“Oh, please. Romance novels are an art form and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sullivan.”
Ryan turns and picks up his fork with a grin as I glance over at Cristina. She’s smirking back at me like the cat that got the cream.
Perfect.
The rest of dinner goes by without incident and before I know it, we’re all outside and Cristina and Jason are hopping into a cab. I ask Cristina if Ryan and I should go with them, but she basically kicks me away with the heel of her foot and slams the door shut. The car screeches off and Ryan and I are left alone in front of the restaurant.
So much for this not feeling like a setup.
If Ryan feels uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He stands confidently in front of me, the glow from the streetlights bouncing off the shoulders of his pale blue button-down as he slides his hands into his pockets.
“Where are you staying?” I decide to ask.
“The Shelburne Hotel. It’s in Murray Hill, I think.”
“Nice. That’s actually right near my apartment.” He nods his head and continues to look at me, waiting for something. I’m not sure what. “Okay, so I’m going to go.”
“Do you want to share a cab?” he suddenly asks. “Or we could both get dropped off at my hotel if your place is that close.”
“I’d rather not.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Why does everything have to be a fight with us? Let’s just share a cab.”
“Oh, well, when you ask so nicely.”
I walk past him with a sarcastic smile and head for the curb. I’m scanning the street for available taxis when I sense him standing next to me. His arm touches mine and, this time, I know it’s intentional.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is so gentle that I consider it alarming. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Would you please share a cab with me, Kara?”
Fifteen minutes later, Ryan and I step out of the taxi in front of his hotel. I’d rather walk than have the driver take me the few extra blocks.
“Here we are,” I say, glancing up at the maroon hotel awning. The nearby doorman keeps an eye on us, trying to gauge whether we’re about to walk in or not. Ryan leans back on his heels and looks at the double glass doors.
“How far are we from your apartment?”
“Not far at all. About a ten-minute walk.”
He stays quiet, his eyes still trained on the doors. I’m fully anticipating that we’re about to go our separate ways when he blurts out, “You want to go for a drink?”
I don’t try to hide my perplexed expression. “Why are you asking me to go for a drink? You just told me a couple of hours ago that you’re mad at me and we should keep our distance.”
“I know I did. I still think we should.”
“Then I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I.”
This is asking for trouble. I consider answering with a definitive no when I think back to my conversation with Sam. I swore to seize every opportunity I had with Ryan, spend time with him no matter what it takes—or how much it hurts.
“Fine,” I say, doubting but not stopping myself. “Let’s get a drink.”
4
We end up walking five blocks to The Wharf, my favorite dive bar. Narrowly tucked in along 3rd Avenue, The Wharf is deceivingly huge. Once you navigate through the crowded bar area up front, there’s a small flight of stairs in the back that leads to a covered patio filled with little dining tables. The patio only has two TVs, so the roaring sports fans tend to stay downstairs, leaving the upstairs relaxed but lively by extension.
But the hands down, best, take-your-breath-away part of the upstairs area is the old wooden shelving unit pushed along the far wall that is filled to the brim with board games. I’m talking Jenga, Connect 4, Scrabble, checkers, Battleship—they even have Dream Phone! (Dream Phone being the most thrilling and quasi-salacious electronic board game my ten-year-old self ever played, where Carlos in the neon 80’s tracksuit was, and always will be, my one true love.)
“This is awesome,” Ryan says solemnly, looking up at the stacks of vintage games.
“I know.” I have to respect his admiration for the game wall. I was the same way when I first beheld this magnificent sight. “Pick your poison.”
“Dang,” he says with a sigh. “If I knew I was going to be making a major life decision tonight I would have emotionally prepared myself.” I scoot over so he can keep looking through the shelves until he eventually grabs the Jenga. “There are too many solid choices so I went with a safe bet.”
“A fan favorite and always a good pick.” I swipe the game out of his hands and lead us to one of the tables in the center of the room. We’re stacking up the pieces when a waitress comes by a minute later. I order my usual Grey Goose bay breeze and he gets a beer on tap. The drinks come out fast and I’m ready to go for my first block as soon as they arrive.
“I should warn you,” I say, “I’m a fairly well-known Jenga player in these parts, so you may want to manage your expectations of how this is going to go.”
“Consider me warned.” Ryan is fully focused on the game.
I go for my first block, a strategic side pull near the bottom. Ryan moves closer to the table as he considers his return move. He goes for a mid-level center block and three moves later, neither of us has uttered a single word. My face starts to feel warm so I take a sip of my drink. It doesn’t help; if anything, it makes my cheeks rosier.
“On the
