Page 56 of Something to Someone

“Do you need any more help?”

He gave me a toothy grin before he sipped his drink. “No, we’ve got it covered, although I enjoy your company, so I wouldn’t be sad if you happened to stop by.”

“I think I’d need a reason to be there. Not just ‘stop by,’ but I can help you unpack after.”

“Perfect,” he said and leaned forward, grazing his lips over mine in a sweet, chaste kiss. “You can put your touch on it, too.”

“My touch?” He chased my lips as I leaned back, searching for another. He tugged me forward, and I couldn’t resist.

He hummed against my mouth and the chaste kiss was on the verge of something neither of us knew how to stop. We were both just tipsy enough to be happy and carefree.

“Yes, your touch. I think it would be nice to have in my new place.”

He wanted me in his space. My touch, as he called it. But I knew what he meant and the way he said it. Like he wanted me to linger there long after I was gone.

“Like when I look around, I can still see you there,” he continued, confirming my interpretation.

And it felt good to be wanted that much. It felt…

Abruptly, I stood, nearly stumbling from the chair. Ryder jolted to catch me, but I was able to right myself before falling flat on my face.

“Sorry, bathroom,” I muttered. I started walking, but Ryder caught my arm, and my heart stalled.

“That way,” he said, pointing the other direction. I spun and smiled as I walked the way he indicated. Around the bar and down a long hallway lined with photos of random people smiling, obviously posed, and playing games.

A woman was pushing out of the bathroom as I walked in, and in my haste, I almost ran her over. She scoffed, unappreciative of my tight-lipped smile and apology.

Unbothered by her annoyance, I continued into the bathroom and found the first empty stall. With the door shut and locked behind me, I finally let out the shaky, labored breath I’d been holding.

The beat of the music playing in the entire establishment was just as loud in the bathroom and drowned out everything else. Except my thoughts, the incessant, stupid thoughts.

I’d been careless. Thinking that we could keep it casual was foolish. Ryder meant more to me than almost any other man had. At least anyone in the last decade, and that itself was already a bad start.

A man that meant that much to me was bound to leave. I knew better, but I didn’t seem to care about my rules when it came to Ryder. Around him, the past was nonexistent, and the lessons I’d learned from it were inconsequential.

He made it easy to think that there could be something more.

Running my hands through my hair, I breathed in through my nose and out my mouth. I did that several times, but it was unsuccessful at calming my racing heart. Wherever I learned that supposed technique, they were lying.

We couldn’t keep doing what we were, that much I knew for sure. But what I couldn’t decide was what I should do about it. Tonight solidified what I already knew. We were both bound to get hurt when it ended. Any faith I had that we could walk away without it had vanished. As had my willing suspension of disbelief.

When I said it would end badly, I didn’t want to be right. Breaking Ryder’s heart would shatter mine, too.

I used the restroom and stepped out of the stall. Walking up to the sink, I glanced at the mirror. Although I looked the same, I felt completely different. Not that I’d resolved anything, but I could feel and see the resignation hanging over me.

I washed my hands and took another unhelpful breath before I stepped back out into the hallway. The entire walk back to the bar, I braced myself and prepared to see him once again. Still unsure what I was going to do but knowing what I should. I turned the corner and came to a stop.

Ryder was gone. His barstool was empty, but both of our drinks were still there. I continued slowly walking toward our seatsand finally spotted him a few feet away from our barstools. He was standing in front of a row of capsule machines. The ones where you paid a quarter and got a temporary tattoo or the world’s worst candy.

He was turning the handle when I came to a stop next to him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, but he didn’t respond. He leaned down and lifted the metal lid, letting it clang back down after he’d retrieved the little plastic globe holding his prize. A few other plastic containers were sitting on top of the machine.

“You went to the bathroom, and I saw these here. I couldn’t resist. I remember begging my mom to let me get something,anythingwhen I was a kid,” he began, popping open the little container and surveying the contents. “We didn’t have a lot of money for a really long time—perks of having teenage parents—but these were cheap, just a quarter, so most of the time when I asked, she said yes.”

He must have been excited about his prize because he smiled wide, and my heart did a weird stutter thing that I didn’t particularly care for.

“Here,” he said. “It’s for you.”

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