“No.”
“No, you haven’t,” he snaps. “Because you’ve been too busy running scared, right? Poor Tess can’t plan for the future. All she can think about is running from her past. Well, let me enlighten you. I don’t give a shit about marrying you. Why would I?” he adds with a shrug. “Neither of us are religious, and we’re both U.S. citizens. I don’t need the tax benefits and, frankly, I’d rather keep my finances separate from my partner—not because I intend to withhold from her, but because my taxes are a fucking mess.”
Of course, my calculating Virgo has thought it all out. “Ryan—”
“That is all to say nothing about how unnecessary I see the institution to be,” he says over me. “Love is love, right? Look at Doc and her guys. Just look at the bullshit they’re having to deal with, picking who gets to be married and who gets a commitment ceremony. And what are they gonna do when they have kids? Who gets to be the father? It’s fucking bullshit.”
“And then look at you,” he says, waving a hand at me. “All you want is out of a marriage that no longer works for you, and yet you’re trapped. It’s been three fucking years, and you can’t break free of that asshole. It’s madness.”
I hold back my tears as he paces away from me with a muttered curse.
Then he’s closing the space between us, taking me by the shoulders and holding my gaze. “If it will stop you running scared, I’ll make you this vow right here, right fucking now: Tess Owens, I will never ask you to marry me. Those words will never pass my lips, okay?”
Our bodies hum with electricity at being so close. It’s like mine knows to crave him. It knows he’s nearby. Does he feel the same? The tremble in his fingers makes me think he does.
“But let’s not for one more second distract ourselves with talk of a marriage neither of us want or need,” he says, still holding tight to me. “This isn’t about that. Just admit it: You’re terrified.”
I gasp, leaning away from him. My resolve hardens at the look in his eyes. “I’m not afraid of anything,” I say, heart racing.
“Liar.” His hands slide up my shoulders to grip my face. “You’re terrified of this. You’re terrified of me, of what you feel for me.”
I huff, the sound catching in my throat. “You think you know me?”
“I do.”
“Why would I be afraid of you?”
“You’re afraid of what I can offer you,” he replies. “You’re afraid of what I represent.”
“And what is that?” I say, trying to ignore the way my body lights up at his touch, the way I’m leaning closer to him even now.
“Hope,” he murmurs, his lips inches from mine.
I close my eyes tight.
Hope. That word is dangerous. That word builds you up and tears you down, leaving nothing left but a charred and broken mess. Hope that my mother could change, that she could learn to stay. Hope that someone could want me. Hope that Troy was the one, that we would be happy. Hope that his family would accept me. Hope that we’d find a way through, that he could learn to love me again.
“No. I don’t have hope—”
“Yes, you do,” he presses, his hands drifting down my shoulders. “You’re protecting yourself with this bullshit about living in the now. But I see you, Tess. You have hope hidden away that you deserve more than what you’ve settled for in the past.”
How does he know me like this? He doesn’t get to know me. I can’t let him in.
“No one has ever put you first, Tess. Not your family, not Troy, not even Rachel.” He says the words so casually, tearing me open. “She has her own life, her own priorities. I give you hope that you deserve to come first.”
“I know what I deserve,” I say, my walls hardening as I fight him even now.
“Then tell me,” he challenges, his gaze fierce and direct. He’s not backing down. “Tell me what you deserve. Say it out loud.”
I lean away, my hands going to his wrists as I try to pull him off me, break our connection.
He huffs, watching me squirm, even as his hold on me is gentle. “You talk a big game, Tess. You’re larger than life—your opinions, your ambitions. And you put on such a good act for everyone. Laughing Tess. Fun Tess. Flirty Tess. You wear those labels like they’re party masks, floating through life just hoping people won’t actually try and see who dwells underneath.”
“I know who I am,” I counter, knowing it’s bullshit. So does he. For better or worse, Ryan knows me. It’s barely been a few months, but he knows me. Certainly, better than Troy ever did.
“Scared Tess,” he presses, keeping me captive with the truth. “Lonely Tess. Angry Tess who just wants to feel something, right? How many times have you said it to me? We’re friends who fuck to feel good. But you don’t want mindless orgasms. And I don’t want anything Cami or Cleopatra or any other woman has to offer. How could I when you exist?”
“Ryan, please…” He’s still looking at me like I’m his world. It’s overwhelming and humbling and I don’t know how I deserve it. I don’t know how to earn it.
“You deserve a second chance, Tess,” he says, reading me like a goddamn book. “At everything—love, adventure. I want to help you.” He brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re my dream girl. So long as you’re on this earth and breathing, I know what I want. I know what I’m working towards.”
And now I’m clinging to him, words failing me. I need him to see me. I need him to understand how my vulnerability works. Sometimes I can’t speak. Sometimes I can only do. I gaze up at him, reaching out with my soul, begging him to catch me as I fall. Begging him to let us fall together.
Stepping in, his left arm wraps around my waist as he cups my cheek with his right and tips my face up, searching my lost expression. “You’re not ready to tell me how you feel, and that’s fine. But Tess, you are gonna show me.”
“How?” I say, willing to try. “What can I do?”
“Show me how you feel. We’re done fucking without feelings. We have been for a while. So, take off your panties and put them on the counter. Now.”
My insides flutter with need and anticipation. “Ryan—”
“Don’t say another word,” he says, his fingers pressing against my lips. “You’re gonna show me how you feel about me, Tess.” He releases me, stripping out of his T-shirt and dropping it to the kitchen floor. “We’re fucking with feelings. All of them. Every single one. Give me your rage and your passion, all your broken fucking dreams. Show me how much you care.”
Oh, thank God.
I don’t have to say it. Our communication goes so much deeper. Souls can speak with more than words, and mine is crying out for him. It’s almost like I can hear his, too, calling to me, begging me to come home. Come find him. Come set his world back on its proper axis.
“Show me,” he pleads again, kicking off his shoes.
I lift my shaking hands to the opening of my long, white sweater and peel it off my shoulders, dropping it to the floor. He takes me in, standing in the middle of the kitchen in my simple wrap dress. It’s black with little red and white flowers dotting the fabric. Slowly, I lift my hands and undo the tie at my waist, tugging the front open until I can drop the dress to the floor.
Now I’m standing in the kitchen in my plain white bra and blue cotton panties. But Ryan is looking at me like I’m wearing the finest La Perla. He steps in, shirtless, and grabs me by the face, pressing his lips to mine, savoring my kiss. It’s fast and hard and then he’s pulling back, his fingers digging into the skin of my back, unhooking the clasps of my bra. Gently, he drags the straps from my shoulders, tossing the useless bra to the floor.
“Show me the way you ache for me,” he commands. “Show me the way your body craves mine like a drug.”
I nod once, reaching out for him.