5. Ronan
C onnor lingers at the door, watching me empty two grocery bags’ worth of food onto the counter. “You sure you don’t want to come? Someone will be selling a ticket outside.”
“Scalper prices to sit by myself at a concert? Nah, I’m good.” As much as I’d kill to see the X Ambassadors, the cost will be way too steep.
“’Kay. I’ll swing by to change and grab you when it’s done. That blond from the beach today texted me. She’s gonna meet us at the club and she’s bringing a hot friend for you.”
“Hot by whose standards?” I ask around a sip of beer. Usually when girls have to sell their friends like that, the results are underwhelming.
“Does it matter? Sherrie said she likes to suck dick. You gonna say no to that?”
Tasha loved to suck my dick.
My cock twitches with the memory, even if that memory is now laced with bitterness. Maybe a good blow job from another woman is what I need to get over her.
Connor nods toward the fridge. “Bottom shelf is yours. ”
The lowest shelf, when I’m over six feet tall. “Shouldn’t Ryan take the bottom shelf?”
“If you wanna move Ryan’s food, be my guest. I’ll be home in about three hours. You might not have fully bled out by then after she stabs you for touching her things.” With a slap against the wall and a “See you in a few,” he’s gone.
I study the fridge, shaking my head at the middle shelf, which is clearly hers. Everything is neatly lined up and packed in glass containers. Fruit, vegetables, yogurt. Food groups that are sorely lacking from Connor’s shelf, which is basically beer, hot dogs, and ketchup.
The bottom shelf is on the lowest rung, leaving little room. I don’t need a lot, but this is ridiculous. Ryan’s a good foot shorter than me. The shorter people get the lower shelves. Those are the rules of life. She’s going to have to learn to deal. And if she wants to yell at me about it?
Fine. So be it.
I take a big swig of my beer.
And then set to shifting things around.
“Is that all you got?” I watch highlights of the Panthers getting their asses handed to them by the Leafs. I guess I can’t say much—Indiana doesn’t even have an NHL team. Still, I can’t get behind this.
I check my watch for the hundredth time.
It’s after eleven. I’m showered and dressed and finishing off my fifth beer.
This big, fluffy brown sectional may be the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in.
If Connor doesn’t get back soon to drag me out, I’m not going anywhere tonight, no matter how hot this friend of Sherrie’s is.
And based on the picture he texted me, she’s a solid nine, though I’m reserving final judgment until I see her in person. The catfish stories are real.
Keys jangle in the hallway outside our door. A few seconds later, the door flies open and Ryan strolls in, arms laden with textbooks and a grocery bag. Her eyes skate over me as she kicks the door shut behind her, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Hey. You need help?” I offer, a blip of regret stirring in the pit of my stomach as she heads for the kitchen. I shouldn’t have taken the liberty to change things around without talking to her. Not until I smoothed over this morning’s debacle.
I don’t feel like getting yelled at again.
“No thanks,” she says curtly, dumping everything onto the countertop.
I watch her as she opens the fridge.
And stops dead.
“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I swapped our things around, seeing as you’re shorter than me. I lifted the shelf though, so you have as much space as before.” After a lingering pause, I add, “Connor said you’d be okay with it.” I owe him one for not telling me about Ryan in the first place.
After another long moment of silence, she sets to sliding her groceries onto her shelf, not saying a word, but also not threatening bodily harm. I watch, because I can’t help myself. She’s wearing black leggings, and her firm ass looks fantastic bent over in the fridge. My dick starts to harden.
I sure as hell can’t let that happen.
And I can’t let this tension go on either. We just got off on the wrong foot is all. Collecting my empty beer cans, I climb off the couch and make my way over to the kitchen to stack them in the case. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
I get only a small grunt in response as she rips the cardboard sleeves off her yogurt and snaps the little containers apart to line them up neatly in two rows.
“I picked up towels at Walmart after work. They’re gray, so they won’t get mixed up.”
“I doubt that would happen, anyway. I don’t buy my towels from Walmart. ”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her snotty tone and instead turn my attention to the textbook on the counter. “You in school?”
“Yup.”
I flip open the cover. “For what?”
“My MBA.”
“That’s—exciting.” I pull my fingers away just in time as she slaps the cover shut and collects the textbook along with the others. Hugging them to her chest, she grabs her purse and stalks toward her bedroom.
“Hey, hold up.” I tack on, “Please?”
She slows with reluctance.
“This is dumb. Can we start over?”
“Why?”
“Because we have to live together?”
She peers over her shoulder at me, her eyes flickering down.
I’m ready for the club, in black pants and a baby-blue button-down that hugs my torso.
I don’t often dress in anything but jeans and a T-shirt, but when I do, I like to think I clean up well.
“Did you really just break up with your girlfriend or was my brother talking out of his ass again?”
I falter at the unexpected question. “Yeah. A few months ago.”
“How long were you together?”
“Four years.” And the last thing I want to talk about in my new life is Tasha.
She snorts. “Wow. And here I was, crying over eighteen months wasted.”
“That’s a good chunk of time too.” This is good. We’ve found something in common—our broken hearts. I lean against the wall. “Why’d you guys end things?”
Her jaw tightens. At first I think she’s not going to answer. “He said he loves me too much and he’s not ready for that kind of commitment yet.” She pauses to chew her bottom lip in thought. “Do you think that’s some ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ bullshit? ”
Yes . “Hard to say. You’ll probably find out soon enough.
” With a line like that, my gut says the guy is already dick-deep in another girl.
But I can’t tell Ryan that. “Tasha told me she needed some space to make sure she loved me.” I smile bitterly.
“She hooked up with one of my best friends two weeks later.”
“Ouch.” Ryan slides off her glasses, cleaning the lenses with the hem of her T-shirt. When she glances up at me, I see hints of sympathy. “So, you moved down to Miami to what? Get over her?”
Get over her. Forget about her. Keep myself occupied until she decides she loves me again. That last one sounds about right. I couldn’t stand being in the same city as her, knowing she would be out with other guys. “I needed a change, and I’ve heard this city is the place to be.”
“If you’re like my brother, then it is.”
“I’m not like your brother.”
“I guess we’ll see.” Again, that shrewd gaze drifts over my body. She’s already seen me naked; I wonder if she’s picturing me naked right now.
Blood starts flowing south and I have to shift my stance, ever aware of how fitted these pants are and that they don’t hide raging erections well.
Her eyes widen, as if she caught herself checking me out. Standing taller, she says, “Don’t touch my stuff anymore. I’m weird about my space. I like things a certain way.” With that, she disappears into her room.
I heave a sigh, glancing at my watch again. I’m no longer tired; the five-minute exposure to her, first to her sharp side, followed by something softer, has my pulse buzzing. I need to get out of here.
Thank God, Connor plows through the door. “Two minutes! The ladies are waiting.”