Page 26 of Return on Love

He fills up my glass again and sits across from me on the couch. Max, now comfortable with my presence in the house, is sleeping near Ryan’s foot, with Ryan gently scratching him with his toes. I remove the image of his abs from my mind. I need to talk now, or else I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.

I open my mouth to explain his work-related transgressions, the speech that I’ve been repeating in my head. But the words that come out are quite different. “Why do you hate me?” I ask. What? Why did I say that, like a little loser wanting to be liked by the cool kids in school?

He stops scratching Max and sits up straight. His face has taken that weird appearance again—straight lips, squinted eyes, clenched jaws, mild furrows on his forehead. I can’t read this expression. It’s like a mixture of shock, hate, anger and something more. Perhaps I need a book or a course on understanding what it means when a face contorts like this. I wait for some time, not knowing how to continue. Finally, he says, “Why would you think that?”

Now it’s my turn to be shocked. How can he even ask me such a question? In all the time we’ve known each other, he has made it clear to everyone that he hates me, starting with puking all over me. And he has the cheek to ask me what makes me think so? Wow! Just wow!

“Forget it,” I say, calming myself a little and drinking a little more. How much have I had? I don’t remember, but maybe I shouldn’t drink anymore. More importantly, I should continue while I still can. “Why have you been going behind my back and meeting Weber without me? I know you met him in LA, and I know you had a call with him earlier this evening. Why are you doing this?”

He just looks at me, this time with his eyes wider open. Perhaps it’s astonishment. Did he think I’d be a fool not to know about it? Maybe he thinks I’m supremely foolish.

He opens his mouth. “It’s not….” But I can’t let him speak now. I pour a little more wine into my glass to avoid looking at him. I need to get it all out of my system, or else I won’t be able to say it again.

“Look, it’s okay if you don’t like me. It’s fine even if you detest me. We don’t have to like each other to work together. But I want this deal to go through. There’s not much time to develop a foolproof strategy for your company’s future. Only two and a half months. Your recent games have made no significant splashes. From what I’ve seen in the past week, there are no path-breaking ideas for the future as well. At this rate, you won’t get funds from our firm. But you don’t seem interested in planning anything, or in utilizing my expertise.”

I pause for a while and gulp down some more wine. “I don’t know whether the funding is crucial for you. Maybe you have other sources as well. But it’s important for me. It’s important for Bernard as well. If you aren’t serious about it, you shouldn’t have come to us.”

I do bottoms-up with my glass and feel a buzz, but I can think straight. I hope so. I remind myself not to have any more. “Weber’s my boss. And this deal, it can either give me a promotion or put me in the line of fire. And you, mister.” I get up and point my finger at his chest, prodding it a little. My! It’s hard. It somehow reminds me again of his abs. I shake my head a little, and it just makes everything worse. My head is spinning a little, but I can’t stop now. “You’ll not take this away from me. Not even with your perfect abs, and huge biceps, and a beautiful laugh that is only reserved for others. Even though you hate me, I’ll not let you take this away from me. Not again.”

“Why is my voice slurring, and why am I saying all this aloud? I should just shut up now. Shit! Did I say this aloud too?” I stumble a little and plop down on the couch beside him.

“You did,” came Ryan’s voice from somewhere. I really can’t think clearly. “You should sleep now. You still can’t handle alcohol. We’ll talk tomorrow.” He helps me stand up and takes me to my room.

“Talk, we will, mister,” I say, as he half carries me to the room. “Ooh, I’m Yoda. A good man, you seem. Thought this I never did.”

I’m on the bed. Did he just take a strand of hair out of my mouth and put it behind my ear? I can’t be sure. I could be dreaming that he’s tucking me in.

I wake up the next morning, and take a few minutes to realize where I am. I remember little of last night after I started speaking, but I have a strong feeling that I’d made a fool of myself. Why do I do it? I bury my head in my hands. Why don’t I just not drink at such times? I have a slight headache. I lift my head and notice a glass of something on the side table and a note.

“Drink this when you wake up. It’ll help with the hangover. I’ll be back soon.—Ryan.”

I sniff the liquid. It smells citrus. Could it be poisoned? Did I speak too much last night? Enough for him to want to kill me? Perhaps. No one knows I’m here. It’d be perfect. He could just bury my body in the garden and no one would ever know.

I leave the room and tip-toe around the house. It’s quiet. He’s not here. Even Max isn’t home. I drink a glass of water. But the headache remains. What the hell? He doesn’t know I haven’t told anyone about my whereabouts. He wouldn’t dare kill me. I gulp down the liquid he’s made. It’s a mixture of some sort. Lemon with something else. Tastes pathetic. Maybe it is poisoned after all. But within a few minutes, my head stops throbbing.

I feel even better after a shower. I choose another dress from the closet, a yellow one with polka dots. It’s a little kiddish for my taste, but I like the color and feel like having some brightness around me. Ryan is still not back. I vaguely remember telling him off last night before getting distracted by his abs. Did I complete the conversation? I’m not too sure.

I walk over to the kitchen and make myself some coffee. I make a little extra for him. Not for any other reason, mind you. It’s simply because having coffee in his house and not offering him any would be weird. Plus, he made me dinner last night, so it might reflect badly on me not to brew some extra coffee. It’s good that I did because I hear Max’s bark just as I’m pouring the brew into my cup.

Max bounds over to me as soon as the door opens. I can’t help but laugh at his behavior. I see Ryan standing by the door and smiling. He has to stop doing that. It makes him all too human and reduces my hate for him. Like significantly. And I can’t have that.

“How was your walk, buddy?” I ask Max, scratching him under the ears, and talking like I was conversing with a baby. “You enjoyed it? Did you?”

Max settles down in a few moments. I can see he’s out of breath. And then there’s Ryan. He’s all sweaty, with his T-shirt clinging onto his body, making his muscles oh so apparent, muscles flexing like he’s in an action movie. His arms are glistening with all the perspiration. They’ve done some serious exercising while I’ve been sleeping.

My eyes lock with Ryan’s for an instant as he catches me staring at him, and I instantly turn away.

“I made coffee if you want some,” I say, picking up my cup and walking over to my chair. Well, not ‘my’ chair, but the one I’ve been sitting on since last evening. It’s so comfortable that I wouldn’t mind carrying it away with me to LA.

Ryan nods and disappears into his room. I hear water running, and in a few minutes, he’s out, changed into fresh clothes and smelling of lemon and something manly.

He pours himself the remaining coffee and sits on ‘his seat’, the couch opposite me. “The dress suits you,” he mumbles and stares into his coffee.

“Yeah, right,” I say. “You, of course, hate my wardrobe, like everything else about me.”

“What?”

“It’s okay,” I say. I’m in a forgiving mood today, especially since he took the trouble to make me that drink for my hangover, which seems to have cured it completely by now. Would it be weird if I asked him for the recipe?

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