Page 60 of The Reunion

Probably has. Many times.

‘Maybe I’m not as unfuckable as you think. Maybe you’d be surprised what I’d drink for, in a game of Never Have I Ever these days.’

I am talking a big game, in the scheme of what I imagine Ryan and his ilk would consider par for the course when it comes to sex and flirting and dating – but he doesn’t need to know that.

Ryan assesses me for an interminable moment. Entire worlds begin and end in that time; stars are born and cycle through a supernova before the corner of his full lips draws up in a smirk I don’t want to find attractive, but – God, I really do. He lifts a hand and I refuse to react as he traces the back of his index finger from the neckline of my blouse up to the top of my shoulder, and I have to wrestle away the urge to bite my lip as I think about his hand drifting lower again, but this time to cup my breast as he moves in closer …

Except, of course, he doesn’t do that.

His finger does trail back down, but only to hook beneath the chain-link strap of my clutch bag, and then he pushes the bag into my hands.

‘I saw you sneaking something out of a flask in the hall earlier. Put your money where your mouth is, why don’t you?’

All I can do is stare, and wait, as he opens the bag in my useless hands, and takes out my little flask. He unscrews the top and the sharp, potent scent of tequila chokes the air.

He meets my gaze. ‘Never have I ever had a one-night stand.’

Ryan takes a sip. He holds the flask between us. I’m careful not to let my fingers brush his as I take it, and have a sip myself.

It’s my turn, so I say, ‘Never have I ever had a three-way.’

Predictably, Ryan drinks. I do not.

‘Never have I ever hooked up with someone I work with.’

We both drink.

‘Never have I ever hooked up with someone who works for me,’ I say, sure that there’s no way some peppy, starstruck woman on his staff wouldn’t have flirted with him at some stage, and no way that he wouldn’t have reciprocated, no matter what his HR department would’ve had to say about it.

Except Ryan doesn’t drink, and then gives me that shit-eating grin I hate so much, and places his mouth near my ear to say, ‘Never have I ever dated someone I work for.’

Shit. Shit! How does he even know about that? That was years ago. A brief, misguided fling before I cut it off and then the guy left for another job, after he realised he couldn’t embarrass me into switching to a different department or moving to another company.

That’s not a lucky guess. That’s …

‘You’ve been keeping tabs on me,’ I accuse him. ‘Stalking my social media.’

There’s no way he’d know unless he was keeping a very close eye on the guy I occasionally had in some of my Instagram Stories, and never tagged. He would’ve had to go looking, see who liked my posts and who …

Ryan doesn’t even try to deny it. Just shrugs, keeps leaning, keeps that sliver of space between us, and gives a complacent half-smile like I just pointed out the obvious.

Maybe he really was being serious, when he said he still thought about me and that’s part of what’s driven his career. All this time he’s been like a damn poltergeist in my life, cropping up when I least expect it, unable to get rid of him if I tried … And he’s been lurking on my socials, following my life and my career, too.

‘Drink,’ is all he says, so I do.

‘Never have I ever cheated,’ I say next, throwing the words like a punch, but Ryan just shrugs and doesn’t take the flask.

Damn it, I was so sure I would’ve had him there.

Ryan pretends to think over his next move, and I feel the shift in the tension between us as soon as his eyes cut back to mine. He takes the flask and is sure to let his fingers touch mine as he does so. They’re rough, calloused, and the shock of it makes my breath catch – audibly, which makes me blush, and makes him …

I expect him to smirk because he’s won this round, only he doesn’t. If anything, his expression settles into something unnervingly serious, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

I hear the scrape of metal; he’s putting the cap back on the flask.

But it’s not game over, apparently, because he breathes in and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, take his turn.

And his body is crowding even closer to mine yet somehow still not touching, and it’s agonising, and my back is curving away from the door to bring me closer to him, waiting, wanting, in a way I’ve never wanted anybody, let alone Ryan, and – none of this feels like a game anymore, some petty fight.

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