Hold On

This came from Ryan, and we both looked his way to see him staring in shock at me.

I thought his crush was over, what with me leading him to a whackjob serial killer whose chosen weapon was an ax, the resulting blood, gore, horror, computer confiscations, and police interrogations (etc.).

The look on his face said that I’d thought wrong.

“Ryan—”

“Geez, Cher, you might wanna pick up a phone sometime,” he snapped. “It’s not just on Ethan’s birthday and when the Colts make the playoffs that I like to hear from you. You get a decent guy in your life, the least you could do is share so I could come over and we could toast it with a beer or somethin’.”

Whoa. Wrong again.

I blinked at Ryan.

He glared at me.

Okay. Right.

Was he seriously giving me shit about being a bad friend while Merry was about to lose his motherfucking mind?

“You mind if I have a go at her now?” Merry asked Ryan.

Shit.

“Sure,” Ryan magnanimously answered.

Shit!

“Good, then, to finish up with you, the job you’re on just ended,” Merry declared.

Ryan got pale again. “But—”

“The job…you are on…” Merry said slowly, enunciating each word clearly, “just…ended.”

“Right,” Ryan mumbled.

“Go get a beer,” Merry ordered.

“Right,” Ryan repeated on a mumble, shoved back, got up, and scuttled away.

Leaving me with Merry.

That was what I got for being a shit friend who didn’t call her geeky mastermind buddy to share that her love life had taken a turn for the better.

“Cher,” Merry called.

My eyes drifted from Ryan’s back to my guy.

When I caught his, I whispered, “Merry, don’t be pissed. It wasn’t—”

“You make me happy.”

I shut my mouth, my feeling of being freaked about how great things were going as well as being worried Merry was right then ticked at me and I was messing everything up instantly mingled with a feeling that was as giddy as it was warm and squishy.

“I gotta learn to live in the now so I can feel that happy and not think about shit that might or might not happen that’ll fuck with that happy,” he declared.

“Oh…kay,” I said softly, slowly, cautiously, thrilled he seemed to have made a breakthrough with crap that was screwing with his head but wondering why we were on that subject now.

He slid my hand from his hard abs up to rest against his beating heart.

I held my stance and my breath when he dipped his face close to mine.

“Do not do anything stupid that will take away our happy,” he said quietly.

Oh.

Now I got him.

“I worried it wasn’t right, but Ryker—”

“Ryker does not love you in his tee in his kitchen, bitchin’ about his skillet. He does not love to make you laugh. He does not love it when you make him laugh. He might think your kid is the shit but not as much as I do. He probably wouldn’t give a fuck that you’ve decorated your pad for the sole purpose of making Jefferson Airplane comfortable on the off chance they pop by, but I think it’s hilarious and it’s you and I love that too. I could go on. I won’t. What I’ll do is finish by sayin’ it’s best you don’t worry about Ryker when you should be talkin’ to me.”

“Point taken,” I said quietly, all he’d said making me feel giddier, warmer, and squishier.

Merry kept hold of my eyes a beat before he nodded.

“You don’t know anything about this guy?” he asked.

I shook my head but belatedly laid it out. “Just that he’s bad news. Ryker told me to steer clear. I heard him and his woman shouting, and she’d mentioned Carlito. And, well, uh…” I trailed off.

Merry pressed my hand harder against his heart.

He said nothing, but I got his gist.

“He asked me out,” I finished.

Merry stared at me, muttering, “Of course he has.”