24. Ryan
TWENTY-FOUR
Ryan
June’s been unusually quiet today. I don’t like it.
Especially when I’m sure it’s all my fault. I came on way too strong when I saw her in Silas fucking Brooks’s jersey, but in my defense, she was in Silas fucking Brooks’s jersey. I didn’t think. There was no time for logic or reasoning—there was only anger.
And an almost suffocating need to claim her in front of the world.
So if you think about it, I managed to hold myself back, managed to hold on to some modicum of control. I did good.
Unfortunately, I’m sure June doesn’t see it that way.
I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to her, but she’s spent most of the day at her studio with Oliver, and since she’s been home, she’s been in her room. She thought I had a girlfriend. Fuck me. Why does that bother me so much?
“Can you read me fis story?” Oliver scrambles back in his tent, and as I sit up, he hands me a book with a happy green dinosaur on the front.
He settles down next to me, takes the book back out of my hands, opens it, and gives it back to me. I guess I’m a little too slow. So I don’t waste any more time, diving into all the things you could do if you found a dinosaur in your living room, including using it as a nutcracker.
I’m about halfway through when there’s a light knock on Oliver’s bedroom door.
“Are you expecting company?” I glance at him, brow raised.
He tosses his head back and laughs like I’m the funniest person in the world. “It’s your house. Are you specting company?”
“Let’s see, shall we?”
I crawl toward the opening, sticking my head out the front of the tent, and nearly fall on my face. Oliver joins me, running out as soon as he sees his mom. While I know I should join them and not loiter in this child’s tent, I’m not so sure I can.
Because holy fucking shit.
June’s wearing a little black dress and not just any black dress. This one has a deep V in the front, showing off her ample cleavage. It tapers in at the waist and then flares out around her thighs. It’s sexy, showing off all her perfect curves, and I want nothing more than to explore each one of them. In great detail. For hours.
“Hey, Ryan, I have a small favor to ask you.” She’s hovering at the doorway, her fingers clasped in front of her, twisting around each other.
“Of course.” I attempt to stand, but my shoulders hit the top of the tent, and I lurch forward. Luckily I’m able to catch myself before I face-plant onto the carpet.
Oliver tugs her hand, swishing the bottom of the dress. “You look berry pretty, Mommy. ”
“Thank you, Oli.” She smiles down at him, running a hand through his head, that smile dropping from her face as she meets my eyes. Her teeth come down on her bottom lip, and my fingers twitch, longing to touch her. “Do you think ... well, I ... Are you okay babysitting Oliver tonight for a few hours?”
I take a step toward her, nearly tripping over my own two feet, but because of my athletic abilities, I’m able to play it off. Mostly. “Babysitting?”
“Yes?”
“June, Oliver is my son, and I have no intention of ever babysitting him. Will I spend time with him? Yes. Can we hang out by ourselves tonight? Absolutely. But please don’t think that because I’m his father, I’m any less of a parent.”
“Oh.” She stares at me, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks.
“You have plans?” I try to keep my voice even, my tone casual, but I am a riot of emotions inside. It’s Friday night, and while I may not have been out with a woman in years, I know what happens on Friday nights. Dates. Dates lead to kissing. Kissing leads to touching. Touching leads to ... she better not be going on a fucking date.
Not after wearing someone else’s jersey yesterday.
She better hope she’s going out with the girls.
Or what, stud? You gonna take your son and follow her? Crash her date and demand she come home with you?
Her eyes fall to the ground, traveling a few feet away to where Oliver is driving a pair of dino monster trucks across the foot of his bed. “Well, I ... I’m going to dinner with a friend from work.”
She still won’t look at me, and that tells me everything I need to know. It may be someone from work, but it’s a man. She’s going on a date. With someone else.
All the anger and possessiveness and fucking jealousy I felt yesterday come back twofold. I can’t let her go out with some swinging dick who wants to get in her pants, can I? Can I?
Fuck. Fuck. I think I have to. I do, right? Motherfucker, of course I do. It’s not like I can lock her in her room or block the door so she’s trapped in the penthouse. Let’s be clear, I want to. I really fucking want to, but I can’t.
She’s talking, saying something about giving me Poppy’s number for emergencies, but I can barely hear her. How can I when every beat of my own heart is so fucking loud? I want to drop to my knees and beg her to stay, beg her to give me the chance we never had. I want so many things, but can I really have them?
That’s the question right there.
I was so sure that between Oliver and football, I didn’t have room for anything else in my life. But what if I’m wrong? Football has been my life, but what if it doesn’t have to be?
Shit.
I don’t know. It kept me safe. It allowed me to bury my pain after Caitlin’s death.
I need to swallow this down, to think.
“I should only be a couple of hours.”
Finally. Finally she meets my eyes, and I hate that they’re shuttered, that she’s closed herself off. This is the worst. This is so much worse than the jersey. “Thanks.”
And she’s off, giving me a view of her back, and my hands clench, my knuckles popping, and I have to physically restrain myself or I’d go after her and ruin everything. Her hair is up, pinned in place, small tendrils of hair curled around her neck. I hate it, I want to take out every pin and run my fingers through her hair, but not as much as I hate how the dress dips down her back, exposing a wide expanse of skin.
I don’t know who this fucking guy is, but I’m going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully.
“Daddy, do you need to poop?”
I blink, multiple times, turning to Oliver, my lips twitching. “Poop?”
“You’re making a funny face. Mom says I make a funny face when I hab to poop.” He shrugs, a move so casual, so contradictory to how I’m feeling inside.
“Movie? How about we watch another movie? Maybe something new?” At this point I’ll take anything to get my mind off June and what she’s going to be doing for the next few hours. Especially after I hear the front door closing with a resounding thud.
“Yeah! Monsters.” T. rex in hand, he runs for the living room, repeating some of his favorite lines from a movie I’ve already seen five times.
But you know what? I’ll take it. I like the monsters, especially the little green guy. The little green guy who is trying to go on a date with the lady monster from work. Oh, this is not going to help. Not at all. Not when June is going on a date with some fucking loser from her mom’s law firm.
He’s probably some stuck-up lawyer with a closet full of button-up shirts and too much extra room in his boxer shorts. Yeah, I said it. The man probably has an inadequate package and will just be another one in the line of guys who can’t make June come.
If I crashed the date, I’d be doing her a favor.
She should thank me .
I’d be saving her from a bad date with some douchebag who will likely spend the whole night talking about himself and then end their evening with a lousy kiss and a poor excuse for a boob squeeze. And then she wouldn’t have to face him Monday morning and pretend she had a good time.
It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m a helpful guy and June needs help.
“Do you need to poop now? Or are you ready to watch the mobie?” Oliver stares at me from the couch, his head cocked, remote in hand.
“I’m good. I’m ready for the movie.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, my phone pings with a text. Poppy’s number.
Now comes the real question.
Do I find out where June went to dinner for her happy little date with the office fuckboy, or do I let her move on so I can do the same?