Ties (17 page)

“Mom,” Ryan grits out.

“I’m staying with family right now,” I explain. “So I’m not sure what they may have planned for me. But I’d love to if I’m free.”

It’s a safe enough response that leaves me wiggle room...or Ryan wiggle room. Because I’m definitely passing the buck on this one and having him cancel on my behalf.

I offer to help in the kitchen, but Mrs. Byrne ushers Ryan and me into the dining room where there’s a huge, shiny table set with fancy Waterford dishes. She grabs Tommy by the scruff of his neck and yanks him into the kitchen just as he was about to pour himself some Jameson from the little bar in the corner.

Ryan walks over and picks up his brother’s neglected tumbler. “You need one yet?”

“Whiskey? Geez, Byrne, I told you I’m an old hand at the family meet and greet. How ‘bout you? Never had a girl over before? Because you definitely look like you could use some liquid courage.” I watch him pour two glasses of whiskey and accept mine when he brings it over. “Thanks.”

“Was my brother being an ass?” he asks, low enough so his family members--who are clearly attempting to eavesdrop--can’t hear.

“I took care of it.” I toss back my drink and put the empty glass on the table. Ryan follows my example. “You look tense.” I reach out, half-thinking, and rub his neck. “You okay?”

He meets my eyes and puts a hand on my wrist, his touch as gentle as his voice is fierce. “What is this?” he asks, his words still so low, no one else could possibly hear them.

I jerk my hand away. “You just looked tense. Don’t read into it. Don’t read into any of this.”

“I don’t want to lie,” he says, his voice calmer. “If this is a fling, fine, but I don’t think we should--”

“What? Have me come to your mother’s house on the pretense that I’m your girlfriend?” I hiss. “This is unbelievable.
You’re
unbelievable. Don’t you dare pin all the awkwardness on me. I said this was a bad idea, but I did it for you.”

“Hattie, it’s not that--”

Whatever Ryan is about to say gets cut short because his mother and siblings come into the room carrying huge trays of food. Delicious, carefully prepared food presented on their finest china for me.

So, as furious as I feel, as aggravated as I am at Ryan, there’s no way on God’s green earth I’m walking out on this dinner.

Even if it kills me.

Worse than having to sit through this dinner is the fact that the only thing they “know” about me and Ryan is the lame joke I made with his brother. The “lie” that apparently irritated Ryan so much, even though he went along with it. So now we have no choice but to keep going with the whole pretense.

I paste on my best “fake it” smile. I try to let go of my anger when we bow our heads and Ryan’s mother says a beautiful prayer about family and friends and communion around a table full of lovingly made food. This is exactly the kind of homemade meal I most enjoy.

When I’m not sitting next to a guy who confuses the hell out of me and calls me out for lying in the midst of the monster lie he orchestrated and roped me into.

“So, Hattie, where are you from?” Ryan’s mother asks after I compliment her delicately seasoned, delicious pasta salad.

“I’m from Connecticut originally. I just reconnected with some family out here. This is my first time on the West Coast.” I take a grateful sip from the glass of wine his mother offers me.

“How nice!” She smiles wide, but there’s a hint of worry that makes her eyes squint. “Are you planning to settle here?”

I shake my head. “No, I’m in college right now. I’ll be going back east in a few weeks and starting up my last year. Well, my last year of undergrad studies.”

Tommy reaches his arm around his sister and grabs the neck of the Jameson bottle. He pours a generous couple of glugs into his Coke.

“College girl, huh? Ryan was in college for a while. Until his bitch ex dumped him, and he dropped out because he couldn’t get over it.”

“Tommy,” Mrs. Byrne hisses, her face going a blotchy shade of scarlet.

“I’m just making connections.” He downs way too much of his drink. “Just connecting all the dots.”

“What the hell is up with you, Tommy?” Caro asks, her blond eyebrows low over her eyes.

“Jenny is engaged,” Ryan announces, and Tommy gulps down the rest of his drink, grabs the liquor bottle, and pours straight whiskey over the ice-cubes left in the glass.

Caro’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Tommy. I didn’t...I had no idea...”

Tommy bangs his glass down on the table, maniacally bright-eyed. “No worries, sis. You know what? She and Troy will be happy forever. They can bore the fuck out of each other for the rest of their sad little lives in this sad little piece of shit town.”

Mrs. Byrne looks like she’d gladly slink off into a hole and never come back out.

I get that this must be a bitter reaction to an ex getting engaged, but I think Tommy is being a total ass, and I feel awful for his mother’s sake. I can’t stand that she feels embarrassed for her son’s slightly insane behavior.

“Mrs. Byrne, Ryan mentioned your church had some amazing things going on this summer.”

It’s a stretch. I mean, he mentioned his mother went to church, but I want to redirect this conversation, so I made a logic leap.

Her smile is pure thanks. “Did he mention the work the youth group is doing with the local Y? They have this wonderful swimming program for inner city kids. It’s incredible how many children drown every year because they go to pools with no knowledge of basic safety techniques and no ability to swim.”

So the conversation goes deep and heavy. It’s also heartfelt and interesting. Ryan’s sister chimes in about how the church drama group is meeting up with a dancing troupe in Mexico to do some combined performances at churches along the border. Tommy sulks in the corner and nurses his drink, and I forget that Ryan pissed me off in a huge way at the start of dinner.

I relish every bite. I add to the conversation. I know his mother is charmed, but I hope that my frequent references to my very full upcoming course load and plans for international graduate school allow her to digest the fact that what Ryan and I have is strictly a summer thing.

If it even winds up being that.

By the time Mrs. Byrne is bringing out strawberries and cream, I’ve made a few attempts at eye contact with Ryan. He looks sheepish and desperate to get out of this charming family meal that’s really a chance for all of his loved ones to check out his new ‘girl.’

Ugh, this was a stupid idea.

“Well, this was truly delicious,” I announce when we’ve finished the last of the berries. “Thank you so much for inviting me into your home, Mrs. Byrne. Caro, Tommy, it was great to meet you both.”

Mrs. Byrne and Caro enclose me in a tight group hug, which is way easier to bear considering I had a shot of whisky with Ryan and two glasses of wine with the meal.

Realizing that also makes me nervous about driving. I feel fine, but not enough time has passed for me to be sure I’m legally capable of operating a motor vehicle. And I’m not about to take any chances where that’s concerned.

Ryan is walking me out, and I let him because I’m fine with keeping up appearances. His poor mother had a rough enough night with Tommy, and I have a feeling it’s going to go south once Ryan and I leave and she can let loose on him. But I’m too busy texting Deo to see if he can come get me to actually look at or speak to Ryan.

“Let me drive you home,” Ryan offers. “I didn’t drink during dinner. I’ll have Caro bring your car over in the morning.”

“Please, don’t worry yourself.” My voice sounds icy, way too icy considering I’ve had my tongue down his throat multiple times today. “Deo will get me.”

“Hattie. Hattie, please.” Ryan puts a hand on my arm, and I look up at him. “I was an ass. A total ass.”

I wait on sending my text through.

“Yes. You were. Ryan, I just don’t think we’re going to work. I know you think my rules are stupid. But this--” I point from him to me and back again. “This awkwardness? The rules help avoid this. The rules make sure things stay fun. Remember rule number one? Fun? And, hey, I was game for dinner because rule number two is that anything goes, right? I mean, this was gray area, but still. And I should have listened to my gut.”

“I should have kept my mouth shut,” Ryan insists. He leans close, and I love the way his face smells, aftershave fresh and clean. I want to rub my hand over the wide, gorgeous line of his jaw.

“Why do you have to be so damn good-looking?” I ask, sighing at my own weak, traitorous body.

His mouth twitches in a cautious smile. “Does that mean you’ll let me make things up to you?”

I take a long look at him in the shadowy dusk, and I wonder: is he truly as gorgeous as I find him? Is my attraction to him some kind of trick of my lust? I’ve never been this drawn to someone--and it’s not just because of how he looks: it’s the way he
is.

It’s the way his mouth moves just before he says whatever honest things he feels in a voice that’s low, raw, and sexy enough to make my body heat up just from its sound in my ears.

It’s the way his eyes, deep blue and clear, go bright and crinkle at the edges when he looks at me.

It’s the intense electricity that sizzles between us and lets me know that he wants me--hard and all the time. It slams the air out of my lungs and makes me feel like I took a molten, sweet shot of
him
, of Ryan. It burns and leaves me tipsy.
He
burns and leaves me tipsy. And there’s no possible way I can deny how much I ache for him.

“You’re probably not fling material, you know that?” I ask him, drawn into his arms like a moth to a blue-burning flame. I stand on tip-toe in my heels, and my lips just barely come up and brush his. “Not at all.”

“Really? This feels pretty fling-worthy to me,” he breathes, his mouth closing on mine.

I pull back and meet his eyes, my hands fisted in his shirt. “It’s too much for a fling.”

“Too much for a fling?” He presses his forehead to mine. “Enough to think about more?”

“Not enough for that,” I insist.

He stops short, his hands hard on my back, his quick breathing interrupted by a sharp intake. Like he’d been kicked or punched.

And then his mouth is on mine and there is no more consideration or discussion.

There’s no double-checking to see if this is okay with me. There is no chance to glance around and see who might be watching.

The way he doesn’t care unlocks something in me, something I’ve kept protected and barred down.

His mouth licks at mine, his tongue demands I open to him, and I do. He leans my head back, his kiss deeper and harder. His hands run rough and heavy over my body, making my breath trip when they race over the most sensitive areas. I’m losing all sense of where we are; forgetting that his family could be peeking through the slats in the blinds and the Virgin Mary is watching us with her gentle stone eyes from the little front garden.

I move one shoulder in a desperate attempt to slide the lace of my dress off, even though it can’t come off that way. I want to peel my clothes away, and then I want to do the same to his. I want to snare him close and tangle with him until I can’t feel a single thing except his body on mine.

“Ryan,” I moan, my lips etching the shape of his. “Please.”

“Anything,” he says. “Anything you want. Any way you want it. More, less, I don’t care. As long as it’s you.”

He’s promising me everything I might want and freeing me of responsibility for anything I can’t have.

So I whisper what it is I need. I whisper for a long minute, until his arms crush my body close and he growls, low and deep in response.

The next thing I know, he has me in his truck, and he’s driving a little too fast, a little too carelessly. And my excitement is dampened by a single fact I know is completely true:

You can’t have everything with no responsibility. The rules never allow for that. Whatever he gives me, whatever I take, there’s going to be a price, and I’m not completely sure I’m ready to pay it.

13 RYAN

What the hell am I doing?

She doesn’t want me the way I want her, and I swore to myself I wouldn’t give into her half-assed ideas about us and what we could wind up meaning to each other. I know it’s early, I know I can’t ask for everything, but if I let this turn into just the shadow of a real connection, I might as well not bother.

Because I’m not looking to have sex with this girl for a few weeks and then walk away. If we’re going to try for anything, I want to try for everything.

Maybe it’s fast, maybe it’s impetuous as hell: I don’t give a single fuck.

I’ve been with so many girls, had my heart crushed so completely, I shoved it back and locked it away so it couldn’t get another ding or scratch.

I’m sick as hell of living like that.

I’m sick of being such a damn coward.

I feel the medal, my dad’s medal, against my chest, and I wonder if this was ever the way he felt? Like he was in the middle of a tornado, fighting like crazy to hold on, not giving a damn where it might spit him out in the end. He loved my mother, I know that.

Before they were parents, before they were a settled couple entrenched in the safety of mortgage loans and two-week vacations at the lake every summer, was there...this?

The silver pendant lies against my chest, and I feel like maybe there was. And I wonder if attempting this kind of craziness with Hattie could
be
the adventure I’ve craved for so long and in such immense quantities. I wonder if the day-to-day drudgery of a routine life would wash out against the brilliance of getting to be with her every day.

This flood of intensity and confusion could also be a direct reaction to my raging need to see her naked and feel her body, hot and ready, pressed against mine.

I pull up to the pier and tug her by the hand. Neither one of us says a damn word as we make our way to the deck, down to the cabin, onto the bed.

I kiss her like I’m never going to get enough of the taste of her, because I might not. She sits up, her dark hair twisted around both of us. I pull at the hem of her dress, and she raises her arms. I tug it off and throw it aside, shocked by what’s underneath.

“What is it?” she asks, following the direction of my look. “Ah. You think because I like rules, I wear sensible white cotton?” She shakes her head.

Bright red. Lace. Some silk. The bare minimum of fabric. I figured I’d want to strip every shred of clothing off immediately, but I now I think I could stare at her in this for a long time.

A very long time.

She has different ideas. She undoes the front clasp and her tits are out, sweet, high...the perfect mouthful. Without waiting for an invitation, my mouth is on them, and her moans make me suck harder, press closer. Her fingers are tugging at my shirt, ripping at my pants, but I’d have to take my mouth off her skin to let her get my clothes off.

She’s going to have to wait.

I press her back, climb over her, and bite her nipple with gentle pressure, loving her long moan and the way she directs my head to the other side, making sure each gorgeous tit get equal treatment. She rubs her fingers in my hair, sometimes yanking back hard, sometimes pushing my face closer to her body.

It excites the hell out of me either way.

I kiss a path under her tits, up along her neck, back down over those shoulders she’s shrugged at me a dozens of times before. My hands grab at the sheets on either side of her body, trapping her closer while I kiss along her stomach and all the way down the long, slim line of her thighs to her knees, then back up, up high enough that I’m almost exactly where she keeps directing me with her hands and hips and moans. Before I close in, I move back up, and this time she shoves me away so she can get my clothes off.

She strips me down with military efficiency, and I swear I almost lose it when our bodies are finally pressed against each other, bare naked, hot, and bucking close. I hook my finger in the waistband of her panties, and she grips my wrist.

“Ryan. Wait. I have to tell you something.” She licks her lips like she’s nervous. I slow down. “It’s no big deal.
At all.
” She chews on the side of her lip. “I...am a virgin.”

I cold stop.

Screeching brakes, lightning quick backup, open-mouthed what-the-fuck stop dead.

“One more time?” I edge just far enough away that there’s zero chance of our bodies touching--not until we’re done discussing this at least.

“Don’t make this such a big deal,” she says, her voice fracturing around every word.

“Don’t make this such a big deal?” I repeat, because her lack of logic has me struck dumb. “Hattie. This
is
a big deal. And I love that...I’m honored that you...but not like this--”

“Stop,” she sneers. She yanks at the edge of her sexy little bra, snapping it out from under me. She puts it back on in a rush, stands and searches for her dress, her face red, her eyes slitted.

“Hattie.” I reach out, but she spins back, crashing into the low cabinets that make up my sink. “
Hattie!
”

“
Stop
.” She’s standing mostly naked, flushed, pissed, looking like she could easily tear me to shreds and never looks in my direction again.

I stoop down and pick up her dress, holding it out. She tears it out of my grip and pulls it over her head.

“Hattie, can we talk about this?” I ask, my voice low and careful, because I can see she’s coming undone.

“Absolutely not. No.” She shakes her head and gets ready to march out just before she realizes I’m blocking the only exit. She levels me with a look of raw fury. “You know why I don’t want to talk, Ryan? Because this isn’t what this is supposed to be about. Okay? It’s not supposed to be awkward family dinners and long, deep conversations about how delicate I am in my virginal state. It’s supposed to be
fun
.”

“I think your definition of fun might be a little fucked up, Hattie.” I hold a hand out, and she looks at it like she might bite off my fingers. “Why the hell are you so pissed?”

“Because you keep pushing! You aren’t happy with the way this has to be!” she cries, throwing her hands up. “And I should just walk away! I should just walk out and stop! I hardly know you. I’ve cut people I’ve known for years out of my life in the course of a weekend. So why the hell am I doing this with you?”

She takes a shuddery breath and grabs the countertop for support. I want so badly for her to grab onto me instead.

“You can’t make rules for everything,” I tell her. “You can’t compartmentalize what’s going on between us. And you sure as shit can’t make a list of what you want from a relationship and hand it to me. Or you can, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.”

“Even if there’s a chance I might walk away right now?” she threatens, her voice choked.

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to kick myself in the ass if you did. But if I don’t get the chance to do this the way you deserve, I’m not doing it at all. Trust me, being with someone, especially the first time? It’s important. Or it should be. Don’t be in such a rush to throw that away.”

“It’s
my body
,” she says, the words lashing at me.

I stand and pull my jeans on, walk over to her and hold still, watching her pulse flutter on her neck and her eyes go wide to stop the tears. I pull her into my arms and run a hand over the thick, smooth fall of her hair.

“It is. It’s your gorgeous as hell body, and you have every right to do whatever you want with it.” She holds herself rigid, but I refuse to let go. “And I’m fucking blown away you’d want to share your first time with me. I swear, I take it seriously that you’d consider me. But if we’re going to do this, it’s going to be together, Hattie. You don’t get to call all the shots. I can’t be okay with it any other way.”

She presses her face close to my chest, her lips hot on my skin, and when she speaks, it’s muffled, but the words make my heart race.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” She pushes against me, her fingers curled around my biceps, and looks up, blinking fast. “
Fine
. I want to do this with you. So, I guess we can compromise. But we do need rules, Ryan. We can’t just jump into this.”

I raise my eyebrows slowly. “Seriously? You don’t want to jump into anything?” He snorts. “This from the girl who was about to let me do all kinds of crazy, sexy things to her five minutes ago?”

“Ugh! If you’re not going to
do
the crazy, sexy things, stop taunting me by talking about them.” She curves her lips into a perfect pout.

“You don’t make a lot of sense, woman.” I cup her face, running my thumbs over her cheekbones. I watch the way her lashes flutter down and cover her bright eyes.

“Mmm. I used to make sense. Then I met
you.
”

***

I try to tell myself that it was for the best that Hattie and I didn’t wind up screwing like rabbits all night. Instead, we wound up at a local dive diner where I ordered cup after cup of dark coffee for both of us, and Hattie insisted on sampling every single kind of pie they had in their huge glass display cases. Between forkfuls of flaky crust and goopy artificial fruit filling (not the best dessert in the area by a long shot), she told me about her existence as a career overachiever.

“So, let me get this straight?” I double check. “Eight science fair wins--”

“Nine.” She slides her lips over a neon yellow bite of lemon meringue and then slices a bite for me, holding the fork across the dingy linoleum. “Nine if you count one honorable mention. So I guess eight is actually right.”

“I think honorable mention counts, but if you don’t, we’ll go by your numbers.” I take a bite of the acidically sweet pie. “Okay. Eight science fairs, three state titles in field hockey, twelve AP classes--all with final exam scores of four or five--student council treasurer, National Merit scholar, National Honor Society, German club president, and second chair clarinet?”

She tilts her head to the side. “I also won a state-wide craft competition. I wove this tapestry. On a loom.”

I stare across the table and fall in love with the dimples she only gets when she’s smiling too hard to hide them.

“You know how to weave on a loom? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Nothing I’ve tried.” She stabs into a banana cream monstrosity and a frown tugs her lips down. “Well, I can’t seduce a guy, I guess.”

“Don’t,” I warn. Images of her in scraps of red lace and silk make it hard for me to swallow. I fist my hands and press them down hard in the booth seat. “Trust me, I was more than willing. I
am
more than willing. And you’ll get why, I swear. You just don’t have the experience I do.”

“Experience?” She scrapes some of the crumble off a slice of Dutch apple and glances up at me, one eyebrow high. “Is that
your
thing? Your notched belt?”

“I’m not
just
a former man-whore,” I say, trying to keep it light even though it irritates the shit out of me to still be living under the cloud of what I so stupidly did for such a short amount of time over a year ago. “Let’s see. I made it to Tenderfoot in Boy Scouts--”

“Is that a high level?” she asks.

“Um, no. I was in first grade.” I beat her to a grin. “I got a participation ribbon every year I was on my high school swim team. In my defense, I can swim in the ocean for days. I’m just not that fast, and I think I have a slight chlorine allergy. I know we’re not counting your honorable mention in the science fair, but I obviously need to lower the bar for my accomplishments. So I’m proudly counting my science fair honorable mention. Let’s see, what else...I succeeded in not totally burning down my parents’ garage. I just singed one wall and a roof before I put it out, by myself, with a garden hose.”

“You lit your parents’ garage on fire?” She laughs around a mouthful of pie.

“See, it’s all perspective. If it had been anyone else’s garage and anyone else who started the fire, the whole story would have been about how I quickly and bravely put it out. All by myself. Not bad for eleven.”

“Ryan! You were a rebel.” She bunches her hair up in a messy bun, unaware of how badly I want to kiss her exposed neck and tug that hair back down.

Over her naked body.

Shit.

It was my idea
not
to go there, so why can’t I get my brain to stop going that way over and over again?

“I was. And I stayed that way up through middle school. Things started changing when I met my ex, and she got me pretty settled down by freshman year. Other than one quick arrest.”

I expect her to be horrified, but her face breaks into another huge grin.

“Criminal record? You’re killing me. We are the perfect odd couple.” She bites her lip immediately after that comment. “You know what I mean.”

“Of course.”

I don’t, really.

Hattie’s perspective on relationships is still mostly a mystery to me. In a large part because I cut her off before she was able to rattle off another list of ridiculous rules. Instead we both agreed to just slow the hell down and stop over-thinking everything.