Page 33 of Matched with the Playboy Next Door

Riley nods, her fingers curling around the gloves. “Good for her.”

Her words are sharp, but I can hear the hurt beneath them. She’s assuming the worst, and maybe I don’t blame her. I’ve been so focused on settling in, on provingsomething to myself, that I haven’t considered how it all looks to Riley. But this? She’s got it all wrong.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Riley, can we talk? About everything?”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ethan,” she says quickly, her voice sharper than I expect. “She’s your ex, right, and you were showing her around town. It’s none of my business.”

“It is your business, and Georgia is like a sister to me,” I say firmly, stepping closer. “We dated once—for about five minutes—before we figured out pretty quickly that we’re better as friends. She’s like a sister to me, Riley. That’s all it’s ever been.”

The words come out steady, but I can see Riley wavering, like she wants to believe me but doesn’t know how. I try again. “I don’t want you to think?—”

“To think what?” she cuts in, her eyes flashing. “That you’re not serious about staying here? That you still have one foot out the door?”

Her words hit harder than I expect, but I don’t back down. “Georgia’s visit had nothing to do with that. She wanted to catch up, and I didn’t think it would cause… this.”

“‘This?” Riley echoes, crossing her arms. “You mean me being stupid enough to think you might actually care about this town? About me?”

“Of course, I care about you,” I say, my voice softening. “Riley, you’re the reason I love it here.”

She shakes her head, taking a step back. “Don’t say that, Ethan. Don’t stand there and tell me I’m the reason you’re staying when you’re clearly telling Georgia that this isn’t permanent.”

“I haven’t said that to anyone in a long time,” I admit, my tone low. “When I moved here, I didn’t think I’d fit in or even love it here. But now… things are different.You make itdifferent.”

Her breath hitches, but she quickly masks it, her walls slamming back into place.

“You can’t just say things like that, Ethan,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You can’t make me believe you’re all in one day and then parade your ex around town the next.”

“Again, she's not my ex! We are just very good friends, and it wasn’t like that,” I say desperately. “Georgia and I… we’ve known each other since grade school; we’re friends, Riley. That’s it.”

“Maybe you believe that,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t think I can. Not after this.”

I take another step closer, the space between us feeling impossibly wide. “Riley, please. Don’t shut me out like this. It’s not even worth it. You are honestly blowing this out of proportion.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes glistening with something I can’t quite name. “I don’t know how to do anything else, Ethan,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “It’ssafer that way.”

Her voice shakes, and for a second, I see it—the crack in her armor, the vulnerability she works so hard to hide. But then she’s gone, turning away before I can say anything else, leaving me standing in the driveway with the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air. The driveway feels colder without her, and I’m left standing there, wondering if I’ll ever get through to her.

CHAPTER 12

RILEY

The sun is pouring through the kitchen window, painting everything in gold, but it does nothing to lift the weight in my chest. I sit at the table, staring at the toast on my plate, my appetite nowhere to be found.

Aunt Dotty is humming as she waters her plants, her gentle melody usually enough to make me smile. Not today. Not after yesterday.

I grip the edge of the table, trying to push away the memory of Ethan standing in his driveway, waving off Georgia like they were part of some romantic movie scene. The polished smile on her face, the easy way they laughed together—it all feels like a punch to the gut every time I think about it.

It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the image.

“You’re the reason I love it here.”

His words replay in my head, taunting me. I wanted to believe him. I really did. But how am I supposed to believe anything he says now?

I shove my plate away, the scrape of ceramic against wood louder than I intend. Aunt Dotty glances over, her humming, pausing for a beat.

“Not hungry?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

“Not really,” I say, standing quickly and grabbing my bag.

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