“Look, this isn’t who I am, it’s just what Ido,” he tries to sway me.
“It’s okay Ryan, I’m okay. Just go to workand we can talk later.”
“When am I going to see you again?” He slantshis body into mine, his scent overtaking me. It’s a mixture ofsweet and spicy and Ryan.
“Sunday?” I mutter.
He gives me a dissatisfied stare.
“Saturday,” he tries to negotiate.
“Sunday,” I hold firm. Even though three daysaway from him feels like an eternity; I need the time to wrap myhead around things.
“Morning,” he stipulates.
I roll my eyes and hold out on my answer.
“Alana,” his voice is pressing.
“Fine,” I smirk.
“You have a good game face counselor.”
I know, I think to myself with asmile.
“I like that expression much better,” heleans in and kisses me, and it’s that slow, scorching kiss thatmakes me want to rip his clothes off right on the street.
“Sunday,” I whisper breathily against hismouth.
“Morning,” he denotes, looking fiercely intomy eyes, then he steps aside.
I walk off, away from the club, away fromRyan, and away from the screaming fan girls who are about to pawall over my man.
Fucking Christ, how am I ever going to dealwith this?
I know tonight I’m going to dream of RyanPierce.
And have nightmares about Jack theStripper.
I skip down thecurved staircase of my childhood home, preoccupied with diggingthrough my purse. My grandfather built the colonial in the late1970s and left it to my father and Uncle John in his will. Theydebated selling it and splitting the profits, but in the end theyjust couldn’t seem to let it go. So my father bought out my uncleand it became our family home. My parents did some contemporaryupgrades as the home grew older, but the outside is almost exactlythe same; large wraparound porch with an adjoining gazebo and lightgray siding with white window trim. I love this house, and not onlybecause of the nostalgia. My mother put so much warmth and loveinto it, you’d never know it’s home to two emotional recluses.
When I get to the bottom floor I slamsmack-dab into my father.
He looks down at me with that vacant stare,as if I’m not even really there. “Alana.”
“Daddy.” I look up at him as I pull my bagtightly to my shoulder.
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m meeting Emily for lunch at the beachclub.” I lie.
He nods.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time in thecity,” he states.
“Um, yes.”
There’s a stretch of silence. I think I’mstarting to sweat.