communicate with someone no matter how hard you try. “Give them a refund and refer them to someone else.”
“Maybe.”
“They’ll love it. I promise.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll tattoo bigger than Frank above my dick.”
She laughs. “You will not.”
“Will too.”
“No, I can’t allow you to mar your perfect body. But… Oh. How about this? You have to wear your glasses to work for a month.”
Fuck, that is a horrifying idea, as far as mildly horrifying ideas go. “All right. Fine.” I offer my hand.
She shakes. But she doesn’t look triumphant. More scared.
“We should celebrate this. And you finishing your class.” I want to celebrate her twenty-four seven. I want to celebrate everything she does.
“Maybe. Penny’s party is the next day.”
“You have it memorized?”
“Yeah. What’s with having a joint bachelor, bachelorette party?”
“It’s an excuse to get drunk.”
She laughs. “But isn’t the whole idea of a bachelor party so you can lament how awful it is to be tied to one woman forever?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You are a man.”
“All I wanted was to be tied to her forever.”
Her eyes turn down. “And now
?”
“I want that with someone. One day.”
“With her?”
“Fuck no.” The light turns green. I focus on the road. Two lanes all full of cars. Bright blue sky. Brown lawns and beige store fronts. “Someone else. Someone I can trust.”
“Are you ready to trust someone?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re honest with me.”
“I try.”
Her fingers brush my wrist. “That means a lot.”
“Same for you. I mean me. I mean—”
“I know.” She traces the lines of the ink on my forearm. “I think I trust you more than I trust anyone.”
“Yeah?” Traffic stops me. I turn to her. Stare into those blue-green eyes. She’s back to the Leighton everyone knows—dark makeup, fierce hair, tight dress, I’m friendly until you fuck with me smile.
But there’s something in her eyes.
A promise of more.
Or maybe a plea for it.
Or maybe I’m imaging shit.
I don’t know how any of this works anymore.
A car honks behind us.
“Oh. Ryan.” Leighton motions to the road.
Traffic is zooming. I hit the gas. Focus on driving the dozen blocks to school.
I pull up to a side street.
She lifts her bag into her lap. “Is it a fancy party?”
“Dean’s wearing a suit.”
“You have one?”
Somebody behind us honks. We’re parked in the loading zone. We’re the assholes fucking with the flow of traffic.
But I can’t bring myself to drive away.
I shake my head.
“You want my help picking one out?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Saturday. After work.” She pushes the door open, slides out, sets her bag on her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ryan.”
“You too.”
I watch her walk away.
I think about her every second of my drive home.
A ten-mile run does jack shit to clear my head.
Leighton isn’t gonna be mine.
Hell, as soon as this is over, she’s gonna be someone else’s.
I need to deal with that.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter 21
Leighton
I hold up a powder blue suit. “Color isn’t going to kill you.”
Ryan’s hair falls in front of his eyes as he shakes his head.
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