Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Iris
Spencer
It's been almost two months since I've had my condo to myself. Two months.
Ryan is doing some kind of project with Anthony tonight.
When I tried asking what exactly they were doing, he got all squirrely about it, which would've been more convincing if Ryan possessed even a single deceptive bone in that absurdly beautiful body of his.
He's the worst liar ever. Not necessarily a bad thing.
Then I texted Tyler.
Me: Want to grab dinner?
Tyler: Can't. Busy.
Me: Doing what?
Tyler: Stuff.
Me: What kind of stuff?
Tyler: The busy kind.
Crystal fucking clear. Those two are up to something.
It doesn't feel like anything bad, necessarily. More like they're planning something. Or hiding something. Whatever it is, I'm not invited, which leaves me home alone. And I don't know what the fuck to do with myself.
Ryan broke my regularly scheduled programming. Normally, I'd be sitting at the island eating takeout while reviewing contracts. Then I'd migrate to my office and continue working until it was time for bed. Productive. Efficient. Predictable.
Instead, I find myself wandering around my condo like a ghost. I don't want to work.
That's the problem. Somewhere along the way, I got used to my evenings being filled with conversation and laughter and Ryan singing badly in my kitchen while he cooked something ridiculous.
I even got into a couple streaming series. The man is a terrible influence.
I could turn one on now. But I don't want to watch it without him. The realization makes me grimace into my wine. Pathetic. I sit on the couch with a glass of 2009 Bordeaux. An epic vintage. And I'm staring at a wall. Literally staring at a wall.
Get it together, Stark.
One night. He's preoccupied for one night and you're what? Completely incapable of entertaining yourself?
Apparently.
Fucker is curled up beside me on the couch, equally useless. I glance at him. He blinks slowly.
“Your father's absence has affected you too, huh?”
He yawns. Turncoat.
I could read Ryan’s post for the hundredth time.
I swear, my sense of pride gets more pronounced with every read.
The way he told the world who he is—and to basically ‘deal with it’, was inspiring.
I wish it would have happened for him without the unfortunate live outing, but he’s handled it with strength, humility, and grace.
I hope people can look past the incident and see him for the role model he is.
With a sigh, I grab my phone to play some solitaire. Fitting. I open the app, but don't even get a game started before there's a knock at the door. My brows pull together. I look over at Fucker. He lifts his head. We stare at each other.
I set my wine down and push myself off the couch.
The knock comes again. When I pull open the door, I blink.
Ryan's sisters stand in the hallway wearing matching grins that could rival their brother's.
Both of them are carrying takeout bags. I look down, clocking the name of my favorite Chinese restaurant on the bags.
“You can only come in if there's dumplings in one of those.”
Harper pushes past me. “Three orders. We're not fools.” A laugh escapes me and Cricket follows her inside. I shut the door and scratch the back of my neck.
“Ryan's not here, though.”
Cricket shrugs out of her puffy jacket. “We know.”
Harper hands me her coat. “Yeah. We're here for you.”
I stare at both of them.
For me?
They're dressed nothing like they were at dinner last night. No designer outfits. No perfect styling. Just messy buns, oversized hoodies, sweatpants, and sneakers. Comfort mode. Meanwhile I'm standing here in a cashmere sweater and slacks looking like… well, me.
I look up, and they're already unpacking containers in my kitchen.
“Come. Grab what you want,” Cricket commands.
“Mind if I open a bottle of wine?” Harper asks.
I'm still standing by the door. Still processing. Still confused. Cricket rounds the island and plants a hand on her hip. “Haven't you ever had a girls' night?”
“What?” I ask. “No.”
She points toward the living room. “Go sit. We'll bring the food out.” Then she grins. “You're about to have your first one.”
From the kitchen Harper calls, “It'll be fun. And we promise not to try braiding that delicious head of hair.”
I shake my head, laughing in wonderment.
Well. At least I know what I'm doing tonight.
The girls pile onto the couch like they own the place. Food containers cover the coffee table. Wine glasses appear. An order of dumplings gets shoved into my hands. Fucker abandons me entirely and curls up beside Harper.
I clear my throat. “Not that I'm ungrateful—or don't want your company—but why exactly did you want to spend your night here?”
Harper plucks a dumpling from her carton. “To get to know our new brother, silly.” Then she pops it into her mouth, smiling around it.
My heart immediately starts sprinting. “What? No.” I nearly choke on my own words. “I'm not. Ryan and I aren’t—”
They both stare at me for a long moment, chopsticks hanging in the air. Then Cricket leans over and flicks me directly in the forehead.
“Ow!” I rub the spot. “What was that for?”
She levels me with a stern look. “He's in love with you, you dingus.”
The air leaves my lungs. My throat starts closing up. Everything suddenly feels too warm.
“No,” I say weakly. “I know he wants more. To define things maybe, but I don't think—”
Cricket's eyebrows disappear into her hairline. I deflate instantly, like a child being scolded.
“He's in love with me,” I say quietly.
“Duhhhh,” Harper says. Then immediately starts giggling.
“Harper,” Cricket warns.
“Sorry.” She winces.
Cricket turns back to me. “You ready for another revelation?”
I shove an entire dumpling into my mouth, so I don't have to answer. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop her.
“You're right there with him.”
I close my eyes. Just close them. Because there's really no defense against that one.
When I open my mouth to respond, Cricket points a chopstick at me. “Please don't piss me off by trying to deny it.”
Harper giggles again.
I swallow. “I'm not going to.”
Cricket nods once, satisfied.
“But,” I continue, “I will be the one to tell him. When I decide the time is right.”
Something soft enters her expression. Her eyes sparkle. It makes me miss another pair of green eyes. Which is ridiculous considering Ryan's been gone for only a few hours.
Yeah. Maybe they're right to call me out.
“Good,” Cricket says. “That's settled.” Then she claps her hands. “Now we get to do the sister thing.”
I pick up another dumpling. “What's the sister thing?”
Harper nudges my leg with her sock-covered foot. The casual contact catches me off guard. I'm still not entirely used to people touching me just because they want to.
“Ryan stories,” Harper clarifies.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Cricket says. “And we have pictures.”
My eyes widen.
“Albums full,” Harper clucks.
I immediately sit up straighter. “Oh.” Then I grin. “Okay. I'm kind of living for this.”
Harper bursts out laughing. Cricket points at me. “Look at you.” She smirks. “You're a girls' night natural.”
I try—and fail—to stop smiling. Standing, I grab my wine glass. “We're going to need more wine.”
Both women cheer.
I make it halfway to the kitchen before another thought hits me. I turn around. “Oh. You know what?”
“What?” Harper asks.
“I think Ry left some macarons in the fridge.”
The sisters freeze. Exchange a look. Then simultaneously squeal, “Ryyyyyyy!”
The sound is so ridiculous that I bark out a laugh. An actual bark. Loud enough that I immediately slap my free hand over my mouth. My eyes widen.
The girls laugh even harder.
“What are you people doing to me?” I ask, shaking my head the entire way toward the kitchen.
An hour and a bottle later, I've changed into sweats and Ryan's I LOVE MY KITTY hoodie at the girls' insistence that I get more comfortable.
The three of us are sprawled on the floor in front of my sofa, the coffee table shoved forward and covered in empty takeout containers, wine glasses, and the remains of what used to be three orders of dumplings.
I'm squished between Cricket and Harper, holding Cricket's phone while they walk me through the complete photographic history of Ryan Buterbaugh, from infancy to present day.
My eyes have been wet with laughter the entire time.
Every picture comes with a story. Every story sweetly reveals another piece of Ryan.
And I can't help the overwhelming sense of familiarity as I stare at his childhood.
Maybe it's because I've let him in more than anyone else.
Maybe it's because I know the man he became. Whatever the reason, I feel strangely connected to the little kid smiling from the screen, the little boy with the gap-toothed grin and grass-stained knees, the teenager who looks exactly like the man currently occupying entirely too much of my brain, the college athlete showing signs of the devastatingly gorgeous man he’s become.
I also feel a little like the Grinch. Every story makes my heart expand another size until it feels too big for my chest.
“And this,” Harper says with flourish, “is when he mooned the entire stadium during his last high school football game.”
I look down and immediately dissolve into laughter.
The picture is spectacular. Ryan is standing on the sidelines looking over his shoulder directly at the camera, his entire ass hanging out, and he's wearing an enormous grin, left dimple on full display.
The stadium lights behind him don't stand a chance against that smile.
I shake my head, wiping tears from my eyes. “Oh my God.”
“Right?” Harper wheezes.
I zoom in. Then point at the photo. “Sorry, ladies, but your brother has the cutest ass.”
Both sisters groan. Cricket drops her head back on the sofa. “Don't remind me.”