I blow out a breath and clench my eyes shut for just a moment before all of my battling emotions get the better of me. I was safe once, back in Brooklyn with my father. I may not have been happy, but I was safe. I could have lived that life, ya know. I could have married Leo. I could have dealt with the hand I had been dealt. Instead, I’m here, in this small town where the closest Macy’s is almost two hours away.
“We grew up together,” he says. His arm muscles tense under the weight of his upper body, his hands turning red. “He’s the closest thing I have to a best friend. But I don’t want him fucking you.”
“You don’t want me, remember?” I snip. His eyes flash something fierce and angry before he shuts it down.
“I never said that,” he responds.
“I don’t fuck little girls.” I spew his words back at him. His eyes search mine; the earnestness that shows through them makes me squirm.
“You gonna hold that over my head forever?” The tiniest of smiles breaks free through the angst of his features.
“You’d deserve it if I did,” I whisper, suddenly breathless. He pushes off the desk and stands up straight.
“I mean it. I’m not going to be happy if I find out you let him fuck you.”
“Oh, shut up,” I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind and then bolts out of my mouth without permission. Back in Brooklyn, had I told any of my father’s men to shut up, he would have likely let them slap me around for being so disrespectful. But Ryan, he doesn’t even blink.
“Don’t let him fuck you,” he grits out. His jaw barely moves, and his eyes are so still, so intent on scaring me into submission, that he begins to looks statuesque in his anger. His heightened emotions sets something off within me. From every gentle touch to every cold word he’s said, I can’t keep up with the flurry of emotions this man can run through in a single minute. And I’m done acting like an idiot just because I thought he was a good guy. He’s not. Lesson learned, and it’s time to move on. Part of moving on is refusing to let him intimidate me.
“Go to hell,” I say, stomping my way toward the door to the outside world. I barely make it past him before he’s turned, and is brushing my arm. I stop immediately. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent in the way the back of his dry hand glides over my exposed forearm.
Bending his head down, the tip of his hair brushes against the top of my head. He smells faintly of stale beer and peanuts and another scent I can’t make out. Something fruity, but still somehow human.
“Thinking of him touching you, having his fingers inside of you—I’m already in hell.” I blanche at his admission, my face heating, and I run so fast out of the office I barely make it outside and to the sidewalk before my vision blurs with unshed tears.
Chapter 15
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
George Eliot
SHAKING OFF HIS admission—what he knows—I head up Main Street, looking for someplace, anyplace to go. I’ll head back to work. Eventually. But right now, I just need some space. Main Street is a long, mostly straight stretch of road that acts as a main thoroughfare through town.
Two blocks north of the shop, I find myself in familiar territory. I recognize the shops and restaurants from mine and Ruby’s shopping trip the other day. Even though the prices were a little more expensive than I would have liked, Ruby insisted that it’s good business to patronize the local establishments, even if we can get a lower price in another town. I filed that lesson under “Things about Small Town Life” and stowed it away for future reference.
I cross Main Street and head up Laurel Street, relieved to have remembered where Universal Ground is located. Patting my face down for any stray tears that may have escaped, I take a few deep breaths and head up the half-block to the front door. A slice of wind picks up, reminding me that I’m not in Brooklyn anymore, and even in the middle of summer here, it’s perfectly acceptable to wear a long-sleeved tee-shirt.
The doorbell chimes as I walk in. The girl from the other day, Nic, is behind the counter again. This time, she’s covered her body art up with a three-quarter sleeve blue plaid button-up, and her long, pin-straight blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. Approaching the counter, I give her a quick wave. I cringe inwardly, afraid it was too friendly. The way she moves behind the counter, at least last time I was here, reminds me of a skittish woodland creature. Like she’s going to run off at any moment. And I really don’t want her to run off. She’s about the closest person to my age I’ve met since I got here. Even if we never become friends, I’d like to remain friendly. Universal Ground is in a good location, just close enough to the shop, and not too far away from Redwoods College. Back in Brooklyn, I had a ‘place.’ It was in a nearby café. I’m hoping to replicate that here.
“Hey,” she says, meeting my eyes. Her head bobs, looking around me. “You’re alone today?”
“Yeah,” I respond flatly. After the disaster in the office, I’m feeling a little braver than usual. So I ask, “You’re not a fan of my aunt?”
“You just dive right in, don’t you?”