Page 74 of Come Break My Heart Again

But I’m going to lie in bed tonight, possibly crying, imagining him in Ophelia’s room down the hall from me.

Wondering if I’ll have some sixth sense of what’s happening in the same house as me.

Mourning the loss of everything that’s lived and died between me and Ryder James for the thousandth time.

If my bloodstream is mostly tequila, it’ll be a lot more bearable.

“Hey. What can I get for you?”

I stare at the bartender, his smile fading more with each second I stay silent, stuck in my own head.

“Uh, margarita,” I answer. “Please.”

“You got it.” He moves on quickly, toward more talkative customers.

My drink appears a couple of minutes later. I opt to keep the tab open.

Juliet’s right. I could use some fun. It’s been a long time since I had a night out that wasn’t a glass of wine at a networking event or a pint of beer after a study group. My life has turned into everything I once told myself it wouldn’t be—predictable and bland.

A warm arm presses against mine. I don’t jerk away the way I should from a stranger’s touch, not realizing why until I glance over at the body beside mine.

I know him by heart.

I swallow, then take a hasty sip of my drink. It’s delicious, the salt rim balancing the sour lime and smoky liquor.

“Cool spot,” Ryder comments, glancing down the bar.

“Yep.” I take another lengthy pull from my margarita, just to occupy my mouth.

When I set the glass down, he’s still standing next to me. I glance over, surveying the strong lines of his profile. I’m pretty sure I could pick it out of thousands—the slight bump on the bridge of his nose and the line of his jaw that’s as straight as a razor’s edge. Warmth spirals through me, and I’m worried it has little to do with the amount of tequila I just sucked down.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Ryder looks at me. There’s an answering thud in my chest, right where my hollow heart beats. “I was planning on ordering a drink.”

“Oh.”

There’s about thirty other feet of bar top he could have chosen to order a drink from instead. I can’t come up with a polite way to point that out.

We’ve barely spent any time together today. I smiled through it all—the pancakes and the watching him surf and the shopping.But my smile has grown more and more strained because I knew this moment was coming. Knew we’d talk again at some point.

And I’m worried this—Ryder standing close enough I can smell the salt and sun and soap on his skin—might make me crack.

He’s still looking at me. And I’m staring back.

One corner of his mouth lifts.

“What?”

“You, uh …” He swipes a hand across his jaw, not quite managing to hide his growing smile. “You have some salt on your nose.”

Heat creeps into my cheeks as I vigorously rub my nose with the palm of my right hand. “Gone?”

“Nope.”

I rub again. “Now?”

“No. Still there. Little higher.”

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