My head snaps up and I lock onto Ryan's eyes. Even as I feel anger rush through me, I also have a tremor of excitement over seeing him. I quickly take him in. He’s standing there with his hands tucked into his incredibly well fitting jeans’ pockets. His hair is perfectly mussed and hanging boyishly over his forehead.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
Even as pissed as I am at him, I'm surprised that the words come out as just merely curious and I'm glad. I don't want him to know he affected me the way he did.
Ryan frowns at me and it's clear on his face that he did, in fact, suspect he'd get anger from me. "I was hoping we could talk."
I look up and down my block, considering if I should just bolt forward into my run. But curiosity is getting me. "How long have you been here?"
"Since about 5:30 a.m."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Hard time sleeping?"
"Something like that," he murmurs. "I wanted to talk to you and I didn't want to miss you coming or going as I didn't know if you were working today, so I just decided to camp out."
That's interesting and should be slightly flattering he would do that to make sure he could see me. But I quickly tamp that feeling down. I will not fall back under his spell, I repeat to myself over and over again.
"Look, Ryan...you don't owe me any explanation or anything and frankly, I'm good. There's nothing to really talk about."
Anger flashes through those bourbon colored eyes. Score one for a direct hit.
"Didn't the other night mean anything to you?" he demands.
I c**k my head slightly at him because it’s certainly weird that he would be affronted by my lack of interest since he’s the one that didn’t call me as promised. "Didn't it mean anything to you?" I retort.
He runs his hand through his hair in a measure of frustration. Sighing, he whispers, "It meant more to me than even I suspected. That's why I need to talk to you."
Something about the earnestness in his words melts a little bit of the ice. He's not giving me a line and I sense it is important for him to tell me something so he can ease his burden. Why I am taking it upon myself to let him do so remains to be seen.
I sigh. "Fine. Do you want some coffee?"
"Sure. That would be great."
I turn and walk back into my building with Ryan on my heels. He doesn't say anything but that doesn't stop me from being painfully aware of his presence behind me. There’s like a disturbance in the atmosphere when I’m near him.
When I open the door and we walk into the apartment, I take off my jacket and throw it over the back of the couch. He follows me into the kitchen.
I pull out two cups and fill them up. I push his cup toward him and indicate cream and sugar which he declines. Just as he's taking a sip, I hear, "What the f**k is he doing here?"
I look behind me and Paula is standing there glaring daggers at Ryan. Not saying a word, my hand reaches out to her palm up. She turns her glare to me then grabs her purse off the counter, fishing around inside. Coming out, she quietly lays one cigarette in my palm. I stick it under the kitchen sink and soak it with water.
As I throw it into the garbage, I hear Paula say, "Pardon me. May I inquire as to what this gentleman is doing in our apartment?"
I glance over at Ryan and he's looking at Paula like she was the bearded lady in the circus...a mixture of grotesque curiosity and humor.
"He's here to talk for a few minutes. I'm choosing to indulge him." I pick up my coffee cup and walk into the living room. Taking a seat on the couch, I watch as Ryan folds his large frame into an old, tattered wicker chair. Our furniture is second hand and mismatched as all get out. Paula walks right in behind him and sits down next to me on the couch. She's still glaring at him and now he's glaring back at her.
"Paula...it’s fine. Give me a few minutes alone to talk to Ryan."
She reluctantly stands up and moves around the coffee table to leave. Pointing her finger at him she says, "I'm watching you, boy."
I can't help but snicker. Paula is five foot nothing and weights ninety pounds soaking wet. But boy can she be scary when she wants to. Ryan does nothing more than give a small nod of his head in her direction then turns his eyes to me.
I settle back into the cushions and take a sip of my coffee, watching him over the rim. He scrubs his hand through his hair which I now see is definitely a nervous gesture. It unsettles me that I immediately take note of how his hair slides forward, lying in gentle waves along the side of his temple and neck. I remember how soft it felt as I ran my own fingers through it not but a few days ago. I sigh at myself. I really need to let the hotness of Ryan go.
Leaning forward, Ryan puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands together. He looks at me and there is sorrow there. Here comes the apology and I try to steel myself against it.
But I’m caught off guard when he doesn't apologize. Instead, he says, "The morning after our date, I woke up thinking about you. And I was almost giddy with happiness." He gives me a small smile. "Then I went to hockey practice and one of my teammates called you a whore."
I flinch backward from the softness of his voice and the hurtfulness of his words. Why would someone view me that way?
Before I could say anything, Ryan continues,"I beat the shit out of him until he was bleeding all over the locker room floor."
Oh wow. I feel slightly vindicated. "Did you get in trouble?"