Page 72 of The Reunion

I am shameless. And not the least bit sorry about it.

‘Mm,’ Ryan mumbles into my neck. He pushes a thick strand of hair away where it’s fallen out of my updo and plastered itself, wet, to my shoulder. ‘I thought it was meant to be romantic, kissing in the rain.’

I laugh again, and – God, when was the last time a man made me laugh like this? The last time anybody did, for that matter? Certainly, Ryan never did.

Would he have, if I didn’t always assume that everything he said to me was some intentional ploy to undermine me and bully me? If I didn’t search for an attack in every word, maybe he would’ve made me laugh. Maybe – we could’ve even had a friendly conversation.

No, let’s not get too carried away.

But for right now, he’s making me laugh, and I tell him, ‘Ryan, this isn’t romantic. This is a disaster.’

‘Didn’t sound like you thought that a few minutes ago.’ He’s smirking, I just know he is, and I want to wipe it off his face – except, he’s not wrong, and his arms curl more firmly around my front so that I can’t turn around to give him my usual look that would put him in his place.

‘We’re locked in the science lab while the fire alarm goes off. Explain to me what part of that isn’t a disaster?’

He mumbles something that sounds like, ‘I dunno,’ and occupies himself kissing my neck again. I arch my head sideways to give him better access, but sigh as if this is all so terribly, awfully inconvenient.

Which it will be when we both catch pneumonia, but right now it’s just a little water, and that’s not the end of the world. (Actually, it’s a lot of water. I am a little bit concerned about the puddles forming on the floor, sloshing around our feet.)

I do regain enough of a grip on my sanity to wriggle and get Ryan’s attention.

‘Plus,’ I tell him, ‘it’s not romantic.’

‘What?’

‘Kissing in the rain. In – this.’ I jerk my head at the water gushing from the ceiling. ‘Us, right now, I mean, not the general trope of kissing in the rain. We aren’t romantic, is what I mean.’

‘Says who?’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

He shrugs, and lets go of me enough that I step forward and turn around. Ryan props an elbow on the bench to his left, crossing his legs at the ankles and leaning sideways. Considering the state of him, he should not be able to pull this off with anything remotely like arrogance. He should look like a drowned rat.

Except, of course, he doesn’t. His shirt is still halfway unbuttoned, the sleeves clumsily rolled up, and the white fabric has turned see-through in all the water, sticking in patches to his taut, dark skin. That school tie he was enough of a prat to wear hangs loose around his neck. He’s completely naked from the waist down, save for one sock on his right foot. I try to look pointedly at it, as if to undermine the whole thing he’s got going on, but Ryan just grins at me, clearly enjoying the fact my attention has wandered south, and I give a long-suffering sigh. There’s a scar on his left knee, twisted and pale, some of the skin around it puckered and warped.

I tear my eyes away from it, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. I might hate Ryan, but I’m not that much of an arsehole to him.

He shifts slightly, but only to get more comfortable in his thirty-degree lean, and then he raises his eyebrows at me. He used to give me that look all the damn time. Explain. Go on, Ash, keep digging.

I almost grit my teeth, but shake it off. We’re adults now. Mature grown-ups who can have a mature conversation, even if we’re both nearly naked and the fire alarm is still going off. I have to raise my voice to be heard over it, now he’s not standing right behind me.

‘This isn’t the start of some epic love story, or something. This isn’t the moment in the movie we declare our undying love for each other and run off into the sunset together. This was fun, yes, but it’s … It’s not romantic.’

‘Because you don’t want it to be,’ he counters.

‘And you do?’

I scoff, but … it immediately feels wrong. Not like a low blow, but simply incorrect. Didn’t he stand there and tell me he wonders what kind of music I listen to and how I take my coffee? He knew about the time I dated my supervisor. He’s not just been interested but invested, as aware of everything going on in my life as I have been with his – except with him, that’s been a much more conscious, voluntary choice.

Is it so impossible that somewhere in the midst of that, he might’ve stopped hating me quite so vehemently?

I watch the emotions play out on Ryan’s face, even as the corner of his mouth pulls up in a self-effacing smirk and he rolls his eyes, looking off to the side. He looks totally unbothered by the water pounding down on him; I squint against it, less composed, and hold a hand over my eyes to try to shield my face a little bit.

He looks like he couldn’t give two shits. Like I was a bit of fun and a good lay, but nothing special.

It’s a good mask. But I’ve always been better at seeing through Ryan than he’d ever care to admit, so I notice the flicker of hurt in his eyes and the guarded look his face takes on, the way his features harden around the edges. When his eyes cut back to mine, they’re every bit as derisive as a look I’d give him.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Easton. Just trying to make a point.’

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