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When did I say that? I’m a romance reader. I have a thing for assholes.
“We aren’t into bras?” “We? I personally don’t love wearing one with my pajamas, but you do you.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Judgment free zone.”
“Ever hear the phrase ‘she’s not like other girls’?” He gives a small nod of his head. “Yeah, that’s not me. I’m just like every other chick. As basic as they come. I had an Uggs phase. I had a skinny jeans phase. I like my books with romance, my coffee with more creamer than caffeine, and I even take aesthetic pictures of my food anytime I’m at a restaurant.”
It’s decided. I’m going to bring some color into Ryan Shay’s life if it’s the last thing I do.
“Stop looking at her,” I warn. “Go hit the showers or get to the airport or just about anything other than look at her. She’s not available.”
“Do you want me to get on my knees and beg or something?”
“Go get me your key so I can go crash in my new expensive bed.” “What an amazing guy to buy you a bed. Probably makes you want to return a favor. He seems like a wonderful person.” Indy rolls her eyes. “He’s on my shit list at the moment.”
“If you see me across the room, talking to another man, I need you to stare intently then flare your nostrils. Or grind your molars together and tic your jaw.” “Blue—” “Do you know how to growl?” “What?” “Yeah, I don’t really know what that’s supposed to sound like, but every one of my book boyfriends is big into growling. Oh! And can you darken your eyes?” “Darken my eyes?” “Yeah. When you pretend to get angry or act really turned on, can you darken your eyes?” “No, I can’t fucking darken my eyes. What the hell are you reading?”
This isn’t one of my romance books. This isn’t a fairy tale. And even if it were, I’d be the worst main character because I am nowhere near able to feel anything other than broken even for this man who is sexy and controlling in his own way.
I want her here. I want her to want to be here. Fuck, when did that happen?
Zanders folds over his steering wheel in laughter. “Ryan, my guy, you’re so completely fucked, and you can’t even see it.”
He’s getting good at this fake boyfriend thing, and if I don’t keep reminding my romantic heart of exactly what this is, I’m going to be in trouble.
She inhales deeply. “Ryan?” “Hmm?” “Why do you smell like coconut?”
As if every last feminist bone has left my body, I melt into him.
“Ry.” I stop him at his door. He looks back to me, eyes desperate and begging. “Will you help me?” His head falls back, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Fucking finally.”
Looking down, I find the bright pink toothbrush still in my hand. My romantic brain played this out a lot differently. Maybe this confession would come in the middle of a rainstorm or announced publicly in front of millions of people. Not while I’m holding my toothbrush in the middle of my best friend’s apartment.
“You know that jersey you’ve got with my last name on it? When you see it hanging there in your closet, let it serve as a reminder to you, that soon enough, it’ll be her last name too.”
