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Remember: you don’t love him.
Remember that.
Weird how I have to convince myself of something I was so sure of not so long ago.
He disconnects the call and lowers the phone, glancing at me. His expression seems challenging, and I scowl.
“Mabel?” I scoff. “What kind of name is that?”
He blinks, his face losing the tight look from before. “What?”
“I hope you didn’t invent this woman you’re seeing tonight just for my sake, because I have to tell you, I’m not impressed. Mabel doesn’t sound remotely sexy, so if you wanted to make me jealous, good luck with that!”
His eyes widen. God, they’re gorgeous. Green like a tropical forest with golden flecks.
“Mabel,” he says slowly, “is my elderly landlady. There was a leak in the bathroom. Is that a problem?”
Shit. Shit!
“No problem. Whatsoever. At all.” I actually take a step back. What possessed me to open my mouth in the first place? “It’s a fine name. I guess.”
His mouth twitches. The beginnings of one of those devastatingly sexy grins make their appearance, and the floor is sinking under my feet.
Dangerous. Proximity alert. Move away in orderly fashion.
As I turn and go, I do my best to forget what a fool I made of myself just now. It’s all I can do not to run.
***
Time to go meet Simone. I need to vent and rant and ask questions and maybe wail a little about everything that’s been going on—including my gay erotica dreams. Simone will set me straight, I’m sure.
Or send me completely off the deep end. It’s either/or. A try will tell, and at this point I have little sanity to lose. I’m down to the last drops, really.
Mabel. His landlady. God. If he’d done it on purpose, it would have been brilliant. A brilliant way to make me insane with jealousy.
But of course it wasn’t on purpose. Why would he do something like that on purpose? He could have had me any time this past year. I all but threw myself in his arms, damsel-in-distress style, so many times. He made it perfectly clear he isn’t interested in catching me.
Literally or metaphorically.
Jesus, Bry.
Let. Him. Go.
Besides… Riddick. The thought of him makes me feel happy, and I focus on that. He likes me and has no problem telling me, and showing me. The memory of kissing him and touching him, of him touching me, makes my heart race and my skin flush.
Trying to forget about one boy who makes me stupid with lust is to think of another who makes me just as excited.
Why, oh why do I have to want them both so much? This is crazy.
Remember the difference, I tell myself as I call Simone to let her know I’m on my way. You like Riddick. Ryan is an ass. Riddick has a depth to him, brought by pain, that draws you in.
Ryan is a shallow rich boy.
And what about your priorities? Your rational choices? Your decision not to fall for anyone but for the Right Guy?
Yeah, about that…
Have I mentioned I’ve no clue what I’m doing anymore?
