Ugly truth is, I want to text him. I want to know what he’s up to. What does a man like Ryan do on his days off?
But I can’t. I can’t text him, and I won’t. Because we’re NOT dating. He gets one date just like everyone else. But what if I want more than one date?
I’ve got to get out of my head. Or rather, I’ve got to get Ryan out of my head.
After turning on You’ve Got Mail, I sink back onto my couch, bundle up under my cozy Nick Lachey blanket, and wish that this was actually making me feel better, but it’s not because I’m still staring at my phone, willing it to light up with Ryan’s name.
But then something happens. I don’t want to claim that I’m a sorceress or anything, but I’ve definitely harnessed some sort of mythical powers, because I hear a jingling sound at my front door, and I watch as the lock pops open.
Wait. Is someone breaking into my house?
I bolt upright, ready to grab the big knife that Ryan swears is actually meant for cutting food (but I don’t agree), when the front door opens, and none other than Ryan himself walks through holding two big paper bags of groceries.
I sit, wide-eyed, under my puffy blanket as I watch Ryan step inside, kick off his shoes, and then use his foot to shut the door behind him. “You hungry?” he asks, making me nearly jump out of my skin when his brown eyes cut directly to me like he
knew I was sitting here all along.
“Well, hello to you, too.”
He smirks, and my stomach somersaults. “I gotta get these in the fridge.” And then he’s gone—off to the kitchen to put groceries in MY fridge.
What is happening?! Did I invite him over and I forgot about it? And I’ve got to remember to move my hide-a-key.
I finally stand up and go into the kitchen. I cross my arms and lean against the counter beside the fridge. “Do you always break and enter people's houses to store your groceries in their fridges?”
He grins, puts a carton of heavy cream in the fridge, and then leans over to kiss my cheek before going right back to his task. I have decided there is only one explanation for what is happening right now: I got in a car accident on my way home last night, and I died and didn’t know it. This must be heaven. Because Ryan looks too good and smells too good to be earthly.
His calm is making me twitch. “Did you just kiss my cheek?”
He looks at me like he’s questioning my mental stability. HE is questioning MY mental stability? “Something wrong with kissing you on the cheek?”
“No. Er—yes! I mean, there is after…” I pause, feeling a hot blush claw its way up my neck.
“After what, June Bug?” He’s smiling. He’s such a devil right now.
“You know…after everything that happened yesterday.”
What a busy little bee he is, swarming around my kitchen like he owns it. In fact, like the spot on my neck, I think he’s staked his claim in here. This is his kitchen now. However, to be fair, he’s used it more this past week than I have in the entirety of my living here, so it seems about right to go ahead and give it to him.
“What? The part where I saw you without your clothes, or the part where we made out on the dance floor?”
My stomach does a giant dip at his words. Like when you’re in an airplane, and suddenly the plane drops for three seconds, and you wonder if it’s going to level off again or if this is the end and your plane is going down. That’s what being around Ryan is like for me.
But who am I kidding? This plane is going down.
“Both!” My voice squeaks. “I think we should—RYAN, oh my gosh, can you please stop putting groceries away for one second?!” Okay, yeah, it’s official. I’ve snapped. I gave him one date, and now he’s moving in. It’s too much.
His brows shoot to his hairline, and he crosses the kitchen to put his hands on the side of my arms. “June, take a breath. Everything is okay. I’m just putting away groceries so I can cook us dinner later.”
“LATER?!”
“Why are you yelling?”
“I DON’T KNOW. I CAN’T BRING MY VOICE BACK DOWN.” Someone get me a paper bag! Or Stacy so she can slap me.
He chuckles and, oddly enough, doesn’t look at me like I should be in a padded room somewhere. Ryan pulls me to his chest and rubs his hand up and down my back. “It’s just dinner. Nothing serious.”
“But…you’re here. And you used a key! And you know where things go in my cupboards!”