9. Ryan #2
She turned her cup in her hands. “The Ashby Letters thing,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about the Sable theory.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You’re very wrong. Sable is clearly the key to the whole third arc, which you would see if you weren’t so committed to being wrong about it.”
“I’m committed to being right about it.”
“Same energy, different outcome.” She propped her chin in her hand. “Text me your full theory. I want to dismantle it properly.”
It landed the way a good shift did. The ease of being exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. “Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”
She smiled at me. The lights buzzed above us and it was an ordinary night in Phoenix and I knew exactly what this was between us and was no longer particularly interested in pretending otherwise.
I was getting my keys out when I realized she’d made her way to the front of the bar, phone out, pulling up a rideshare app.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting home.” She raised her head. “I don’t have my car today, and Griffin bailed, so.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Maren.” I said it the same way I’d said it earlier. Quiet, final. “I’ll drive you.”
She held me in her gaze for a moment. Then she put her phone away.
The drive to her house took twenty minutes.
We talked about the Sidewinders’ upcoming home stretch, about a patient who’d been cleared to return to practice, about whether Dee the bar owner had ever met a stranger.
It was easy and comfortable, the way things between us had started to become, and I kept my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel.
I pulled into her driveway and put the truck in park.
She unclipped her seatbelt but didn’t move to get out. The porch light was on, casting a warm yellow glow across the front steps, and the distant sound of a sprinkler somewhere down the street.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said.
“Anytime.”
The truck cab was suddenly small and the light from her porch was catching the angle of her cheekbone and she was close enough that I could see the slight part of her lips, and I had been running low on restraint for weeks.
I reached over and tucked the strand of hair back from her face, apparently my signature move now, but this time I didn’t stop there.
I leaned in slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull back, and when she didn’t, I closed the distance to within a breath and paused, my fingers gently caressing her jaw.
Our lips were millimeters apart and unless she told me to fuck off, this was happening. I couldn’t stop it anymore.
“Maren?” I whispered her name.
Almost breathless, she replied, “Yeah?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her tongue darted out and wet her bottom lip and then a slight nod. She wanted me to kiss her.
So I did.
Soft. Careful. The press of my mouth against hers, warm and intentional.
She made a small sound against me and kissed me back, her hand reaching up to my jaw, and for just a moment the tip of her tongue touched mine and my hand slid to the back of her neck and the whole careful architecture of my restraint began to come apart as our tongues tangled in what had become so much more than a spark between us.
The kiss deepened and I was lost in her like a teenager with a crush.
I wanted more. But it was supposed to be just a taste.
I pulled back, my heart racing, and her lips still parted.
It took more effort than anything I’d done on ice in nine years.
I pressed my forehead briefly to hers in the dark of the cab, both of us breathing.
“Goodnight, Maren,” I said.
She pulled back. Her eyes were bright and her mouth was slightly parted like she didn’t believe what just happened.
“Goodnight, Ryan,” she said finally, barely above a whisper.
She got out. I watched her walk up the porch steps and get her key in the door after a bit of fumbling that made me chuckle, then she disappeared inside.
I sat in her driveway in the dark for a long moment and thought about the sound she’d made and the way she’d kissed me back and the fact I had a game tomorrow and needed to go home and sleep.
I’d just needed a taste.
That was what I told myself. One taste, once, just to know, and now I knew, and it was categorically the least helpful thing that had ever happened to me.
I sat in her driveway for a moment longer.
My hands were still on the wheel while I stared ahead.
The porch light had gone off. The whole cab of the truck still held the faint trace of her perfume, warm and slightly citrus, and I was aware of my own heartbeat in a way I hadn’t been in years.
I’d thought a taste would settle it. That knowing would be enough.
That I’d file it and move on the way I’d been filing everything about Maren Callahan since September.
Late September now. Three weeks into the regular season, and I was no closer to filing it away. I’d been wrong about all three.
I backed out of the driveway and drove.
My phone buzzed twenty minutes later.
Maren: Okay I’ve been thinking about it and you’re still wrong about Sable
I smiled at the road, relieved nothing was awkward. We could still be friends and chat about books. The fact I wanted more didn’t matter. I’d play this game with her any day.
Ryan: Send me your full argument
Maren: It’s long
Ryan: I have time
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Maren: It’s really long
Ryan: Maren…
Maren: Fine fine. Okay so. The thing about Sable is that her whole arc in book two is built around misdirection.
Every time she appears the narrative shifts focus before we can get a read on her actual motivations.
Which is NOT what you do with a red herring.
Red herrings get resolution. Sable gets deflection. Those are different things.
Ryan: That’s a good argument
Maren: I know
Ryan: It’s still wrong
Maren: I hate you
Ryan: No you don’t
The three dots appeared and stayed there for a long moment. Then disappeared without a response.
I drove home through the warm Phoenix night, windows down, and thought about her the whole way. Her soft lips. The way she tasted. All of her. Fuck, I am in so much trouble.
Before I climbed into bed, I plugged my phone in and saw I had one more text from Maren.
Maren: No. No, I don’t hate you at all.