Page 19 of Stick With Me
Actually, maybe tonight is our first date. I’m taking her out to dinner. Dinner always qualifies as a date, right?
Miles King:
Did you actually ask her out on a date? Either time?
Me:
… no
Dominic Fox:
And you all think I’m clueless.
NINE
I should be dressedup for the dinner reservations Ryan made at some swanky restaurant, but I’m not. My hair is in a messy topknot, and I’m lounging in my coziest sweats and tee. Despite my efforts to get into the right headspace for tonight, seeing Jace in the flesh for the first time since our breakup threw me for a loop I still haven’t recovered from. To make matters worse, my apartment search was a total bust.
Although Ryan offered me a place to stay in Chicago, I’m hesitant. Living with him might not be the best idea. My goal is to be independent, not rely on another man, so moving in with him feels like I’m straddling a line I’m not sure I want to cross.
After realizing there was no way I could afford rent on my own and launch my rescue, I resorted to browsing ads for people looking for a roommate. What I found was discouraging.
There was a woman who seemed deeply into juju—sound baths, energy work, and meditation. I could use some peace and positivity, but I’m not even sure what a sound bath is.
Then there was the model with a Teacup Pomeranian, seeking a partner in crime. Being fashionable was a prerequisite, though, and my love of neon-yellow Crocs likely disqualified me.
The final post, the one that made me slam my laptop shut, was from a man in his thirties looking for a female roommate to share a one-bedroom. Socializing with him was a requirement. Needless to say, that wasn’t going to work for me.
Moving in with Ryan is starting to sound more appealing. Even if he did choose the most pretentious restaurant for our dinner date. Hangout. Whatever this is. It isn’t our vibe at all—we’re taco truck, pizzeria, pub food people, at least I thought we were. Maybe he likes this kind of thing now? Which is why I was trying to rally.
It only took trying on one dress that made me self-conscious and uncomfortable before I decided it wasn’t happening and traded my evening wear for sweats.
Ryan is sitting on the couch on his phone when I enter and lean against the doorway. He looks so handsome in a black suit sans tie. The top couple buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a tiny peek at his chest. His hair is slicked back, a style I’ve never seen him wear. I prefer his usual messy look. I clear my throat to catch his attention, and when he glances at my outfit, a smile spreads across his face.
“You think we can stay in tonight? Order room service and watch a movie or something? I’m not really in the mood to go out,” I explain.
“Sure, that sounds great.” He stands and meets me in the doorway.
I shift from side to side. “Sorry, you got all ready. You look handsome.”
He opens his arms, offering the comfort I need, and I take it without hesitation, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my cheek against his chest. I fill my lungs with his scent, clean with a hint of something woodsy. It’s not cologne, just his natural self and the faint smell of soap. I’ve always loved it. He squeezes me closer, pulling me against him until every inch of my body is pressed to his.
We stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, lingering far longer than a friendly hug should. I step back and glance up at his face. Expecting to see disappointment over his ruined plans, but his expression is happy and relaxed.
He walks a couple of steps back to the living room and grabs a leather folio off the coffee table, holding it out to me. “How about you order us some food, and I’ll get changed. I can eat you in bed—” He turns to walk toward his room but suddenly pivots. “Whoa… no!” He laughs awkwardly as his cheeks flush. “I meant to say,wecaneatin bed, and you can pick a movie.”
I know it was a slip of tongue. Or maybe a Freudian slip?
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and try again, “Okay. Yours or mine? Bed, I mean.” My cheeks heat.
“Mine.” He resumes his path to the bedroom.
After ordering more food than two people could possibly eat in one sitting, I head toward Ryan’s room. I thought I’d given him enough time. How long does throwing on sweats really take? But I thought wrong, or maybe right, depending on your perspective.
He’s standing with his back to me, but the mirrored closet reflects a full view of his half-clothed body. His chest and back are on display, beautifully sculpted with muscle. Not bulky or super lean, but somewhere right in between. Compared to Jace’s leaner frame, built for speed, Ryan has a more muscular build as a two-way forward.
He’s in the middle of changing, wearing only low-slung sweatpants with the band of his black boxer briefs visible. The locker room was a tease compared to taking in his full upper body.
There are a couple of tattoos I didn’t see the other day. They are all relatively small, and I can’t see what they are from this distance. He has one on his sternum, at least ten scattered on his arms, and one on his left side. I have the urge to trace them.
