Chapter 35 – pippa
PIPPA
The pillow feels hot under my cheek. I turn it over, seeking out that cool pillow feeling, but it’s still too warm from the last time I flipped it. I groan, the sound filling the bedroom. I’ve spent hours turning over in bed, chasing sleep. All that time, and sleep hasn’t gotten any closer.
My blood has been rushing through my body like I’ve been downing caffeine all day.
Pent-up energy swells in my limbs. I want to get up and pace instead of lie down to sleep, even though I know I’ll regret it in the morning if I don’t sleep.
I’m just too twitchy and erratic, all too aware of the man down the hall.
I heard the elevator door ding when Ryan came back early from his poker tournament.
I put on my noise-canceling headphones so I didn’t have to listen to his purposefully loud smoothie-making session.
Blasting music might have kept the sound out, but it didn’t do anything to quell the knowledge that he was there.
On top of everything else, my period chose today to show up, which puts soreness and mood swings on my list of life obstacles. Today sucks, and if I don’t get any sleep, tomorrow’s going to feel even worse.
So what do I do? I lie in the dark and try to do the thing any sensible woman would do right now: imagine my immediate future without him in it.
Try to get amped up for it.
I picture the morning. I still make coffee, still snuggle with Waffles, still drag out my laptop to write about other people’s love stories instead of my own. At first, it almost works. Then my brain hits a snag on the smallest details. Who will be there to top off my coffee?
To turn up the heat when I shiver?
Every future I try to storyboard has a Ryan-shaped blank space cut out of it. I can fill it with someone like Jacob, but the edges will never properly line up. It’s like trying to paste a different sky over a photo; the lighting will never entirely match.
I throw off the covers and hop to my feet. My body hums with gratitude—it feels ready to use all that pent-up energy for something like a nice five-mile run. It’ll have to settle for a walk to the kitchen for a glass of water.
Fortunately, the apartment is dark and empty when I venture down the hall. I was half-afraid that Ryan would be camped out in a chair, waiting for me in the dark like some creep from a horror movie.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it.
The first sip of water feels so refreshing, I practically down the entire glass.
Maybe I can blame the reason I feel so shitty on dehydration instead of heartbreak.
It’s way easier to refill your electrolytes than it is to somehow undo the last day of my life.
Make that month. What the hell, might as well go back years, past that stupid high school kiss, back to the day Mom first went out on a date with Jack.
A mechanical whoosh interrupts my thoughts—the elevator doors.
Who the fuck is coming to our apartment at this hour of the night?
Maybe it’s one of the guys. Maybe I didn’t hear Ryan slipping back downstairs at some point. Whoever it is, I know that I don’t want to talk to them. I slink back to the back of the kitchen, behind the open pantry door.
“Ryan?” a female voice calls out. “Ryan, are you awake?”
A light switches on in the foyer, a small lamp you’d have to be familiar with the apartment to find.
I hear the clack of heels and the soft noise of a rolling suitcase.
Then she comes into view, a gorgeous blonde in a charcoal and red flight attendant uniform.
Whoever this is, she had her own key card to take the elevator, and she knows the apartment well.
Because she’s beautiful and because Ryan’s Ryan, all signs point to hookup.
My stomach sinks. He didn’t even wait for me to move out to invite another woman over. I grip my glass of water tight and pray she doesn’t see me. If I’m lucky, she’ll go right to Ryan’s room, and let me sneak back to bed to cry myself to sleep.
“Ryan!” she says again, but this time in greeting.
From around the door, I see him emerging from his bedroom, and it hurts to see him in the usual low-slung pajama pants.
He’s far from the light she turned on, the blue light from the windows illuminating the lines of his lean body.
His hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it, like he’s been pulling at it all day.
“Petra?” he says groggily.
She grins and heads straight toward him, her hands going right to his chest. My heart squeezes tight, seeing another woman touch him so familiarly. I should look away, but I can’t. Some cruel, messed up part of me has to watch this happen.
So I see it when Ryan takes a step back from her.
“I just got in from Chicago,” she says, oblivious. “I’ve been on my feet for hours, and I need you to kiss me better.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me you got a girlfriend since the last time I saw you.”
She reaches for the string on his pajama pants, but he pulls back again. “I’m just not looking for anything casual right now. Sorry, if I’d known you were coming, I would have told you. But you need to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
“But I always spend the night when I’m in town. I didn’t book a hotel or anything. Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan messes with his hair. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here. I’d offer you the guest room, but my stepsister’s staying there.”
Her hands go to her hips. “So it’s true, what they’re saying about the two of you. You are screwing each other.”
The acid in her tone makes me flinch. She says it with such disgust, like she’s looking at a squashed bug or something.
Ryan ignores it. “There are same-day hotel apps you can use to find a room. Send me a Venmo request if you need to.” His voice isn’t unkind, but it’s firm.
“How long has she been spreading her legs for you?” Petra snaps. “Must’ve been nice for you, always having a slut on call. You didn’t care that she was your fucking sister—”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ice drips from every word. “Don’t you dare say another word about her, because she didn’t do a goddamn thing wrong.”
Petra laughs cruelly. “Can’t handle the truth, huh?”
“Give me your key card. I don’t want you coming back here, ever.”
“So you’d really rather stick your dick in that desperate whore than—”
“Get out,” Ryan growls. “There’s only one desperate woman in this apartment, and it’s you. You are nothing to me. Go, before I call security.”
I can’t see his face, but it must be scary, because Petra doesn’t say another word. I hear her fumble with something, and a moment later, the elevator doors open. She rolls her suitcase into it, then, mercifully, she’s gone.
Ryan groans. I say a silent prayer that he’ll go back to his room before he sees me, but apparently god hates me, because the ice machine in his freezer chooses that moment to refill itself. Ryan’s eyes flash over to the kitchen, and he sees me in the shadows.
“Pippa? Is that you?”
My face burns with embarrassment. I take a few steps forward and hold up my glass. “Sorry. I was just getting some water. I didn’t mean…”
I trail off and Ryan sighs. “So you heard all that.”
“Yeah. Thanks for defending me,” I say awkwardly. “Even though I’m not sure why you’d bother.”
Ryan doesn’t answer. He just walks over to the couch and collapses onto it, hanging his head in his hands. He just sits there silently, like I’m not even there. I could go back to my room, but something about his body language looks broken.
“You could just say ‘you’re welcome,’” I joke weakly.
No answer. No arguments, no banter. It’s like he’s not even Ryan—like he got replaced by some imposter who can resist picking apart everything I say.
It’s scary, honestly.
I put down my glass and take a seat next to him, careful to leave space between us. “Are you alright?” I ask.
“No.”
The word sounds hollow. I bite my lip, not sure what I should say next. “You got back from the tournament early.”
He laughs bitterly. “I lost. Badly. My worst tournament ever.”
“I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”
He lets his hands fall from his face, but he doesn’t look over at me. “There’s another game in a few days. Maybe I can do better, if I find a way to keep my head on straight. But I don’t think that’s happening.”
My heart thuds dully. It’s like I can feel his anguish, echoing in my body.
I should walk away from him—he’s not my problem to fix.
There are dozens of flight attendants and grad students and waitresses out there who think that Ryan belongs to them.
I hate myself for caving so easily, but I can’t help it.
I run my fingers through his hair, copying the motion he always does to soothe himself.
He doesn’t stop me, so I do it again, grazing my nails against his skull.
Then I don’t know if it’s me pulling him closer or him leaning in to my touch, but he lays his head on my lap, pulling his legs up while I keep gently stroking his hair. The cloud of angst hovering over him doesn’t get any lighter, but now it’s shared.
“You’ll figure it out, Ryan. Like you said, there are other tournaments, and you’re a great player. One loss isn’t that big of a deal.”
He turns his head toward my thigh, like he’s burrowing into me. “That depends on what you’re losing.”
The words send a pang through my chest, and I can feel what he means.
We’ve both lost something much bigger.
Ryan shifts slightly, and his lips accidentally graze my thigh. I can’t hold back my breathy gasp, or the way my hand falters on its way through his hair. He freezes, seeing my reaction. Then, he does it again, this time purposefully pressing a feather-light kiss to my skin.
God, I should be smarter than this. I should stop him when he kisses a path up my thigh, each time with more pressure.
When I don’t, he grips my hips in his hand, moving me until I’m lying down and he’s crawling over top of me.
In my short pajamas and cami top, I’m exposed to the hot brush of his skin against mine.
It feels so natural. My body sings at being under him again, my hips grinding against his while he kisses my neck. His musky, familiar scent surrounds me, and I never want this to end. I never want him to stop kissing me.
Which is why I have to be the one to stop this. I told Cat that I would put myself first, that I would put distance between Ryan and me now that he’s admitted he can’t give me the relationship I need. He might care about me, but that doesn’t mean he treats me with it.
If I keep up the physical part of our relationship, I’ll end up giving him my heart, and he won’t be able to hold the weight of it in his clumsy hands. It’ll only shatter when he lets it drop. It’s beyond stupid to let this keep going.
Yet I squeeze my eyes shut and pull his mouth to mine. In a few days, I’ll be gone. So I’ll be stupid one last time.
He grabs the hem of my cami and yanks it over my head, looking down hungrily at my exposed skin. When he reaches for my pajama shorts, I stop him, remembering.
“Wait. I’m on my period,” I whisper.
Ryan laughs. “You think that would stop me, Pips? As if I’d care about a little blood.
Besides, sex can help with period cramps, right?
That’s what you said in one of your articles.
” My heart trips over his words. I remember that article.
Ingrid made me give it a stupid listicle headline and put in so many puns I almost asked to take my name off it.
Ryan still read it, and he remembers it.
It makes me want to close my eyes and say yes—yes to anything.
Ryan’s eyes are dark and hungry, and I know without a doubt that I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed. Ryan would treat me just the same today as he ever would, but it’s too much for me. I’m too sensitive, physically and emotionally. “I can’t.”
He lowers his head so his forehead touches mine. “Please, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
I just shake my head. Ryan sighs heavily.
“I have to make it up to you, Pippa. Please, let me. I know I fucked up. At New Year’s, I couldn’t stand seeing another guy touch you. It made me fucking insane, because I want you all to myself.”
I hate the way that makes my traitorous heart clench. My eyes squeeze shut, because it hurts too fucking much to look at his face, open and vulnerable like it’s never been before.
“Please.” Ryan’s voice breaks on the word. “Can’t you see what you’re doing to me? Can’t you see how much I—”
He stops. Even now, he still can’t say it. It doesn’t matter how Ryan feels about me if he’s too much of a coward to fucking admit it.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t do this anymore, Ryan. You either want me, or you don’t. There’s no ‘close enough.’”
My arms are shaky when I push myself up from the couch. Away from Ryan’s warm body, the cool air makes my exposed skin stand up in goosebumps. I hug my arms around myself while I look into his dark, shining eyes one last time.
“I hope that one day, Ryan, you’ll find someone you actually feel is worth fighting for. I mean that—I really do.”
His face crumbles, and I stumble back to my bedroom, only stopping to pull on a pair of underwear and a pajama top.
I crawl under the covers, but I can’t stop shivering, even though the duvet quickly feels smothering hot.
I kick it off and curl up in a ball, wrapping my arms around my head like they could protect me from the cruel world.