“Ry, I’m heading to Michael’s.” Sitting on the couch with a book in his hands and his feet propped on the coffee table, Ryan stiffens before slowly lowering his book to his lap. “Say that again for me.” “I’m heading to Michael’s.” “And who the fuck is Michael?” Huh? As realization hits me, I try my hardest not to laugh. Jealous Ryan is hot, so I’ll let this play out before admitting that Michael’s is the craft store where I buy my embroidery thread to cross-stitch.
