Page 45 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

Because even though I’m jealous and irritated and a little sad, I still want to see him. But I also have to wonder if he still wants to hang out with me and watch television when he could easilyfind some other way to spend his evening. If not with Kayla, then with the other woman. Or any other woman, really.

At home, I throw together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and eat it while staring at my phone, which never lights up with a reply from Ryan.

Afterward, I question all of my life choices and wonder how I ended up here, waiting on Ryan Ehler – of all people – to text me. I used to think the women that chased after him were ridiculous. And now, here I am, waiting for him to call.

The man put his fingers inside me weeks ago and I’m still fighting off the effect it had on me. Imagine if we’d had sex. I’d probably be outside his window wielding a boom box and a proclamation of eternal love.

Notthat I love Ryan. I don’t. But there are…feelings. Ones that I can’t quite grasp – mostly because I spend all my time suppressing them into oblivion for the sake of being friends with him.

Maybe I should tell him that being friends isn’t working out. I mean – is it? We’re getting along, but it feels so fleeting and temporary, like it’s a placeholder for something else. Probably for our imminent demise, the moment when this all comes crashing down on us and ruins everything. Maybe that’s tonight. If he blows me off to take some random woman home – or worse, to take Kayla home – I can’t see us hanging out anymore. It would feel like the end of…something.

I’m tidying up the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. My stomach tumbles in equal parts happiness and annoyance.

Ryan looks a bit frazzled when I open the door. He pauses for a beat before stepping inside.

His greeting is a heavy sigh. “Well, this has been a weird fucking night,” he says as he perches on the sofa and starts unlacing his boots.

“Yeah.” It comes out strained, somewhere between an acknowledgment and a question.

“What’s for dinner?”

“I already ate.”

Ryan glances up at me. The disappointment on his face is overwhelming.

“I can make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” I offer.

He nods and I walk off toward the kitchen. After assembling the sandwich, I add some apple slices and chips to the plate and carry it over to the sofa.

Ryan looks exhausted. He’s slumped down on the couch like he could fall asleep right then and there but perks up slightly at the plate of food.

“This reminds me of elementary school lunches,” he says around a bite of an apple.

“I thought you might eat at the bar.”

He shakes his head and finishes chewing. “I was holding out for a world-famous Marlow culinary adventure.”

This is Ryan’s new favorite thing to tease me about. When we eat at his place, it’s always vegetable lasagna, pasta primavera, grilled portabellas with balsamic glaze and risotto. At my house, it’s pre-made veggie burgers or macaroni and cheese with a can of green beans on the side. I never really learned to cook very well, but Ryan definitely has a knack for it. He’s already mastered a handful of vegetarian dishes that I’m sure he never even attempted before I came along.

“Well, you got one,” I say.

“Glad I waited. What kind of jam is this?”

“Raspberry. I can’t stand grape jelly.”

“Huh,” he says, examining the last bite of his sandwich before cramming it into his mouth. He carries his plate over to the sink, washing and drying it before returning to the sofa.

He’s different tonight, a little less steady than usual. His movements are heavier, like his body is just clanking around and running on fumes.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, apparently I’m just out of practice when it comes to happy hour.”

“Aww, did all the female attention overwhelm your delicate sensibilities?” My voice is sugary sweet mocking.

“Yes, actually,” he laughs. “That Kayla girl is fucking annoying. Is she like that all the time?”

“She’s usually on her best behavior when I’m around. Unless you’re around, too.”

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