Page 92 of Female Fantasy
“You got it.”
She briefly gawks at Ryan Mare before scurrying off into the kitchen.
I turn my attention back to Ryan. If I was writing our meet-cute, how would I want it to go? Maybe I should accidentally knock over his glass (Silly me, I’m so clumsy!), apologize profusely, then offer to buy him another round.
Or maybe I should pretend to get a distressing phone call, burst into tears, and let him comfort me, wrapping one strong, muscled arm around my shoulders. And when I blink up at him through wet lashes and we lock eyes for the first time, I’ll allow my breath to stutter. Later, I’ll tell Tey and Ollie that he stole it away.
He could reach over and steal a fry from my plate when I’m not looking.
I could “accidentally” burp loudly and pretend to be embarrassed about it.
My phone could die, forcing me to ask to borrow his charger.
I shake my head. Why am I allowing myself to play out scenario after scenario in my head instead of just experiencing life firsthand?
Why am Ilikethis, writing fanfic about myself in my mind instead of leaping off the page and making something happen?
“If you keep your mouth open like that for too long, you’re bound to trap a fly,” says a deep, throaty voice.
When I turn my head to the left, I find myself tumbling headfirst into golden headlights.
Ryke.
I immediately attempt to shut my mouth, swallowing my own tongue in the process, which sends me into a coughing fit.
“Now, now,” Ryan Mare says, patting my back. “Water or wine?”
Ryke would say,It’s your choice,I think to myself.
“It’s your choice,” Ryan Mare says.
I blink at him.
That was…eerie.
“I’ll stick with my wine, thanks,” I say, taking a big gulp to quell the oncoming hiccups. The drink tastes smooth, but it burns my throat.
Ryan Mare watches me, amusement spreading over his face. The corner of his mouth tugs upward in the exact way Evelyn G. Carter mentions more frequently than necessary.
I extend a hand. “I’m Joonie.”
He takes my hand and shakes it, firm and strong. His palm is as rough as it is in fiction.
“Ryan,” he says. “What brings a girl like you to a shitty tavern in Midtown, Joonie?”
I followed you here.
I traveled all this way to meet you.
I am hoping you’ll sweep me off my feet.
“Just grabbing lunch,” I say instead. “And what about you?Do you come here often? Do you work nearby? Are you meeting someone?”
So many questions, I think.
“So many questions,” he says.
Whoa.
