Page 49 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

I justified having him stay the night by telling myself he was too tired to drive home. It’s probably true. It’s also true that I would have found any excuse for him not to leave. After that bizarre happy hour, I can’t deny that I’m attracted to Ryan. These weird, jealous, achy feelings are more than a residual memory of our little make-out session after the wedding. I have to face the fact that I want something from him and consider stepping outside of my own comfort zone to get it. Yeah, I’ll be a clingy, embarrassing mess for a while afterward, but I already feel that way. Might as well milk it for all it’s worth. Maybe putting an end to my dry spell will make it easier to move on.

A flutter in my chest tells me that I’m about to blurt something out. The words are right there on my lips. I’m not even sure whatthey are exactly. Please, oh please, let them be something more eloquent and sexy than ‘Let’s do it.’

The first syllable sounds a lot like a yawn, which is a lucky break considering that Ryan starts talking at the same time as me.

“I have to go.”

It comes out as one quick word. He’s out of the bed and pulling his pants on before I can even turn over.

“Thanks for letting me crash,” he says before bending down to give me a quick peck on the temple.

What I am witnessing right now must be the patented Ryan Ehler ‘Oh Shit, I Dozed Off’ morning-after dance. And it is very well-rehearsed. He pauses and clears his throat as he straightens back up, probably because it dawns on him that we didn’t have sex and it was weird to kiss me like that.

In the meantime, I’m speechless. Well, aside from my single yawn-syllable, which Ryan has chosen to ignore. Before I can form a coherent sentence, he’s pulling his boots on in the other room and running out the front door. Literally running. I can hear his heavy boots taking the stairs two at a time.

And then he’s gone.

Call me predictable, but I am already rethinking my ill-advised plan to have sex with him. Now or ever. It was just a fleeting thought, fueled by proximity and fuzzy morning thoughts.

I spend the rest of the morning angry, sad, and stuffing my face with cinnamon rolls.

Normally, I talk to my mom on Sundays after she goes to church. But once I’ve sworn off the remaining cinnamon rolls and cleaned my entire apartment, I decide to call her a day early. It’s weird to want to talk to her, but things have been pretty good between us lately. For the first time ever.

She acts unsurprised by my impromptu phone call, but once we’re on the phone, I can’t bring myself to mention Ryan. I’mstarting to wonder if there is even a word in the English language for the way I feel about him. Some amalgam of annoyance, anger, lust, and hope.

___

By late afternoon, I’m admittedly pretty bummed and sort of angry that I haven’t heard from Ryan. I sort of hoped he would realize how ridiculous and unnecessary his sudden departure was and at least send me a quick text to neutralize the situation.

But nope. Not a word. Not even after I send him a text letting him know that he left his work badge here. It must have fallen out of his pocket.

Being cooped up in my apartment all day is getting to me, so I decide to take an evening walk to clear my head. Two miles later, I’m starting to cheer up a little. I turn the final corner down the little path that leads to the bakery and see Ryan sitting at one of the little bistro tables outside.

It’s getting dark. The bakery closed up hours ago. All the surrounding shops are quiet and dark as well.

Ryan stands as I approach. His body language is all wrong for him. Every muscle in his body seems rigid and tense. His smile is tight. It pisses me off immediately. What does he have to be so annoyed about? I decide not to smile, not even a fake one.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as neutrally as I can manage.

God help him if he says he’s here to watchShameless.

“I think I left my phone here,” he says.

My blood boils. He’s not here to apologize for acting like an asshole this morning. He’s here with his tail between his legs to ask for his phone back.

“I haven’t seen it,” I say as I unlock the front door.

“Do you mind if I come up and look for it?”

I hold the door open and he follows me inside with his hands shoved in his pockets. We don’t say anything as we make our way through the dark bakery and up the stairs in the back.

Inside my apartment, Ryan finds his phone between two sofa cushions. He barely glances down to check his messages before shoving it into his pocket.

“Here, you left this too,” I say, handing him his badge.

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

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