Even with the beach breeze blowing over my shoulders, the July heat is oppressive. Sun beats down on my back. It warms my hair. Fries my tender, just bleached scalp.

The six-block walk to the shop—it’s a miracle I found parking this close—is enough to get my dress sticking to my chest.

The bell rings as I press the Inked Hearts door open.

Fluorescent light replaces the glow of the sun.

The warm air dissipates. It’s freezing in here.

Then my eyes catch Ryan’s, and the coolness disappears. Heat spreads to my fingers and toes.

He looks so good.

He always looks good, but it’s been an entire day and a half since I’ve seen him.

He really is that beautiful. Those strong shoulders and inked arms aren’t figments of my sexual fantasies. They’re all him.

“Hey.” He nods hello from his suite, the one on the right, next to the window.

“You’re here early.”

“I’m always this early.”

“No. Just usually.” I pull my arms over my chest. How can I be hot and cold at the same time? It defies explanation.

His eyes find mine. “You want my hoodie?”

My toes tap together. My tongue slides over my lips. Ryan offers his hoodie almost every day. And I always say yes.

But not because I’m cold—my cardigan is in my purse, and it looks a hell of a lot better with this outfit.

Because it smells like him.

Because it’s his.

He bends to pull it from his backpack. His fingers brush mine as he hands it over.

It’s black, of course.

His entire world is black—his jeans, his t-shirt, his backpack, his car, his sketchbook, his pens, his attitude toward humanity.

You’d think the whole constant brooding, still not over his ex thing would be enough to convince me to stay away.

Not that I’ve ever had good taste in men.

I fell for the wrong guys for so long that I gave up on guys entirely.

Then I met Ryan.

And I tried to get over him. Really. When I started working here, he was still with Penny. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a home-wrecker.

I had no intentions of stealing him from her.

I have no intentions of claiming him.

He’s been single for a year now. We’ve been friends all that time. More.

But that’s all we are.

That’s all we’ll ever be.

I’m okay with that. Really, I am.

Being his friend is a lot better than being his nothing.

I slide his hoodie over my shoulders. Turn as I inhale the scent of him. Lemon soap, rubbing alcohol (the shop reeks of it), and something distinctly Ryan.

“You want coffee?” he asks.

“I can do it.”

“Sit. I’ll fix it.”

“If you tell me why you’re frowning.”

“I’m not frowning.” His lips press into a smile. It’s genuine. It lights up his eyes. Softens his brow.

God, he has a nice smile. “Okay, why you were frowning.”

He shrugs like nothing has ever bothered him before—a hard claim for anyone to make.

But for someone as broody as Ryan? There’s no way he’s selling that.

He motions to the Keurig in the lobby. “It’s happening.”

“I have to restock it.”

“Already did it.”

I bite my lip. He does this all the time—gets to the shop early or stays late, does my job for me.

It’s nice, having less to do. It frees up my time. Lets me focus on graphic design instead of busywork.

But—“That’s my job.”

He shrugs. “I was here.”

“Thanks.” I guess.

He crosses the room and fills a pod with French roast.

The smell of coffee fills the room as I set up. Purse under the counter. Computer on. Come In, We’re Awesome sign turned. Schedule printed.

He sets my coffee on the counter along with one container of half-and-half and another of Sugar in the Raw.

“Thanks.” I tear the fixings, pour, stir. Mmm. Sweet, creamy, rich perfection. “You’re weird today.”

“I’m always weird.”

“True.” But he’s being extra weird. “You miss karate or something?”

“Aikido.”

“You realize you’re the only person who cares about the difference.”

“It’s my cross to bear.” His voice stays dry.

But the joke still warms me everywhere. Ryan hides his sense of humor from most people.

I get it.

I get that side of him.

I get so much of him.

But, still, my heart wants more. Even if my head knows better.

I take another long sip. There’s something in those baby blues, something hurting him, but he isn’t going to tell me.

He isn’t the sharing feelings type.

Not that I can talk.

My heart is locked up tight. It’s easier that way. Safer.

You can’t fall for guys who pretend they love you if you keep them at arm’s length.

You can’t buy into yet another I’ll change, I promise if you don’t believe in someone in the first place.

And you’ll never, ever suffer the rejection of being someone’s second choice, if you don’t care about being first.

Yes, I’m crazy about Ryan.

Yes, we’re best friends.

We hang out. We run. We mock bad TV and eat dinner and tease each other about how we fix our coffee.

We don’t pour our hearts out.

“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.

His gaze goes to the bright blue sky outside the windows then it’s back on me. “I’ll get there.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later.”

My stomach twists. That’s a no.

I hate that he won’t let me in.

I hate that I don’t get every thought in his head.

I hate that he isn’t mine.

But I’m not about to unlock the vault around my heart.

How can I ask him to do the same?

* * *

“You’re what?” Dean’s voice echoes around the room. It’s free of his usual aren’t I an adorable troublemaker? tone. He’s genuinely concerned.

That’s weird. And worrisome. Dean only drops the pretenses when shit is bad.

And with that way Ryan’s shoulders are at his ears…

This is bad.

I’m quitting the shop and moving to Siberia; it’s the only place as cold as my soul bad.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

There’s no way he’s leaving.

That’s absurd.

I try to focus on the computer screen. To actually finish double-checking these records. To pretend as if I’m not eavesdropping.

I fail.

My gaze stays on Ryan’s back.

He runs a hand through his wavy hair.

He shrugs, completely failing at aloof. “You’re invited too.”

“Fuck.” Dean’s sandy hair falls over his bright eyes as he shakes his head. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“I’ll say it as much as I want.” Dean steps sideways, into the lobby. “Penny is a bitch.”

Ryan’s brow furrows as he turns and follows Dean. “I said I’m going, not ‘I’d like your opinion.’”

“You’re not going.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Ryan is going somewhere. Doing something Dean objects to.

But Dean doesn’t object to anything.

Unless—

Fuck.

Dean continues. “All right. Go. Get wasted. Stand up in the middle of the ceremony and scream ‘here’s a reason why these two can’t wed. Because she fucked him behind my back. And what the hell do you think that means for you, Francis? You think she’s gonna be loyal to you after that?’ Then drop the mic, get wasted, sleep with a bridesmaid, and come home the victor.”

“Fuck off.”

“You’re gonna make a fool of yourself either way. Might as well do it right.”

“She thinks I’m not over her,” Ryan says.

“All you’re gonna do is prove you care enough about her opinion to drop two grand on plane tickets and a hotel in Maui.”

Penny’s getting married.

And Ryan’s going.

What the hell is he doing going to his ex’s wedding?

And what the hell is he doing telling Dean instead of me?

Ryan’s black-on-black Converse squeak against the hardwood floor as he takes a step toward the counter.

Dean shakes his head what the hell is wrong with this guy. “If you show up single, she’ll think you’re a loser.”

“He’s right.” The words tumble from my lips. So much for pretending I’m not eavesdropping. But this is my business. Ryan is my best friend. I care about him more than anyone does.

Ryan shakes his head kids today. “I’m not showing up single.”

Dean laughs. “You didn’t—”

Ryan turns back to him. “I’m still not interested in your opinion.”

“Yeah. You are.” Dean shakes his head you’re an idiot for this. “Or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“I was letting you know my schedule.” Ryan slides his hand into the front pocket of his black skinny jeans.

“It’s sweet. You care.” Dean presses his hands to his heart—he’s the opposite of Ryan, in his bright blue t-shirt, light jeans, and navy and white checkered Vans—and feigns catching a hug. “You can admit it.”

“Right back at you,” Ryan says.

I laugh. “He’s got you there.”

“Love you too, babe.” Dean blows me a kiss. He laughs as he turns to Ryan. “Have I ever told you not to do something?”

“Well…” Ryan brushes another wavy lock behind his ear. Again, it fails to stay in place. It falls to his cheek. Frames his blue eyes in a perfect shade of brown. “She thinks I’m never gonna move on.”

“You aren’t,” Dean says.

“Fuck off.” Ryan moves forwards. Until he’s only a few feet away.

His eyes find mine.

They fill with vulnerability. Then he blinks, and his expression is steel again.

“You really told her you’re bringing someone?” Dean asks.

Ryan’s shoulders climb to his ears. “Not someone.” He tries to keep his voice even, but he doesn’t quite get there. “My girlfriend.”

Dean shakes his head harder. Fuck, you’re stupid. “You don’t even look at chicks. Where are you gonna find a girlfriend?”

“I’ll do it.” Words leap from my throat.

I do nothing to stop them.

I’m powerless to stop them.

This is crazy. But it’s also perfect.

I press my lips into a smile. A calm this is a great idea smile, not a lovesick anything to be close to you one. “I’ll go to Penny’s wedding. I’ll pretend I’m your girlfriend.”

Ryan’s eyes fix on me.

It’s not a good look.

It’s not a yes.

It’s not even a that’s a ridiculous idea, but points for trying.

More like a not in a million years.

But it’s not over until it’s over.