I stare at him.
Realization clicks. He sits straight up, sending the sheets flying. “Shit! Fuck! The interview.” His face contorts into an apologetic mask. “Baby — I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. Linc kept me out way later than I wanted to be. It was past three by the time we got home. I know that’s no excuse for dropping the ball. I’m just— fuck, I’m so sorry, Felicity.”
He sounds so contrite — so much like the Ryder I remember, the Ryder I fell in love with — that some of my anger dissipates. Still, I stand with my arms crossed over my chest, watching him warily.
“Baby…”
“You know I get nervous during interviews,” I say after a long moment. I hate how small my voice sounds.
“I know. God, I’m such a dick.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking distraught. “I just lost track of time…”
“It’s okay.” I shrug lightly, trying to let go of the stiffness locking my joints in place. “I covered for you. Said you have laryngitis. So, if you’re out later, I’d recommend not yelling at the top of your lungs in front of anyone taking Snapchat videos.”
He stares at me, his blue-brown irises brimming with contrition. “Come here,” he pleads, his voice soft.
I take a few steps, but stay carefully out of his reach.
“Closer,” he begs.
One more step.
“Closer than that, baby.” He grins, looking so handsome in the mid-morning light, his bare skin bronze against the crisp white sheets.
I feel some of the ice inside my veins thaw as I edge one more step toward the bed. Before I can dodge him, he springs into motion — leaping off the mattress, hooking me around the waist, and tackling me to the pillows with a playful roar.
I laugh and beat at his shoulders. “Get off me, you barbarian!”
He tickles my sides, tugs up the bottom hem of my shirt, and blows a huge raspberry on my stomach.
I scream with laughter, tears gathering in my eyes.
“Stop!” I gasp. “I surrender! I surrender!”
He brings his face to mine, eyes red-rimmed but full of lazy warmth.
“Forgive me?” he asks, brushing our lips together.
“Always,” I murmur, craning up to kiss him harder, deeper, longer.
Wishing that word didn’t feel like such a lie.
* * *
By the timethe launch party rolls around a few weeks later, the tense feeling simmering inside me has reached a boil. I’m constantly on edge and I’m not even sure why. Nothing is wrong, per se. And yet, I can’t stop flinching in preparation for whatever shoe is about to drop on my life, crushing me flat against the earth.
I’m in the bathroom getting ready to head to the beautiful rooftop venue Route 66 has leased out for the Wildwood launch party, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. Ryder graciously relinquished the master bathroom to me, getting ready in Aiden and Linc’s so I have room to maneuver.
I’ve never been to an event like this. I didn’t even attend my high school prom. I’m not sure what to expect, or whether I’m dressed appropriately, or what the heck I’m supposed to put in the tiny, matching clutch purse the woman at the store insisted I purchase when I bought my dress last week.
My nonexistent cellphone? Keys to the car I don’t have?
Carly would know.
If she were here, she’d do her spirit-guide routine, telling me exactly what to expect while somehow putting me completely at ease. I miss her so much, these days. Especially when I try to talk to Francesca who, while very nice, possesses a rather stiff, robotic quality that discourages bonding.
My hands shake so hard with nerves as I put my teardrop earring in, I end up dropping it. It falls with a tiny clatter and rolls beneath the vanity, out of reach. Heaving a heavy sigh, I hike my dress up so it doesn’t drag on the floor as I bend to retrieve it.
My fingers fumble around blindly for a moment before finally grazing something. Brow wrinkling, I pull out the unfamiliar black toiletry bag. It must be Ryder’s — the other boys share their own bathroom, on the other side of the loft. Thinking he must’ve dropped it, I set it on the edge of the vanity and bend back down to continue my search for the lost earring.