Hours later, Ryans stood by the door, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack, the other shoved into his pocket like it didn’t know where else to be. We’d been talking for what felt like hours—about the fake dating thing, the promise not to see other people, random bits of nothing in between—and now the air between us was heavy with words unsaid.
“Guess I should let you breathe,” he said, voice soft but threaded with something that made my pulse skip and remember the moment of hours before. “Don’t want you getting sick of me too soon.”
A laugh—if you could call it that—escaped me. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already.”
The corner of his mouth curved upward in that infuriating, knowing way. He didn’t take the bait, just kept looking at me like he could see every single thought I
