Page 13 of Rush
“You were always nice to me and…”
“You wanted to take advantage again?” he asked. His expression was completely passive, and I didn’t know how to take him.
“I never… I didn’t take advantage of you back then, did I?”
I sorted through a plethora of memories that flooded to the surface. He’d always been nice, talking to me when Hunter had broken things off for the second time in whatever month and making me laugh when I was on the outs with Margaret. We didn’t go to the same school, but nonetheless, he was always around. Making me laugh, boosting my confidence…
Oh, shit. He was right.
I slapped my hand over my mouth and backed away, completely mortified. I was doing it again, wasn’t I?
“We were kids, J,” he said, his lips pulling up to one side. “We’re all grown up now.”
“Did I really…”
“Did you want something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I, uh…” The words stuck in the back of my throat.
He tilted his head to the side. “Did I make that much of an impression on you the other day?”
“I… I don’t know what to do,” I blurted. “About anything.”
“C’mon,” he said, brushing off my comment. “Let me shout you lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“Yeah, lunch.” He smiled and nodded back toward the gym. “Give me ten to shower, okay?”
“Right…” I stared at the sweat beaded on his forehead.
He chuckled again, this time disappearing back through the door of no return as my mind went straight to the proverbial gutter. Shower, soap, muscles… I was in trouble.
Ryan tookme to a Chinese restaurant on Victoria Street.
It was a little hole-in-the-wall, the floor covered in white linoleum, the tables and chairs a mismatch of furniture they’d likely picked up from a secondhand store, and the menu above the counter had been altered with a black permanent marker. This place was totally Michelin starred.
I ordered a large bowl of special fried rice with extraspecial, and I watched on in horror as Ryan ordered plain, unsalted, un-sauced, un-fun, vegetables.
“Steamed vegetables?” I asked, my lip curling.
He patted his stomach. “I’m in training. Can’t afford any extra padding.”
I snorted. “You’ve got more willpower than I do.”
He sat at an empty table by the window, and I took the chair opposite, sitting my bag in my lap.
“So?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“So?”
He waved a hand, gesturing for me to start talking. Searching for the words, I triggered a tsunami.
“I feel like I’m on one of the world’s largest roller coasters with the dips and the screaming and the stomach in the throat thing, and it’s all endless. The ride keeps going and going, and I want to get off,” I blurted, staring at him desperately. I could feel the waterworks opening for business and silently pleaded with him to say something,anything, to make it stop before I blew disgusting amounts of boogers into a serviette in front of him.
“Then get off, J,” he said.
“How?”
