Chapter Eight

Megan

 

 

 

 

Connor asked me to dinner.

It goes against everything I’ve said so far but I agreed, thinking maybe a night out with a nice guy would help get my mind off Ryder. I can feel myself slipping. He makes me want to let him back in. I refuse to do that, though. I need to find a way to forget about him because I couldn't move on from what we were when he was miles away. Now that I see him every day it feels almost impossible.

The fact that he’s under my skin makes me resent him more.

I put the finishing touches to my makeup and walk out of my room. “Well?”

Chrissy looks up at me from the couch. “You look nice.”

“I feel like there is a but coming . . .” I arch an eyebrow, knowing full well that she has more to say.

She pauses the TV, turning in her seat, tucking her feet up underneath her and stretching an arm over the back of the couch.

It’s her “We Need to Talk” pose.

Shit.

“You’re not going to like this, but I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t say anything so shut up and listen.” I open my mouth but close it immediately when she shoots me a look that could freeze fire. “Going out with this guy is not going to accomplish what you want it to. I’m sorry, but it won’t. You’re playing with fire, and leading this Connor guy on is not like you.”

She’s right. It isn’t.

“Have you considered your other options? I mean, maybe Ryder came back into your life for a reason.” She looks down at the couch, her hands dropping to play with the zipper of one of the cushions. “Have you considered giving things another go with him?”

My mouth drops open and I let out a squeak.

“No.” She holds up a hand. “Let me finish. You never moved on from him. You say you’re okay with him being around but you’re not. You’re nowhere close.” She shrugs, like she hasn’t just dropped this huge bombshell. “I just think it might be worth a shot.”

I have no words.

None.

For the longest time, Chrissy has been the cheerleader for decapitating Ryder. She knows what happened, what him leaving did to me. The fact that she would do a complete 180 and suggest actually dating him.

Nope. No way.

Not happening.

“I can’t. You remember how screwed up I was the first time. How can I let him in again?” I sit down next to her. “I wish he didn’t come back. I wish that I didn’t still love him.”

Her arm comes around me just as a knock sounds on the door. I stand up, take a deep breath and try to wash away the emotions. I turn to her and give a curt nod. “See you later.”

I open the door. Connor is holding a bouquet of flowers, a huge smile plastered across his face. He looks like a child on Christmas morning.

God, I’m an asshole.

“Wow, those are beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Such an asshole.

I take the flowers from him with a smile. “Let me put these in water really quick.”

I head into the kitchen and grab a vase out of the cabinet. I fill it with water and when I turn around Chrissy stands there, hip against the counter, a knowing smirk on her face. “Don’t even say it.”

She holds her hands up, backing slowly out of the room. “Me? Never.”

The ride down the elevator is quiet. I make sure there’s a respectable distance between us, even when two people from the floor below join us, effectively halving the space. It’s a fruitless exercise, though, because the moment we step out, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me to his car.

His touch feels foreign. Foreign and wrong. It doesn't heat my skin or give me chills the way Ryder's does. It gives me goose bumps, yes, but in completely the wrong way.

We get to the car and the relief I feel when his hand leaves me to open the door is so welcome that I briefly consider calling it off.

But . . . Ryder.

His car is a sleek black car. It suits him. Very put together and polished, quite possibly the same reasons I’ve never really been interested in him. Ryder is so rough around the edges; messy, passionate, unapologetic.

The two of them couldn't be more different.

We pull out of my parking, Connor’s foot pressing heavy on the accelerator and I’m pinned back against the seat. I glance at him but he just smiles.

Boys and their toys.

“This car is amazing,” I say, laughing, some of the tension evaporating.

He flips on the radio and we ride silently to the restaurant. The man on the radio sings about what it would take to heal his broken heart and a part of me sympathizes with him.

I don’t know if it's ever actually possible to heal a heart once it’s really broken. How can you fix all the hurt and betrayal?

I jolt out of my daydream when my car door opens and a valet stands there. I offer him a smile as I get out of the car and Connor takes my hand to lead me inside.

With every passing minute, I realize that this is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. It isn’t fair to him, and it isn’t fair to me. I know what he wants from me, he’s made it clear for months now.

He’s just a distraction.

The hostess shows us to our table. Walking through the large open room, I feel like everyone’s eyes are on me, almost like they know that I’m a fraud. We sit down at a circular white table and I take a menu, using it as a welcome distraction. The place is expensive and my eyes search for the most inexpensive dish.

Connor has barely said anything, which seems a little odd. At work he’s forever finding some reason or other to come over to my desk, whether he wants to tell me about a live band he saw over the weekend, or ask if I’ve seen the latest paper on forensic accounting strategies. This silence just makes a bad situation worse. I fuss with my hair, desperate for something to do with my fidgety hands.

By the time the waiter comes by to take our drink orders, I know more about the couple next to us than necessary, choosing to listen in to their conversation rather than focus on the lack of it at this table. We both know what we want so we order our food and then he leaves us alone.

“So how has it been working on the new account?” Connor takes a sip of his water, his eyes on the tablecloth.

Terrible, I say in my head, mainly because the client broke my heart and I still love him. Now I’m here with you and I’ll probably go to hell for being a manipulative bitch.

I offer a weak smile. “It’s been good. I’m still kind of getting a feel for the different businesses.”

“I have to say I’m surprised you took it. I wouldn't have thought working with the bikers would have been something you were comfortable with. You’re always so quiet and reserved at work.”

I have to hold in my laugh. Quiet and reserved are the last words anyone would use to describe me. It makes me think that if I actually acted like myself around Connor, he might go running for the hills. “They aren’t that bad.”

“I've only seen the one who came into the office, but he looked like a real piece of trash. Just be careful over there.” His hand smooths his shirt as he smiles at me.

My blood begins to boil. Ryder might be a huge asshole, but he isn’t trash. When no one even noticed me, he cared. He taught me to be proud of myself, and not let anyone ever make me feel like I didn’t deserve what I wanted. He showed me what it felt like to be loved.

But then he left.

“Excuse me.”

I stand up, heading for the bathroom, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill as memories fly through my mind.

In the safety of the bathroom stall I sit, taking deep breaths in through my nose. My phone buzzes in my purse and I take it out. I freeze when I see it’s an unknown number because, really, it could only be one person.

Ryder.

How did he even get my number? Then I remember that my contact details are all on the signature of my company email address—the same address I’ve used to send through some files to him.

Damn him.

Swiping my phone, I almost drop it when I see the picture. It's a Ferris wheel lit up in the dark night sky.

Unknown sender: Look what I found.

The edges of my vision blur, and the walls start to close in on me.

I need to get out of here.

I need to go home.