“Sorry if the truth hurts.”
“Yes, it does. Another lesson you taught me the last time we spoke.”
I say nothing as I wait for Ryan to smirk or flash a sarcastic grin. Neither arrives and I’m a little rattled by their absence. Jason’s colleague accidentally bumps into me again, making me move forward to keep my balance. I’m about to shift to the side to position myself more comfortably when Ryan’s fingers suddenly brush my wrist.
“Switch with me,” he says. He grips my hand and starts to pull me forward.
“It’s okay. I’m fine.” I adjust my stance to stand firmly in front of him but now there’s only a foot of space between us. I’m also trying to pretend I’m not entirely aware that he’s still touching my hand.
“Come on, let’s just switch.” He gives me another light pull and I decide to go with it, moving forward into his place while he takes my former spot. If Jason’s work friend bumps into him next, he’ll find a six-foot-two wall. Ryan doesn’t seem to mind, though. He never did. He used to do the same thing in college. If we were ever at a crowded bar, he always positioned himself in such a way to block any overly boisterous party guests from bumping into me. It was sweet back then, and, unfortunately, it still is now.
“Look, let’s both just take a break for a second,” he says. “It’s obvious neither of us is thrilled to see each other, but for Jason and Cristina’s sake, I’m sure we can make it through one night in the same room.”
“Fine,” I agree, suspicious but willing.
“And if you’re worried that I’m going to lose my mind and beg you to take me back like I did when I was a kid, rest assured, I’ve moved on.”
I’m not sure if his words are meant to cut, but I still feel a sting.
“Glad to hear it,” I say simply.
Ryan claps his hands together in front of him. “In other news, you look well.”
“Thanks,” I answer. As someone who uses all of their money to buy books instead of clothes, this little black dress was a splurge for me. It’s off the shoulder, smooth as silk and the boning inside makes me appear much smaller than my usual size eight. That made the price tag easier to accept. I was paying for skinny fashion sorcery.
I even got my hair and makeup done. My deep brown hair, normally pin straight, is curled into soft waves, and my makeup looks alluring but tasteful. The whole beautification process was genuinely fun until I told the makeup artist that I didn’t own foundation. The woman looked so offended, I half expected her to slap me across the face with a glove and challenge me to a duel.
“You also look...healthy,” I eventually add. Ryan’s eyes scrunch up at my choice of compliment, sparking me to go on. “And old. You look healthy and old.”
“All right,” he says, looking down at his impressive leather watch, “and our cease-fire lasted a whole ten seconds.”
“I don’t mean you look decrepit old, just older. I look older, too. I don’t sleep enough and it’s making me age prematurely. I have a sound machine, but I haven’t started using it yet. Maybe that will help.”
And I’m now discussing sleep strategies. Excellent.
“Anyways,” I say, “I had no idea you were friends with Jason.”
“Yeah, since we were kids. I assumed we’d all eventually fall out of touch, but the guy initiates group chat conversations like no one I’ve ever met.”
“I think Jason is just one of those universally likable people. If Tom Hanks and Anna Kendrick ever had a love child, it would be him.”
“That makes sense. He’s more or less the human embodiment of a golden retriever.”
I can’t help but smile at Ryan’s words and it’s a familiar but bizarre sensation, like trying on an old favorite shirt that doesn’t fit anymore.
“Cristina seems great,” he says a second later.
“She really is. She’s so nice and funny and unbelievably loyal.” I don’t even emphasize the word loyal but it still drops between us, heavy as a wrecking ball, shaking the ground and clattering glasses.
“There it is,” Ryan says, sounding both expectant and disappointed. “I’m surprised you lasted this long, Sullivan.”
“I’m not doing this,” I reply, my heartbeat picking up speed. I refuse to play a game that neither of us can ever win. “Change the topic or I’m leaving.”
Ryan’s jaw is set in a hard line before he eventually makes himself relax. “Fine. Jason mentioned on the drive in that you live in the city now.”
“I do,” I answer. “I bought a co-op three years ago. I’m a full-on adult.”
“I never really pictured you as the city type. I saw you as more of the sitting-on-a-porch-in-a-rocking-chair kind of girl.”
“How flattering,” I say. “Like a happy geriatric patient?”
A spark of amusement flashes in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“And in your vision of me is there an oxygen tank next to me on the porch or is it just me and my trusty service dog?”
He doesn’t try to hide his smile this time and it shakes something loose in the pit of my stomach. I shove it back into place with violent force.
“All right, let’s scratch the whole porch comment. I was clearly mistaken. You want another drink?”
“Sure. You going to poison it?”
“I’d hardly tell you if I was.”
Ryan turns to the bar and I immediately yank up the top of my Spanx through the fabric of my dress. I’m all tucked in and standing normally when he faces me again, holding a beer for himself and handing me a fresh glass of champagne.
“You’re a writer now, aren’t you?” he asks.
I used to be.
“I am,” I force myself to say. “Did Jason tell you?”
“No, I read your books. That’s actually why I’m here. I was thinking with all of your success you would want to become my sugar momma.”
I laugh. Too bad I also take a
