Yesterday, he had some free time before he had to go to the bar, so we met up for an early dinner at a sushi-go-round restaurant near my house. While we were eating, we made plans to go running again when I get off work today. So, I am quickly finishing up my end-of-shift routine so I can change before he gets here.
It's been a busy morning today, and I haven't had much time to stand around and think, which is good because I feel like I have been thinking too much lately. Jase told me to relax a bit, and that's what I am trying to do. I'm texting and hanging out with Ryan the way I would with any friend. But I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't something about him that intrigues me. Lately, I've been having that fluttering feeling in my stomach when he's around. I haven't had a relationship with a guy since high school, and I'm not sure that one even qualified.
I don't feel right even thinking about this. How can I? Plus, who would even want me if they even knew who I really was? I'm still a mess, and that damn bell above the front door reminds me of it every time someone opens it.
Jase brought up calling the detective the other day. He has never mentioned it before, but he said he never wanted to because he knew I wasn't ready. I'm not sure why he thinks I'm ready now. I'm not. I don't want to be. All I want is to lock that horrific memory up and burn it to ashes, not be forced to relive it over and over for others to hear. I told Jase to drop it, told him it would never happen, so he didn't say another word about it.
"Hey Roxy, I'm gonna go to the back to restock a few things before I leave, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks," she says over the hissing of the steamer.
I grab a box cutter and start opening boxes of flavored syrups and stocking the shelves. When I move on to the sugar boxes, I see Roxy come through the door with a huge smile on her face.
"So, that hot-ass guy is back and asking for you."
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by scraps of cardboard boxes, I say, "His name is Ryan."
"Well then, that hot-ass guy, Ryan, is here for you," she says teasingly with her hands on her hips.
"Thanks. Can you tell him to give me ten minutes?"
"You guys have a date or something?"
Standing up, I say, "What? No! He's just a friend."
"Mmm hmm." Roxy turns on her heel to walk back out to the front, and I pick up my bag and go to the bathroom to change into my running clothes.
When I walk out, Ryan is chatting with Roxy. He looks up at me as I'm walking over to him and says, "Hey."
"What are you guys talking about?"
"Your friend, Ryan, was asking about my tattoos." I silently thank her for leaving out the hot-ass part.
Ryan takes a step towards me and asks, "You ready?"
"Yeah, I just need to put my bag in my car."
Reaching out, he takes the bag out of my hand and starts walking to my car. I say 'bye' to Roxy as I follow him out.
I zip my keys up in the pocket of my running jacket, and we take off for our run from the parking lot. We head around the perimeter of campus before making our way through a few neighborhoods. I am mostly quiet as I listen to Ryan talk about work and the new bands that have been playing there during the week. Turns out that we pretty much have the same taste in music, and I find his reaction funny each time he discovers I like another one of his favorite bands.
We start making our way through some streets we haven't gone down before. I follow him and keep my pace by his side. My throat is beginning to dry out when I realize that neither of us brought any water, and I know we've already run at least three miles. I am more quiet than normal, and I'm sure Ryan notices when he turns his head and asks, "You okay?"
"I'm thirsty. We forgot water."
"No worries," he says as he picks up the pace, and we turn down another unfamiliar street.
I don't have time to question him when he slows down and starts walking up a driveway to a three-story building.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting you some water. Come on," he says while nodding his head toward the building.
I walk a few steps behind him, and he pulls out a key fob from his pocket. When he clicks the button, the garage begins to open.
"Do you own this building or something?" I ask.
Ryan turns back to look at me and grins. "This is my loft. I live here."
"Oh," I mumble, but I stop following him, not really wanting to go into his home. I try hard to control the anxiety that begin to race through me. I have been spending a lot of time with him and feel like he is trustworthy, but I can't seem to shake my nerves right now.
He motions for me to come, and I don't want him to think I'm some sort of basket case, so I swallow back my apprehension and follow him into the garage to the staircase leading up to the loft.
When we reach the top of the stairs, he unlocks the door, and we head inside to the large open space. The main room is completely open with a large kitchen along the back wall of exposed brick. The finishes in the kitchen are industrial and sleek, and two of the walls are lined with floor to ceiling windows. There are exposed beams on the ceiling, and the wooden floors are a rich wide-planked espresso. I wonder how he came to own a place like this; the square footage alone would cost a fortune.
"Here you go," he says as he walks back to me and hands me a bottle of water.
I take a sip and say, "This is a great place. How long have you lived here?"