Josh looks up with raised eyebrows.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Ronan says, sliding a chair up to our table. “Actually, I’m lying. I’m not sorry.” He looks at Josh. “I hope you weren’t expecting to get lucky tonight. The lady’s coming home with me.”
My mouth drops open and I sputter, so angry I can’t get a word out.
Josh looks bewildered, and maybe even slightly amused. “Is this him?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth, my eyes on Ronan. “And he’s definitely not staying.”
“Selene, we need to talk,” Ronan says.
“You cannot just show up here and interrupt my date,” I say.
Josh puts up a hand. “It’s not really a date.”
I glare at him. “You’re not helping.”
“Of course it’s not a date,” Ronan says, his eyes twinkling.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“You can’t date him when you’re in love with me.”
I shake my head slowly. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You left me, in case you’ve forgotten already. That was your decision. Now you need to live with it.” I stand up and root around in my purse for a second, then toss some money on the table so I don’t stick Josh with the bill. “Josh, I’m very sorry about this. Dinner was lovely, but I have to go.”
I push past Ronan, ignoring what he says to my back as I walk away. I cannot believe he would show up here like this. First he says he can’t be what I need, and now suddenly he wants to waltz back into my life?
He follows me out, but doesn’t seem to be trying to catch up. I hurry to my car, grateful that Josh and I decided to meet here and I don’t have to ruin my dramatic exit by going back to ask for a ride home, or stopping to get a cab. I get in my car and leave, checking my rear view mirror for signs that Ronan is following me. There’s a car behind me for a while, but it doesn’t look like his and it turns down a side street before I get home.
Without really thinking it through, I drive past my house and don’t stop. He’s going to come here. If he was brazen enough to interrupt my date, he’ll certainly try to find me at home. Seeing him made me so angry—he’s so smug and fucking arrogant.
The lady’s coming home with me. What an asshole.
I do not want to admit how hearing that sent a lighting strike straight to my core.
After driving around aimlessly for a while, I find a parking spot on the street in front of a random restaurant and go in. I don’t even know what I’m doing. The host shows me to a table, and I order a glass of wine.
Reluctantly, I check my phone. I have a string of texts from Ronan.
I’m sorry. I tried your house. You weren’t home.
Kylie was there. She said you were on a date.
This is my fault.
Please, can we talk?
I need to see you.
Where are you? I’m getting worried.
I put my phone down on the table and take a sip of my wine. What the hell am I doing? I just let him chase me out of a restaurant and now I’m avoiding my house.
My phone dings again. Get. Your. Ass. Home.
Oh, no he fucking didn’t.
Furiously, I type out a reply. Are you kidding me? FUCK YOU
I drop my phone back onto the table, but it dings again almost immediately.
I knew that would get you to answer.
I grind my teeth together. He is so damn infuriating.
He texts again. Please, Selene. Come home.
Should I? Should I hear what he has to say? I’m hurt, but he’s right about loving him. I don’t think that will ever go away, regardless of what happens between us. I’ll carry a piece of him with me for the rest of my life.
What happened to him? The last time we saw each other, he had that haunted look in his eyes. Tonight, he was back to his old confident self. I can’t shake the feeling that the only reason he’s interested again is because he doesn’t have me. He’s back to chasing what he can’t have—once again, I’m a challenge.
I nurse my wine for a while, listening to the soft hum of conversations around me. Ronan texts a few more times, asking where I am, if I’m okay, and whether I need a ride. Those are followed by another plea to come home. I don’t answer.
After paying my bill—the waiter seems a little perplexed that I didn’t order any food—I decide I ought to go home. I briefly consider going to Braxton and Kylie’s place instead, before realizing how ridiculous that is. If I don’t want to talk to Ronan, I can simply tell him to leave. I don’t have to let him in.
But as soon as I see him sitting on my front porch, I know I will.
The collar of his shirt is unbuttoned and his hair looks unkempt as usual. Somewhere between here and the restaurant, he lost some of his confident swagger. There’s concern in his eyes as I walk up the sidewalk.
He stands as I approach. “I was getting worried.”
I’m still not sure I want to talk to him. Without a word, I sweep past him and go inside. But I leave the door open.
I hear the door close as I drop my purse on the counter.