And yet, it wasn't lost on me that I'd done a lot more yelling tonight than I'd ever done with Devon.
What exactly did that mean?
I wasn't sure, and I didn't dare contemplate, especially not here at the end. My throat tightened as I said, "Well…I guess I got my answer."
As I pushed away from the railing, it wasn't the wood that broke. It was my own voice as I said, "You're right. Idon'tknow everything. But maybe part of me – a stupid part of me, I guess – thought I'd get at leastsomeof the story." I blinked long and hard. "You know…from you."
He shifted like he might speak. But then he didn't.
And me?Like a total sap, I waited. And then I waited some more.
For nothing.
Finally, I nodded once, sharp and small, and then turned and walked back into his apartment. He didn't follow – or even turn my way. But hey, it's not like I'd been expecting him to.
While Griff stared off at whatever, I made a beeline toward the rickety old table. As I moved, I dug deep into my pocket for the thing I'd brought to help even the score – not as far as feelings, but as far as everything else.
I dropped it silently onto the table and then walked out through the same door I'd left open on my way in.
I didn't bother looking back, because if he'd wanted to stop me, he surely would've.
But he didn't.
And that told me all I needed to know.
71
You Called Her a What?
Griff
Ryder stared like I'd just shaved my head to join a cult. "You called her a fuck buddy? Are you fucking serious?"
I stared back. "That's not what I said. I told her shewasn'ta fuck buddy. That's the whole point."
He shook his head. "Wow, and I thoughtIsucked at this."
This made me pause. Ryder was cocky to a fault, especially when it came to women. My eyebrows furrowed as I asked, "Is there something you wanna share?"
"Fuck no," he said with a laugh. "We're talking about you, remember?"
It would be pretty hard to forget, considering that I'd called him barely twenty minutes after Maisie had left.
I'd been hoping that Ryder was still on the island.
Why, I couldn't exactly say.
Maybe I hadn't felt like being alone.
OrI'd been hoping to hear that I'd done the right thing.
What Ihadn'thoped was for Ryder to laugh like any of this was funny. I was too angry to be amused and too empty to give him grief in return.
We were sitting on a hotel balcony overlooking Main Street. The place was nice, with ornate railing and patio chairs that were more comfortable than my bed – meaning the bed at the shithole, not the king-size counterpart in Chicago.
And yet somehow, over the past few weeks, I'd gotten used to living rough.
Not Ryder though.
