Page 46 of Moros

“I’m trying to say—shit, could you look at me?” Her frustration was palpable. “It’s weird having this conversation with your back.”

I didn’t move.

“Please?”

Hanging my head, I slowly turned on my heels, leaned my back against the sink then lifted my chin so my eyes were on her.

She swallowed a couple of times, dragged her palms along her thighs then lifted her elbows to the island. Even though she was looking at me, I could see she was fighting to keep her eyes up—a few times she faltered, and her chin dipped a bit.

But it took only a second before she was straightening her spine again.

“Speak, Shorty.” My voice trembled.

“It’s not the easiest—when you kissed me earlier, is that something you’d ever do again?”

“Kiss you, you mean?”

She nodded.

“No.”

“Oh.”

She lost the battle and her chin dipped.

Ryanne picked at the corners of her fingers then began biting the nail of her left index finger.

“Okay.” Ryanne nodded. “Cool.”

Pressing her palm to the counter, she nodded as if confirming something to herself then slowly eased off the edge of the stool like a child whose legs were too short to reach the floor in one go.

“Good talk.” Ryanne cleared her throat.

Without another word, Ryanne left the room, and I was standing there, staring after her wondering why she hadn’t asked the follow up questions I thought she would.

My answer would have been, no, because you still think I’ m with Pasha.

Exhaling, I followed her, traversing the same route she took to the only place she ran to when she was mad at the world—at me and Pasha.

I climbed the stairs and paused long enough to change then knocked on her door.

“It’s your house.” She called.

When I opened the door and entered, she was sitting on the windowsill, her legs drawn up to her chest as she used her knees as a holder for a book.

“That’s it?” I asked.

She didn’t look away from the book. “That’s what?”

“You’re just going to walk away?” I closed the door and stood behind it.

“What else did you want me to do?” She closed the book and looked up at me. “No means no—and I’ve accepted that.”

“Then you didn’t want me to kiss you bad enough.”

“How is this my fault?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say!” I tossed my hands up. “I thought you would have at least asked why that was the answer I gave you.”

---