Page 3 of It Never Was

Looking into his eyes now makes it hard to stay mad at him, but I am.

Yes, you are, Ryen!

"Yes?" I finally say, averting my eyes away while trying to sound stern as I clean the steamer on the espresso machine with a damp rag turning. I can't be tough and hold my ground if I am swimming in his gaze.

"Rye, come on. You can't seriously be mad at me still. It's been two days. I gave you time to cool down about nothing."

"Yeah, two days and you still haven't given me an apology. Even though I have been trying to get a hold of you to get one." My eyes are still avoiding his, keeping my voice more of a hush than I need to, afraid he will read my tone as defiant.

"You want me to say sorry?" His words came out as a chuckle, causing me to look up at him.

Fuck, I shouldn't have looked.

Why is he so gorgeous?

Woman up, RYE!

"Yes, I do," I say in a matter-of-fact tone trying to hide the mix of panic and lust behind my eyes. I am only confident enough to say this because we are in the safety of my workplace. And he knows this.

"Okay." He pauses. "Okay I am, sorry…" he drags out sensing the mixture of emotions, "that I am so attracted to my girlfriend that I couldn't control myself at a party." His grin becomes sinister as he keeps his eyes on me.

Throwing the damp rag at the espresso machine and telling him "That. is not an apology." I can't hide the grin on my face. I love knowing he wants me just as much as I want him. I love seeing this playful side of him. I want to keep him this way.

Chrissy looks over, rolling her eyes at me. Annoyed that I am talking to Devon as customers trickle in. I adjusted my shirt, hiding the purple finger shaped bruises from Chrissy's view.

"Rye, it wasn't a big deal. No one had a problem with it but you," he shrugs off the incident as he picks a piece of lint off of his shirt.

"Yeah 'cause 'everyone else' was your friends and they looked pretty interested to watch." He looks at me with more intensity, I know that look.

Why does he never see my side? Am I being dramatic?

"Since you're soooo mad at me, does this mean I don't get my usual?" A frown forms on his face that seems out of place on his flawless features, his reaction is not what I was expecting. He must be trying to defuse the situation, and I want to let him. I hate it when we are like this. Fighting. When he is upset with me, even if it is a moment where I should be the one who's mad.

I am about to muster up a splinter of confidence to call him out, but before I know it, he leans over the counter, capturing my lips in a soft ghost-like kiss. So softly it leaves me wanting more, and I mindlessly inch towards the heat of his lips.

My heart flutters and my breath catches.

"Truce? You know I love you, babe," he whispers against my lips, his voice low and silky. The vibration on my mouth makes me release a small gasp. I hear the words, but I can barely process them. All I can feel are his lips on me.

I want more.

Pulling away, he says, "So coffee? Scone?" with a smile on his face that resembles a toddler forced to take a picture. But his eyes tell another story; they show the triumph of the win.

He has me wrapped around his finger.

Trying to shake away the growing pulses between my legs, I start to make his usual and his smile turns triumphant, knowing he has won this argument.

He always wins the argument.

Always.

He knows he is my weakness. All he has to do is touch me and I'm putty in his hands. Even as much as I tell myself next time, I won't allow it, I am a goner in seconds.

It wasn't always like this, in our relationship. It started off like every other one does. At least I think so.

But it morphed into this thing we have now, and I didn't know how to fix it.

I see Devon's posture straighten up. His face goes serious, and his eyes look alert as he peers out the front window of the shop. Following where his eyes are captured, I see Paul walking into work.

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