Page 43 of Loathing Ryan
He laughed. “Yeah, me too. Gotta admit, I’m getting pretty tired of eating catfish and canned peaches for every meal. I could go for a thick, juicy cheeseburger right about now. How about you?”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not much of a burger person. I like fried chicken sandwiches, though.”
“Those are good, too,” he said, pointing at me. “Can’t go wrong.”
I laughed under my breath and watched as he returned his guitar to his lap and plucked a few of the strings.
“Do you think they’re still looking for us?” I asked after a beat of silence.
Ryan glanced at me, and then took a deep breath. “I sure hope so.”
“I want to go home,” I whispered into the darkness. I knew he heard me because his shoulders slumped.
“Yeah, me too.”
He went back to strumming on his guitar, playing a slower, sadder tune now than the one he had been working on before. The song was melancholy personified, and it made my eyes burn. I tried my hardest to fight off the emotion welling deep inside of me, but I couldn’t keep a few tears from escaping down my cheeks.
My mind was rapidly running through scenarios, wondering how much longer we were going to be out here—a few days, a few weeks? Heaven forbid anything longer than that.
“Come here, Bells,” Ryan said.
I should’ve known he would notice. He held out his arm for me, and I shuffled over, accepting his warm embrace as comfort. Resting my head against his shoulder, I breathed him in.
“Sorry.”
Ryan shifted underneath me, and I knew he was moving his head to look at me better. “Sorry for what?”
“Being so emotional.”
He barked a laugh. “I’d honestly be more worried if you weren’t emotional. We’ve kind of been put through the wringer.”
“Now we’ll never run out of stories to tell at parties,” I tried to joke, but another few tears slipped out of the corner of my eye.
We sat together for a while, watching as our fire began to dwindle. Ryan had thrown our last log of the evening on, and it was quickly dissolving into fiery red embers. His hand continued to run up and down my back as we sat contently with each other.
Ryan tilted his head toward our little bonfire. “Our fire’s going out. Want to head inside?”
“Okay,” I agreed, standing up from my seat on the stairs.
Before I had the chance to walk up onto the porch, Ryan grabbed my hand, halting my movements. His fingers threaded through mine as he pulled me back. I turned to face him, stopping short when I registered the way he was looking at me.
My breath caught in my throat, and my chest felt tight. “What?”
“You’re beautiful, Bells,” he said to me quietly after hesitating only a moment. Carefully, his other hand rose to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. Before I could say another word, he leaned forward and kissed me. His lips parted against mine, and he devoured me, his tongue exploring, tasting. I moved with him, following his lead.
My confidence grew as each second passed, and I started to take from him just as much as he took from me. I arched my back, pressing my body against his as much as possible. Ryan’s fingers traced over my hipbones before gripping me and pulling me into him, diminishing any space that was left between us.
Time seemed to melt away. I’m not sure how long we stood there mauling each other, but eventually, he pulled back. My body was tingling from the stimulation, and my chest rose and fell as I tried to level my breathing. Slowly, his eyes met mine once he, too, had centered himself again.
Something about the way he kissed me tonight felt—different.
I wasn’t sure in what capacity, but it was different than when he kissed me the first time or even all of the other times that followed. Maybe it was just being more comfortable around each other, based on our situation or on the fact that we only had each other out here. Whatever it was, though, had something twisting tightly in my stomach and uneasiness settling over me.
As if Ryan could sense this feeling within me, he placed his finger under my chin, drawing my gaze up to him as he traced my face with his eyes. A small worry line formed in between his eyebrows as he studied me. “What’s wrong?” he finally asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, maybe too quickly. “I think I’m just tired.” The worry line deepened, but he didn’t press it.
Together, we walked into the cabin. We both took turns showering, washing away the lingering smoke from our fire before crawling into bed. Ryan opened his arms for me, and I cuddled against him, wondering if that tight feeling in my chest would ever subside.
