Page 63 of Well, Actually
I shouldn’t let him up. The man is clearly a glutton for punishment, and he brings out the worst in me, every thorn sharpened. I look at my phone from where it sits on the floor, vibrating with another slew of notifications, and I feel a sudden stab of loneliness as I think about the mess that awaits me on there. The loneliness is so vast, so terrifyingly empty, panic spears through my chest and my gaze shoots back to Rylie out the window. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s the only one I can relate to in this moment. With a defeated sigh, I drag myself to the door and buzz him up. A minute later, he knocks.
I crack the door open, and Rylie gives me a sardonic look through the sliver that says,Really?
“Open the damn door, Eva. Let me in.” He nudges it with his shoulder, and I step back, not exactly welcoming him into my home but no longer having the fight in me to push him away.
“What are you doing here?” My lips feel numb, blood stinging through my veins.
“I saw the post.” He steps around me and places the bags of food on my small kitchen table. His gaze makes a wide sweep of my place, lingering for extra beats at the art on my walls, the books on my coffee table, the giant and somewhat horrifying blobfish plushie on my couch. His lips twitch in amusement.
“So naturally you wanted to recreate the moment and give everyone more fodder by trying to bust down my door?” I say blandly, studying my nails.
“No.” There’s no softness in his voice. None of the usual good humor or playfulness.
I risk a quick glance at him, then do a double take. Rylie is looking at me like a man possessed. By anger, annoyance, need… I can’t fully tell. Color sits high on his cheeks, his breathing shallow and fast. He takes a step toward me, and I have the instinct to back up, but I hold my ground.
“No,” he repeats, taking another step. “See, Eva, I’m not recreating last night. Because I’m here. I’m showing up. You, on the other hand, left.”
“So what?” I shoot back, acrid hostility burning through my veins, my hands shaking with the need to push him back, hold him close. “Are you looking for a congratulations on figuring out the subway system and wandering to my doorstep? Or did you drive here in your hideous car?”
“Stop making fun of my car!”
“Then stop driving a car so easy to make fun of!”
Rylie stares at me so intensely I have to fight the urge to squirm. The energy shifts between us, becoming alive and crackling with tension. He takes another step toward me. “I’m here to check on you, you contrarian witch. I’m here to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay!” I yell, storming to him, closing the space between us so we’re nose to nose. “I haven’t been okay since you waltzed back into my life with this ridiculous publicity stunt. I have not been okay for a damn second of this manufactured bullshit between us that we serve on the internet like a slab of meat to rabid dogs. I’m not okay because you’re making me feel things and I fucking hate it! So stop. Stop pretending. Stop checking on me. Stop, stop,stopand let me get back to being generally miserable in peace.”
Our chests clash as we breathe, ragged, sharp intakes thatborder on panting. Rylie’s eyes look wild, his glasses fogged at the edges from the agitation simmering between us. With considerable effort, he lets out a controlled exhale, and I want to bat away the steady coolness that tickles across my cheeks.
He reaches up his hands, and I can’t tell if he’s planning on cradling my cheeks or throttling me. At my look, he drops them heavily to his sides.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and leaving no room for argument. “For once in your goddamn life, listen to me. This was never a stunt for me, Eva.” His eyes flash with anger. “Never.Youwere never a stunt. Why can’t you get it through your thick skull that I fuckinglikeyou? Not past tense. Present. I liked you then, and, despite the desperate pleading of my sanity and your every attempt to push me away, I like you now. All of this is because I want to know you, be around you. Because I fucked it up once and I saw a second chance. Because now I’m so deep in this I would crawl through hell on my hands and knees over a bed of broken glass before I let you go again.”
My ears ring in the resulting silence, my head spinning as I try to decipher the bomb he’s just dropped.
“So I’m here,” he says slowly, keeping his eyes locked on mine, “to check on you. I’m here, despite being fucking furious at you for leaving like you did last night, because I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And if you’re not, I wanted to see what I could do to make things better.”
My body is a riot, my stomach lurching and heart yo-yoing while hot panic drips through me. But I stay still as a statue, wide-eyed and tight-lipped as I continue to stare at Rylie.
He stares back for another moment, then sighs, the tension leaving his muscles. He walks over to the table and startsunpacking the bags, stacking a variety of Tupperware containers that are filled with a bunch of different pastas.
“You like me?” I ask, voice both accusatory and horrifically tender.
Rylie’s smile is wry, and he keeps his attention on his task. “Yes. Very much.”
“And you were worried about me?” The concept is so foreign, I can’t wrap my head around it. Has anyone ever done this for me before? Ever went out of their way to check on me like this?
Rylie stops at that, dropping a packet of cheese. He gives me a disbelieving look. “Of course I was, Kitten. How could I not be?”
“And you… you brought me food?” I say, somehow managing to drag my gaze from his earnest expression to the massive amount of containers. Tears prick at my eyes as they helplessly return to Rylie.
His look melts like hot honey, smile unabashedly decadent as he studies me. Then he shrugs. “You did say mac ’n’ cheese is your love language. I was going to make you some, I just didn’t know which noodles were your favorite so I—”
Before I can think better of it, I’m launching myself at him, my arms wrapping around his neck and my lips crashing against his. I distantly register the sound of my kitchen chair tipping over as Rylie stumbles into it, but he steadies us, his hands at my hips.
The need that swells through me is terrifying, and I cling to him harder. One of his palms lands between my shoulder blades, the other at the curve of my lower back, gathering me to him like he needs me too. His kiss is sunlight, dazzling me,warming me, sending brightness through my veins. His hand slides up, cradling the back of my neck, fingers gently kneading until I let out a gasp of relief at how fucking good it feels to be touched like this. I do realize that it’s a bit pathetic that I’m undone this thoroughly by a bunch of pasta, but I’ve never claimed to have high standards.
“I’m not done talking to you,” he says against my mouth, dragging his lips to my throat, tracing down to my collarbone. I thread my fingers in his hair, holding him to me.
