17. Ryan
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ryan
My fingers tingle after washing the gel off. Is that supposed to happen? The feeling started after placing my hands on Paige’s back, and it still hasn’t gone away. Fuck, her skin was searing hot. I wouldn’t want to be her tonight.
It was weird me being the one to apply the gel on her back, but I couldn’t leave her hanging. She looked like she was in so much pain, and I’m not a sadistic person. No matter how much she tends to grind my gears, I don’t want to see her suffer.
Every word I said to her was the truth. I never know what to expect from her, and the fact I can’t read her drives me insane.
Back in the city, I had to be able to read hundreds of people and even more random numbers just to do my job correctly.
Now, I’m stumped by the one woman I’m forced to spend time with.
She’s hot and cold, a total wild card. It would be entertaining if I only knew where it stemmed from.
She’s obviously attracted to me. Her competitive streak is not to be messed with.
She’s easily embarrassed and seemingly shy, but what the hell is up with all the sex toys?
There also has to be more to the story of Roger’s marriages and the way Jordan and her act when it comes to the engagement.
She’s a mystery I can’t crack and a hot mess I can’t look away from.
A pressure raises in my head, the start of a headache. I grab my phone to search for a dispensary close by, finding unread texts in the PBC group chat.
Parker
How’s reading going?
Do you like the book?
Wes
I have two more chapters until the end.
I like it more than I thought I would.
Parker
Ryan?
Do not dare come to our book club meeting without reading the book. It might have worked in high school with our English teacher, but you can’t charm your way out of this.
A smile forms on my face.
Me
Have some faith, man.
I hadn’t had much time, but I’m on it. I’ll be ready for the meeting.
I open another text thread, the corners of my mouth dropping.
John
It’s a madhouse here, man. When are you coming back?
John was my colleague back in the city. He was the closest thing I had to a friend there, but this is only the third text I’ve received in the six weeks I’ve been back home. All of them have been about work. Still, I opt for a noncommittal answer.
Me
What? Can’t handle a little work without me holding your hand?
John
Oh, I can, don’t worry. But these hostile takeovers were more fun with you around.
The tension in my head starts up again, so I drop my phone on the bed before massaging my temples with the tips of my fingers. It’s a futile attempt. I know it won’t help, but at least I feel like I’m doing something.
Unlike me, John actually enjoys our job.
He loves being the merciless executioner, cutting down people’s benefits, salaries, and jobs.
He finds sick pleasure in being the one in charge of other’s destinies.
In the beginning, that part of our job made me sick to my stomach.
Over time, I became used to it. While I wasn’t enjoying it like John did, we would joke around and have drinks after work.
Then came my headaches. The therapist I saw for a month before relocating back home told me the headaches were my conscience’s way of communicating with me. My stomach may have grown used to it, but my head was showing me exactly what it thought of it. I asked her if there was a way to stop them.
She rolled a pen between her fingers before throwing the question back at me. “What do you think?”
Two weeks later, I quit my job and moved back to Fig Bay. Still, anytime I try to think about my old job, the headache starts up again. I consider it a warning. My head’s way of telling me, “Don’t you dare go back.” I’m inclined to listen.
Giving up on the head massage, I grab Parker’s book. It would be a great way to pull my mind away, but the letters are blurry and my nose scrunches in pain. Ultimately, I lie back, closing my eyes. Instead of darkness, images of Paige’s soft, though damaged, skin flicker behind them.