Chapter Eleven
Ryerson spends the night, curled up next to me in my double bed, both us completely spent. When the light filters in the window in the morning, I roll over, and Ryerson tucks my head under his chin, my leg thrown over his thigh.
“I have to work today,” he says, his voice still sleepy. “Want to come with me?”
I smile. “Am I going to watch you nail things? I might get some of my own ideas.”
He laughs, and hugs me closer. “I actually wanted your opinion on a couple things. I have a new house I’m about to finish, and I’d like some advice on paint colors, décor. You into it?”
I sit up, and look down at him. He smiles up at me, and he is even more gorgeous in the morning light. So sleepy and lazy. I want to stay here with him all day, but he just happened to mention one of my dreams.
“I would love to,” I say honestly. “Like… I would really love to.”
“I’m glad,” he says. “Let’s grab some coffees, head to my place to take Rufus for a walk, and then we’ll go over to the Cambridge house.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “I’ll call Frankie and let him know I’m not coming in.”
I get up out of bed, still nude, but Ryerson is quiet. I look back over my shoulder at him. “What?” I ask.
“Frankie,” he says. “What if he tells you to come into work?”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I say. “If I want time off, I can just—”
“But what if he did?” Ryerson interrupts.
I’m still a moment, and then shrug. “If he needed me, I’d go.”
Ryerson looks me over, and then nods. He sits up, smiles politely, and gets out of bed. “You got coffee here?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Uh, yeah. It’s all on the counter. But are you—”
“Be sure to call and ask him,” he says, grabbing his boxers from the floor. “I’d like to get to the house by nine.”
“Okay…” He’s not exactly cold, but he’s not the same loving way he was five minutes ago. Ryerson walks out, and I’m a little thrown.
I think he’s jealous about Frankie, but really—he shouldn’t be. I’ve explained the situation, and, in fact, Ryerson is literally the only guy I’ve ever explained it to. No other guy gave a shit.
I walk toward the shower, understanding Ryerson’s trust issues based on his past experiences. But also wondering… if he doesn’t have a bit of a point.
***
I’m basically a kid in a candy store if that kid was never allowed to have candy and then all of a sudden the candy store was like, “Here, kid. Go fucking nuts.”
The Cambridge house is stunningly gorgeous. Another Craftsman, but twice as big. The landscaping hasn’t been done yet, but I can imagine large trees, and flowers in every shade. A couple of rose bushes. Inside, it’s a blank slate of color, but there’s crown molding and dark wood trim.
“Remember earlier,” I say, “when you joked about building me a house?”
“Who said I was joking?” he says, smiling.
“Oh, perfect. Then I’ll take this one.”
He laughs.
“No, but seriously,” I say. “Who does this belong to? It’s perfect,”
“It’s mine,” Ryerson says, a little self-conscious. “It was the first one I started on when I moved here, but I’ve been taking my time. Wanted to get it right. That’s why I wanted your help decorating.”
It’s an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I walk up to him and drape my arms over his shoulders. He stares down into my face, and then leans in and kisses my nose quickly, making me laugh.
“Let me show you the rest of the place,” he says, reaching out to take my hand.
“Start in the bedroom,” I suggest like I don’t care either way. And he yanks me forward and rushes me down the hall.
***
“I feel like we have a disproportionate amount of sex to the amount of time we’ve know each other,” I say, staring up at the ceiling dreamily. Ryerson murmurs something, but I reach down and thread my fingers through his hair as he goes down on me. He laughs, and takes a long lick making me gasp.
When he goes back to his business, I stretch my arms over my head, letting my eyes flutter closed. “I wonder if we have too much,” I offer, making him shake his head an emphatic no, and press even harder until I literally yell out his name.
He places a sweet kiss on my thigh, and then comes to lie between my legs, sliding against me, everything so wet and ready.
“Definitely not too much,” he says, kissing my neck. “I would seriously fuck you every second of every day. It’s that good.”
I smile, and he takes my hands in his, squeezing them as he enters me. I moan.
“But right now,” he says, his voice hitching with each thrust. “I want to show how I can love you.” He pushes in harder, and then places soft kisses on my nipples. The juxtaposition of hard and soft is mind blowing, and it takes a second to realize the word he used.
“What?” I murmur, my eyes shut as he goes deeper, slower. Devastating me in the best way possible.
“I’m falling in love with you,” he says against my skin. My heart stops, and Ryerson lifts himself up on his elbow, staring down at my face. His lips part with each penetration, and I can barely think. He begins to pick up the pace, and all at once, I feel tears in my eyes. He starts to fuck me harder, and I reach out to dig my nails into his back, the carpet burning the skin on my hips. But we go harder, faster. Completely in sync.
He leans down and kisses me, and just as we both are in complete throes, I whisper into his skin, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”
***
“Let me get this straight,” Zoey says, sitting across from me in the coffee shop. “For the past week—”
“Three weeks if you count from the barbecue,” I correct, and sip from my latte.
“Fine. For the past three weeks, you’ve been banging the shit out of Porter’s brother… pretty much everywhere…”
I nod along like she’s getting it right.
“And you’re in love?” she asks. “Like, you legitimately love each other, and he’s already talking about possibly moving in together?”
“No,” I say, leaning into the table. “He’s going to build me a house. But we’re not there yet. We’re falling in love.” I pause. “His dog likes me now, though,” I say like it’s the next best thing.
“Oh,” she says brightly. “Well, that’s good.”
“I know!”
“And how often do you see each other?” she asks, rattling the ice in her tea.
“Every day,” I tell her. “We take turns at each other’s places.”
“Does Frankie know?” Zoey asks as if it just suddenly occurred to her.
“Of course,” I say. “I told him.”
Zoey curls her lip. “Gross. The two of you have a weird relationship.”
“Stop,” I say. “I’m telling you, too.”
“Uh, yeah. But I didn’t used to bang you in the back of Morty’s Bar on Sunday nights.”
“It was Saturday nights,” I say, deadpanned. We stare at each other, and then burst out laughing.
“Yeah, well,” I say. “Frankie will be married in a few months, and then he wants to buy me out of Miller’s.”
“Wait,” Zoey says, shocked. “He’s buying you out of the garage?”
I don’t admit that it kind of hurts my feelings, especially since it was my capital that started the place. But I don’t want a garage, so when he asked if he could buy it from me, I said yes.
“He’s going into business with Ray,” I tell her.
Zoey doesn’t make a joke. She lowers her eyes to the table, her lips pouting in that way where she doesn’t even realize. “Frankie Miller’s really getting married,” she whispers.
And it’s both of our young adulthoods ending.
“Does this mean we’re officially grown up?” she asks.
I smile, my eyes a little teary. “I don’t know about you, Zoey,” I say. “But I’ve been divorced since I was nineteen, so it’s probably about time.”
We both sputter out a laugh, and she lifts up her plastic cup of iced tea. I match her with my latte.
“To endless nights of sex,” she announces, garnering looks from several tables around us.
I smile. “And to mornings spent fucking in the shower,” I add, just to one up her.
“Damn, girl,” she murmurs, and we both sip from our drinks.
***
Ryerson picks me up from my apartment, and we head to his house for the night. He just landed a new project, and now that I’m wrapping up my days in Miller’s Garage, Ryerson helped me get a contract to design open houses. It’s just a start, but Zoey is going to make me make business cards and a website.
“Next weekend,” Ryerson says, holding my hand as we walk up to the house, “do you want drive out with me to see Brandon?”
“Your brother?” I ask.
“Yeah. They just had a baby, and they want to meet you.”
“Oh, honey,” I say in exaggerated sweetness, getting on my tiptoes to kiss him. He laughs, and lifts me off my feet in his massive arms. He carries me to the door, my legs swinging beneath me.
“They’re going to love you and want to keep you,” Ryerson says, unlocking the door. “So be prepared for me to have to fight our way—”
He stops abruptly when the door swings open.
“Out?” I suggest like he forgot the word.
He lowers me to my feet, and I turn around, still in his arms. There’s a woman standing in the doorway of the living room, staring at us. Ryerson lowers his arms, and takes a step past me.
“What are you doing here, Solana?” he asks, his voice tight.
I quickly dart my eyes to her, taking her in—my heart in my throat. Solana, his ex-girlfriend—is even more beautiful than I imagined. Tall with rich, tanned skin, dark wavy hair, a ring in her nose. She’s amazing, and I feel insignificant in front of her.
“I used the key,” she says, defiant. She has yet to even look in my direction, and I watch as my boyfriend takes another cautious step towards her.
“She has a key?” I ask. “I thought you lived with her in Seattle?”
“She does,” Ryerson says, not turning to me. “And I did. But she has the key in case of emergencies.”
“You left the dog here alone,” Solana says, putting her hand on her hip. “So when I stopped by last night, and heard him barking, I came in.”
“You stayed the night?” I ask her, not thinking about the fact that I’m out of line.
Dismissively, she turns to me. “Yes,” she says. “I stay the night here sometimes.”
Sometimes.
There’s a swift turn in my stomach, and I beg the universe not to do this. Please, don’t break my heart. Please.
“Ry,” Solana says, lowering her voice for him. “This town… it’s not you. Come home.”
“We’re not talking about this,” Ryerson says, shaking his head.
He walks into the house, and I hesitantly follow him in, not sure how I’d get home otherwise. He goes into the living room, and finds Rufus on the couch, forlorn. The dog gives him a long howl, and then lays his head on the couch arm again.
“Ry…” Solana says again, walking over to stop in front of him. She looks up at him, her dark lashes blinking slowly.
They stand there, pretty fucking close to each other, and I’m waiting to see if he’s going to kiss her, sweep her away in his arms. The fact that he hasn’t sent her away already is hurting me. And when she reaches out to put her hand on his bicep, I’m about to ready to cry.
“You know why I’m back,” she murmurs, and I see him swallow hard.
“Ryerson, take me home,” I announce, startling them both. Solana looks over at me, and smiles like she thinks that’s best.
“Just give me a second, Cheyenne,” Ryerson says, not looking at me. How dare he make me stand here and see this? Seriously, what the fuck?
“No, now,” I say, and he turns me, hurt in his eyes. But it’s not hurt from me. It from her. “I don’t have my car,” I add.
“I need a second,” he tells me again. Solana actually laughs, and I feel like a joke. I should have known it wouldn’t be this easy. Great guys didn’t just fall into the pool with me, have a whirlwind romance, and then build me a house. I’d been daydreaming from the start.
“Wrong answer,” I say, taking out my phone and calling the garage. Miller’s is the closest place to me, and Frankie will definitely pick me up.
“You better not be calling who I think you’re fucking calling,” Ryerson says, setting his jaw hard.
“If you’re not going to take me home…” I turn away, and when Frankie answers, I swallow hard.
“Can you pick me up?”
“Uh, sure, kid. Where you at?”
I give him Ryerson’s address, and before I hang up, Frankie must be worried about the strain in my voice.
“Chey, are you all right?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. And Frankie tells me he’ll hurry.
When I put the phone back in my pocket, I turn to find Ryerson glaring at me. Solana has an eyebrow raised like she’s enjoying the show. I’m a country mouse to her, and I realize I must look pathetic in a thrift store dress and wild curls. Low class. The kind of girl who got married at seventeen. Divorced at nineteen.
I sniffle, afraid I might cry, and I go over to sit on the couch next to the dog. Rufus immediately comes over to rest his face on my lap. I pet the top of his head, my eyes downcast.
“Look, Ry,” Solana continues as if there was no interruption. But now, there’s a bit of an edge to her voice. “I made a mistake. And clearly, you’ve made a few,” she adds with a little laugh. “But it’s time.”
“Take the dog out back, Solana,” Ryerson says, still staring at me. He doesn’t tell her to leave.
Solana sighs, throwing back her head, and then calls to Rufus. The dog lifts his eyes to me, not moving right away, and then Solana says his name again and snaps her fingers. He gets up, and trots away, past the washing machine and out the back door with Solana.
“You sure you don’t want to go too?” I ask, looking up at Ryerson accusingly.
“You called Frankie to pick you up from my house?” he demands.
“Yeah. I wasn’t going to watch you and Solana make up. Sorry, Ry. I’m not into that sort of thing.”
He shakes his head, disgusted, and walks over to the kitchen counter, leaning his hands on it and stretching like he’s trying to deal with how angry he is.
“That’s not what’s going on,” Ryerson says. “But feel free to jump to stupid conclusions.”
I scoff. “Uh…” I start like he’s insane. “She asked you to come home. And she sleeps here sometimes?” I ask. “How often is that? You neglected to mention it.”
“Because it wasn’t important. Now stay. Call Frankie and tell him you don’t need a ride.”
“No,” I say angrily.
There’s the double beep of a horn outside, and I’m relieved that Frankie is already here. Ryerson closes his eyes, and then straightens up, his back to me.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks. “Why right now?”
“It’s never too late to admit when you’ve made a mistake,” I say, and the words are crueler than I mean or intend. I’m just angry. I have a temper.
“Get out, Cheyenne,” Ryerson says, shaking his head. It’s like a slap, and at first, all I can do is stare at his back.
“Fine,” I say, my voice hitching. “But don’t think I’ll come back through that door again.”
He waves his hand, like he doesn’t care either way, and he sniffles. I can’t see his face, but I’m not about to stand here and let him humiliate me. He’s done a bang-up job of that already.
As I storm toward the door, Rufus lets out a long, soulful howl from the backyard, the kind that shatters hearts, and I have to rush out before I cry.
I slam the door behind me, slip off my heels, and literally run to Frankie’s car. Tears steam down my face before I even get in, and Frankie is a tiny ball of rage when he sees I’m crying.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” he says, going for his seatbelt.
“No,” I say, wiping my cheeks. “Just take me back to the garage. I want to go home.”