“Really?” I wave the menswear back and forth. “This is fatal?”
“I’m not going to an eighties prom.”
I point to the black slacks folded over his arm. “It’s a beach wedding.”
“You ever see me wear anything but black?”
“Once you wore grey.”
“Black shirt that got faded.”
“I’ve seen your closet.”
“No shit. I gave you a drawer.”
“In your black dresser, yes. Next to your black desk. And your black sheets. And your black blackout curtains. And if there were black lights that weren’t actually purple stoner lights, I’m sure you’d have those.”
“Black absorbs light,” he deadpans.
The joke knocks me off course. It warms my chest. Sends butterflies to my stomach. “So not my point.”
“Yeah.” He chuckles. “But the truth.”
“You have non-black clothes in there.”
“Prove it.”
“You sound like Dean.”
“Where do you think he learned that shit?”
I can’t help but laugh. “There were bright colors in there.”
He shoots me a look get real.
I set the powder blue suit on the rack. It is a little eighties. Okay, really eighties. “How about navy?” I move to the next rack. Pick up a classy suit in a perfect soft navy. “It will bring out your eyes.”
“So will black.”
Like his glasses. Mmm, Ryan in glasses. Ryan in nothing but glasses. Ryan in nothing.
Ahem.
I shake it off. Move to another rack. The air conditioner’s hum drowns out the elevator music. It’s quiet in the menswear section. We’re the only customers here.
“This is perfect.” Ryan holds up the black suit.
“You’ll look like you’re going to a funeral.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Oh.” Frustration slips into my voice.
“Not like that, Leigh.”
I swallow hard. “Like what?”
The guy behind the counter motions to us need help?
I wave him over.
Ryan shoots me a look. Was that necessary?
I nod.
He moves close enough to whisper. “I feel a little less sick every time I see her.” He runs his thumb over the soft black wool. “Part of me wants her to marry him.”
“Part?”
“More every day.” His breath warms my ear. “Three weeks and it could be all of me. This could be the end of her hold on me.”
Or he could stand up during the ceremony and say I know why you can’t wed. I still love you. And they could ride into the sunset together.
“Can I help you find anything?” The salesguy flashes us a serene smile.
“Yes, thanks. Can you convince my…” What the hell do I call Ryan? “Can you convince him he shouldn’t wear black to a beach wedding?”
“It’s whatever the bride wants,” the salesguy says. “You must be used to that by now.”
“No, we’re not.” I swallow hard. “It’s not our—”
Ryan laughs at my nervousness. “All right. If you insist, baby. I’ll try a grey suit.”
“Excellent.” The salesguy turns to me. “Please, have a seat. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of.” He whisks Ryan toward the dressing room.
I settle onto the plush blue couch. Stare into the three-panel mirror. Between the smoky eye, the soft purple hair, and the raspberry lips, I do look every part the punk rock princess.
But it doesn’t satisfy me the way it usually does.
Looking hot and tough isn’t enough.
I want to feel safe, strong, desired, competent. My website is finished. It’s ready. But I’m not.
I’m not ready to leave the security of Inked Hearts. To ask people to part with their money for my designs.
To give up seeing Ryan every day.
“Ms. Black, he’s ready for you.” The salesman offers me his hand.
I nod a thanks and follow him into the dressing room.
“Usually, we don’t allow women in here, but seeing as how we’re empty, I can make an exception.” He winks at me. Keep this between us and buy something really expensive to thank me in commission form.
I shoot him my best smile then step into the dressing room.
My jaw hits the floor.
Ryan.
In.
A.
Suit.
He…
I…
Uh…
He runs a hand through his wavy hair. “That bad?”
“No.” I shake my head. Study every detail of him—the grey jacket hugging his shoulders, the white oxford shirt snug against his chest, the black belt securing his slacks to his hips.
The shiny black dress shoes.
Like he’s ready to stand at the altar next to me.
I mean…
He…
Uh… “You look perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Too perfect.
He picks up the lilac tie draped over a hook. “Can’t remember how to put this on.”
“I do.”
“An ex?” He hands over the tie.
My fingers brush his as I take it. “My first serving job.” I slide the short end under his collar and loop it twice.
“Bet you looked adorable.”
“Definitely not.”
“Too bad I can’t beg your mom for pics.”
I wrap the short end around the long end. “You can. She’ll give you anything for a bottle of vodka.”
“Leigh—”
“I’m not going there. Don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I mean.” His eyelids press together as my fingers brush his neck. “You want to talk, I’m here. Always”
I tie the knot. Slide it up his chest. “Another time.” We’re close. Barely inches apart. My palm stays flat against his chest. My other hand goes to his hip. “I don’t like talking about her.” My fingers curl into his belt loop.
“When’d you rock a tie?”
“High school?”
“What were you like then?”
“Younger.”
His chuckle is soft. “Not what I mean.”
My fingers climb up his chest. Brush his shoulder. “I was the same as I am now. But more naïve. Worse with my makeup. Shit at bleaching my hair.”
“I can’t imagine you naïve.”
“I wanted to believe in people. Guys who said they loved me, mostly.”
“You love any of them?”
“I thought so. But now… no. I know what love feels like and it’s not that.”
His eyes turn down. “You love…”
I swallow hard. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Yeah, it is.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “Don’t handle me with kid gloves.”
I shake my head.
He nods. “You’ve changed in the two years I’ve known you.”
“How?”
His fingers skim my neck. “You don’t walk around with the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“I guess not.”
“You smile a hell of a lot more.”
“Or maybe I smile more around you.”
“Maybe. But when we first met you were the Ryan.”
I laugh. “You have a good sense of humor about being miserable.”
“I have to.”
My voice drops to a whisper. “You smile more too.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re happier?”
He nods.
“Because you’re getting over her?”
“I am. But that’s not it.”
I stare up into his eyes. “Then why?”
“Leigh…” His fingers curl into my hair.
My eyelids press together.
He cups my cheek with his palm. Runs his thumb over my temple.
“Say it.”
“Leigh…” His other hand goes to the small of my back. H
e pulls my body into his. “You know I can’t.”
“Please.” I lean into his touch. “Please, Ryan.”
“You.” His voice is sweet. “It’s all you.”
I rise to my tiptoes.
His lips find mine.
It’s soft.
Then harder.
My lips part to make way for his tongue.
He backs me into the wall. Holds my body against his as he pins me.
As his tongue dances with mine.
He tastes good.
Like mint and like Ryan.
It’s different than our other kisses. Deeper. Realer. Better.
So much better.
My fingers dig into his skin.
His hips rock against mine.
His hard-on presses against my pelvis.
He pulls back with a heavy sigh.
I blink my eyes open.
But he’s not staring back at me with joy or need or animal lust.
Those beautiful baby blues are filled with one thing:
Regret.
Chapter 22
Ryan
Every molecule in my body is begging for Leighton.
I want to tear off that dress.
I want to plant my face between her legs.
I want to pin her to the wall and fuck her senseless.
But none of that is in the cards.
She isn’t mine.
I’m not about to fall for a woman in love with someone else. Not again.
Her blue-green eyes fill with hurt as she stares up at me.
But there’s nothing I can say to fix that.
Nothing I can say to change things.
Even so, words find their way to my lips. “I’m sorry.”
She blinks and a tear catches on her lashes. Her gaze goes to the floor. She steps sideways. “I’ll let you get dressed.”
“Leigh.” Stay. Talk to me. Tell me it’s me. That there isn’t another guy. That there’s only me.
She responds by pulling the door open.
Her footsteps move through the hall.
I strip, hang the suit, change into my street clothes, pay.
But she isn’t in the main room.
She isn’t in the department store.
She isn’t in the parking garage.
She’s gone.
Ryan: Talk to me.
I spar until the dojo closes. I shower. I fix dinner.
My cell stays silent.
All night.
All morning.
She’s there, behind the counter, when I get to Inked Hearts. Her eyes meet mine for a second then they go to the shop computer.
Dean shoots me a what the fuck did you do look.
I wave him off. Wash my hands. Wait impatiently for my eleven o’clock. Turn all my attention to his classic pinup tattoo.
But she’s there when he checks out.
She smiles her usual oh, please do go on about whatever you’d like to discuss, you’re just so interesting smile. Twirls her purple hair around her pointer finger. Presses her tits together as she hands over his receipt.
I walk him out.
Go back to the counter. “Leigh.”
Her eyes stay on the computer.
“We’re supposed to be adults about this.”
“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. What else is there to say?”
“Are you?”
“What?” Her voice is curt.
“Sorry?”
Her lip corners turn down. Her eyes scream no. But still, she nods. “I let the line blur. I won’t do it again.” She turns her entire body away from mine.
She might as well scream leave me alone.
I know her well enough to know there’s no sense in arguing.
She’s hurt.
She’s insisting it was a mistake.
She’s in love with someone else.
Fuck, something doesn’t add up.
I try to find an explanation in my suite, but there’s nothing. I’m still cursed with an inability to understand women.
Or maybe I’m just unable to understand women I care about.
We’re quiet all day.
She leaves without saying goodbye.
It’s the same all week. All business, no pleasure. No teasing her, or watching her eyes light up as she smiles, or laughing at the way she roasts me at every fucking opportunity.
I still bring her lunch.
And she still eats it.
And taking care of her still satisfies me in a way nothing else does.
But everything else stays fucked.
Chapter 23
Leighton
After I get off work Friday, I run until my legs are aching. I get home. Shower. Grab street tacos from my favorite truck. Eat them at my desk.
This is design round three. There are little things that need changing, but it’s nearly done. It’s a few tweaks from perfection.
And the client is happy.
It feels good, creating something out of nothing, meeting a challenge.
My hands move by instinct. I reach for my cell. Tap a text to Ryan.
Leighton: I finished my first design. What do you think?
But we aren’t talking.
I… I’m not talking to him.
I’m running from my feelings again.
I delete the text. Consider calling Iris. But that also means facing my feels. Putting them into words. Figuring this out.
I will do that.
Eventually.
I turn off my cell and drag myself to the couch—it’s too far from the window and its amazing breeze. But there’s nothing I want to watch.
Streaming bad TV is no fun alone.
Romantic comedies are salt in the wound.
I settle on a juicy thriller, but it’s not the same without Ryan here.
I used to spend all my free time watching movies and TV. But now it feels like I need him here to enjoy pulpy twists and turns.
Maybe I just need him.
I fall asleep on the couch. Wake up to two more requests for covers.
After a run and a shower and a cereal breakfast, I pour myself into work. And I don’t stop until I absolutely have to get ready for Penny’s party.
I have to face my feelings.
I have to fix this with Ryan.
I have to tell him.
But, fuck, I have no idea how to do that.
Chapter 24
Ryan
Moonlight bounces off purple hair as she steps onto the concrete.
She looks fucking perfect with her fancy updo and her soft makeup. It’s not a Leighton I see often, a formal version of the punk rock princess.
She’s as beautiful as always.
And as irresistible. Her black dress hugs her curves like it was made for them.
Her silver nails dig into her black bag. “Someone had to do it.”
I arch a brow.
“Wear all black.”
My shoulders relax. I need her smile. I need her teasing me. I need this awkwardness gone. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” She moves down the walkway. “You look great too.”
“Thanks.”
“Really. It’s weird though, seeing you in a suit.”
It’s bizarre, being in a suit.
But it can’t compare to the distance between us.
To the memory of her lips on mine.
Of that groan bouncing around the dressing room.
We still haven’t talked about the kiss.
That’s a million times weirder than dressing like someone else.
I tap the key fob to unlock the door for her. She moves around the car, slides into the passenger’s seat before I get the chance to open the door for her.
I get into the driver’s seat, click my seatbelt, turn the car on.
Melancholy music fills the car. I’ve been listening to this shit all week.
I’ve been a mess all week.
I can’t stand it.
She clicks her seat
belt. Sets her purse in her lap. “It’s in Beverly Hills?”
“Yeah.” I pull onto the street. “Shouldn’t be much traffic at this time.”
She nods sure.
The singer croons about the agony of lost love.
I try to focus on the street and the wall between us. By the time I cross the freeway, it’s helpless.
It’s a perfect summer night—seventy and breezy—but the car is freezing cold.
“It’s making me sick.” I stop at a red light. “That you aren’t talking to me.”
“I’m just busy.”
My eyes find hers. “Bullshit.”
“No.” She refuses to hold my gaze. “I did that first design.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m just working really hard to make it perfect. And then I got my second client. And my third one. And I, uh… I’m busy.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Leigh—”
She presses her lips together.
“You asked me not to lock you out.”
“I know.”
“Don’t lock me out either.”
She turns to me. For a second, her eyes meet mine. Then they go to my chest. She reaches over the dash to undo my tie. “You didn’t quite—” She pulls the knot tight. “There.”
“Leigh.”
“The light’s green.”
It is. I turn to the road. Tap the gas. Glide down Santa Monica Boulevard.
Her voice is soft. Frustrated. “I don’t know what to say.”
“The truth.”
“I will. later.”
“Later?”
She nods. “Soon. I promise.”
What the hell? “Let’s go somewhere. Talk. I have all night.”
She motions to the road. “We’re almost there.”
“I can blow this off. You’re more important.”
“Than your closure?” She crosses her legs. Smooths her dress. “I don’t think so.”
She’s more important than closure.
Than anything.
That hole in my gut isn’t as deep. I can think of Penny without my throat closing. I can picture her and Frank without going numb.
But thinking of losing Leighton—
My fingers curl into the steering wheel.
I breeze through a green light. Stare at the clear road. Suck a shallow breath between my teeth.
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