Mine to Lose (4 page)

I’m normally very good at giving the cold
shoulder, but the cocktails that I’ve had have me loose lipped. “Ryan, you
left.”

“You told me to leave! Hell, you said if
I didn’t go, you were. All we’ve done this week is fight.”

“So you run away?” I ask. My voice is raised,
only so he can hear me over the music.

He opens his mouth to respond but stops
short when he looks over my shoulder. His look is murderous, so I turn to
follow his stare to see a man standing behind me.
Walk away,
I think to
myself.

The guy looks down at me, never making
eye contact with Ryan, “You okay?”

“She’s fine,” Ryan answers for me and I turn
to him. “My
wife
and I were just leaving.”

I smirk at Ryan and his use of the term
“wife” before turning to see my would-be hero. He’s attractive. In fact, he
looks like Joss’ type, but I’m not looking for someone to save me.

Hero-guy narrows his eyes, assessing me,
as if making mental notes about my condition and I feel self-conscious under
his stare. He pulls his eyes away from mine and looks directly at Ryan. “I
don’t care if she’s your wife, you need back off. I was talking to her.” His
voice is calm and strong, like he’s someone who doesn’t take shit from anyone.

 I blink in shock over his words to
Ryan, who looks like he’s about to blow up. I give hero-guy a tight smile and nod
that I am okay, but he doesn’t look completely convinced. He cocks his head and
drops it a fraction lower, silently questioning before he walks away. Part of
me is grateful to see Ryan act out of sorts. But the other part of me is
annoyed, because being the jealous guy isn’t his thing and now is the wrong
time to start displaying his tough-guy act.

“Ryan, I am not leaving with you. I’m
here with Joss,” I inform him, but I realize that Joss hasn’t returned from the
restroom. I start turning my head in that direction to see if I can spot her.

“She called me,” he states, answering my
unasked question, clearly annoyed. “That’s why I’m here. She told me where
y’all were, along with some other slurred things I couldn’t make out, but they
sounded mean as hell.”

My best friend drunk-dialed my boyfriend,
who I am not speaking to at the moment? I’m irritated and the room is spinning,
but I need to find Joss. “Where is she?”

“I saw her near the front and told her to
wait for me.” He grabs my clutch and reaches for my hand, which I impulsively pull
away. “Let’s go.”

“Fine,” I answer tersely.

I don’t let him put his arm around me. I
don’t let him hold my hand. In fact, I don’t let him walk behind me. I will not
give him the satisfaction of controlling this situation. I follow him out of
the bar and out to his car that’s parked in the side lot. I guess we’ll just
come back for Joss’ car tomorrow. My friend looks in too bad of shape for me to
be angry with her, so I quietly climb into the passenger side of his Jeep.

The entire ride to Joss’ place, I stare
out the window and look at the buildings we pass along the way. I know I’m
drunk, but the gravity of what’s happening in our relationship has me sobering
up. I don’t bother to look at Ryan because either I will speak first and say
something stupid, or
he
won’t say anything at all. This is one fight I
don’t want to lose, but if I’m not receptive to a conversation, the only thing
I’m going to lose is the love of my life.

We arrive in front of her building and
Ryan gets out to help her inside. Joss clambers out from behind me, and as she
turns to shut the door she gives me an apologetic smile that is easy for me to
return. I love my best friend, and although I don’t know what her motives for
calling him are, I know it wasn’t malicious.

“Call you tomorrow,” I tell her as she
walks to the entrance of the building. She looks over her shoulder when she
gets to the door and offers a sloppy wave before shutting the door behind her.
Ryan gets in and starts off for home without another word.

The ride home is silent except for the
ringing in my ears from the loud music in the club. I don’t feel the urge to
bother with conversation and I guess Ryan doesn’t either, because he turns up
the volume on the radio and never takes his eyes off the road. When we finally
get to our place, I just about bolt out of the Jeep and head to the entrance,
with my key in hand. I hear him behind me, but I increase my pace until I am at
the door. I push the key into the lock, open the door and toss my clutch onto
the counter before flinging the door shut. But it never shuts because Ryan
catches it before it has a chance.

“Ryan.” I turn to face him to question
his presence, but I don’t get the chance as he grabs me and his lips land on
mine. My hands instinctively move around his neck as he continues to kiss me.
But as reality hits, I struggle in his grasp before I finally pull my face back
from his. “You need to go,” I plead as the room spins and I’m not sure if it’s
the kiss, or the numerous drinks I’ve downed. I’m breathless and not at all
sincere when I push him away. His movements are slow and gentle as he kisses a
trail from my cheek down to the base of my neck. I could get lost in this
moment- in him. I want this and the simplicity of the moment. But then I recall
his note, and it’s the cold shower I need. “You need to go,” I repeat.

“No,” he says, as he finally loosens his
grip on my waist. “You told me to leave last night, and I did. I don’t think we
are better for it.”

“Well, I’m not the one who packed a bag
today,” I remind him.

“We have some things to talk about,” he
says. “Like, what was tha-”

“Hold that thought,” I interrupt, rushing
to get to the bathroom, fighting a sudden wave of nausea.

I empty the contents of my stomach not
once, but three times, before finally passing out. I wish the night had ended
differently; perhaps with me making love to my fiancé, who will soon be leaving
for another state.

After Ryan left the other night, I had
nothing but time on my hands to think. Sometimes, when you say something before
you can stop yourself, all you have is regret.  I didn't really want him
to leave, but I was so pissed, and letting him see how upset I was went against
everything inside of me.

Waking up, not sure where Ryan was, I am
shocked to find him on the couch. It leaves me feeling uncomfortable. I know
that I acted like an ass last night, but in my inebriated state, I really
didn't care. In the light of day, I cringe. I know he will be expecting for us to
talk, but I’d rather sleep off my hangover.

I finally get up to the smell of coffee
brewing and clattering coming from the kitchen. When I move to sit up, I
realize that I’m still wearing my black bra and panties from last night. Ryan’s
watch is on his side of the bed and for a moment, I feel like everything is
normal. I wish this feeling could stay forever.
Minus
the raging
hangover. A buzzing noise sounds from somewhere in the room and I begin
searching for the source. Feeling around and listening to the buzz, I drop to
my knees to find my phone hidden beneath my bed. I can only imagine how it
ended up there. When I look at the screen, there are a few texts from Joss and
Cam.

Joss: Are you pissed at me?

Cam: What the hell happened? Why
did you call me at 2 am?

I feel guilty for bothering Cam. I’m not
sure why I called her last night, but since Ryan is here, I’m pretty sure I can
guess. I send them both texts to let them know I’ll call later before tossing
my phone aside. I gather the strength to get to my feet and go to the bathroom
to wash my face, only to gasp at my train-wreck appearance. My dark blonde hair
that was styled so cute last night is a frizzy mess, and my black eyeliner
looks hooker-chic, smeared all over my eyes.
Very sexy.
I wince when the
slightest movement of my head elicits a pain so sharp, I believe lying in bed
all day might remedy the unfortunate position I’ve put myself in. I move as
fast as I can to clean myself up before pulling on a T-shirt and joining Ryan
in the kitchen. At least you look a little better, I mutter to my reflection.

When I walk out, I have to stifle a gasp
because he looks pretty sexy for someone I’m pretty sure I’m still furious
with. His disheveled brown hair and morning scruff are two things I love seeing
on the weekends. Today, he’s taken it a step further, moving around the kitchen
shirtless. I compose myself, walk to the barstool and take a seat without
saying a word. Ryan finally looks in my direction and in his eyes I see a flash
of amusement, and I know it’s because I’m walking around in nothing but a
T-shirt and underwear.

I hold back a smile, making eye contact
with him, both of us playing a game of chicken.
I will not flinch.
He
grabs a mug from the cabinet and pours a cup of coffee before setting it in
front of me. My lips turn up in a small smile as I pull the mug to my lips, grateful
for the silence. Well, aside from the pounding in my head that I’m surprised he
can’t hear. I lift my gaze to meet his and he just gawks at me, as though he’s
never seen me before.

“How ya feeling today?” he finally asks.
My hand goes straight to my head, signaling that I have a massive headache.
“You need to eat something. How ‘bout some cereal?”

I have to fight the urge to vomit at the
mere thought of cereal. “I’m good,” I say in a rush, hoping he doesn’t suggest
anything else. “Thanks for the coffee.”

The silence stretches between us and I
feel that so much is being said in the stillness. I’m always the first one to
cave when it comes to what Ryan wants. When it comes to the little things, like
what we eat, whether or not we go out, apartments to live in, or even where we
get married, I tend to let Ryan have the final say. I have done everything he’s
wanted, up to now. But I have to stand my ground this time, because this
is
a big deal, even if he doesn’t think so.

“Look-”

“We-” he starts to say at the same time
as me. “Go ‘head.”

The tight smile I give in appreciation
makes me feel worlds away from this man who knows me all too well. “I was just
going to say I’m sorry about last night. I mean, if I said anything…” I can’t
seem to find the words to tell him anything.

“I -” He seems frustrated, searching for
something to say. “Shit, Em, this isn’t us. We don’t fight like this, and we
don’t walk away.”

“Funny,” a scoff escapes, “I thought the
same thing, yet there you went.”

“You told me to leave,” he counters with
annoyance, reminding me of my part in that action.

“And you went,” I finish as I stand up
from the barstool. Fortunately, since the apartment is small, I can reach over
and put my cup in the sink before walking away.

“I wasn’t walking out on us; I was
walking out on a fight. A fight that clearly isn’t over, and it’s not like you
were being rational.”

“So I’m the irrational one, is that
right?” My hands go to my hips and I fix my glare on him. “It’s irrational that
I want to be with my boyfriend, the guy I’m about to marry, and that I expect
him to put me first? It’s irrational that I get pissed when he does the
complete opposite? Do I have that right? Well, let me tell you something,
Ryan
,
I think that you are being a complete jerk.”

I barely get two steps into storming off
when he is suddenly at my side, grasping my wrist and pulling me to him. I push
at his chest, trying to get away, but his other hand finds my waist as he pulls
me close.

“Em.” I’m trying to turn my face away
from him, but he places a gentle touch to my chin, urging me to look at him.
“We can’t keep this up.”

I stop resisting and my arms fall limp at
my side. Ryan
is
the most rational person I know, and maybe that’s the
problem. Where did his passion for me go? I feel like I’m fighting for us, and
he’s fighting for his career. I can’t do the fighting for the both of us. This
realization cuts deep inside of me, and I feel my heart physically ache.

“You're right,” I admit past the lump in
my throat. “We can’t.”

“So what's our solution?”

“I think we both need some space, Ryan.”
His body goes rigid at those words, and my face that is nuzzled into his chest
lends me the ability to hear his heartbeat. I hurry to elaborate. “I love you,
you know that. I just don’t want to fight anymore, it’s getting us nowhere.”

“We have to talk it out.” He holds my hand
in his, pulling me to the couch. I try to resist, but he only squeezes tighter.
“I’m sorry about the way I told you. I really didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t think.” I turn a fierce
glare on him.

He stares at me for a second before
raising his eyebrows in question, “Are you going to let me finish, or would you
rather have this argument alone?”

Adequately put in my place, I shut my
mouth and let him finish. “I didn’t mean to dump it on you like that. I really
thought you’d be happy with the opportunity. I know you’re pissed and you don't
want me here." I finally turn to look at him, only to give him a knowing
look. He doesn't give into my tantrum and continues his lecture. “Ok, well, I
thought maybe I'd get some resistance with that one, but whatever. Point is,
clearly I was wrong and this is something that we need to discuss.”

“Fine, talk.”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head,
and I know I’m irritating the shit out of him. “Are you going to be like this
the whole time?”

“Um, yeah." I nod. "Most
likely.”

“You are being ridiculous, you know that,
right?”

I roll my eyes, because I'm not in the
mood to listen to him, let alone stay in the same place with him. I stand from
the couch and head to the bedroom to change my clothes to make my point. He
watches as I walk from the room, standing to follow after. I try to shut the
door, but he catches it before I can stop him.

“I already told you, we're not going
anywhere until we’ve sorted this out.”

“What are you gonna do? Lock me in the
apartment?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “The way I figure, if
you leave, you’re only going to go see Joss or call that girl from work, and
tell them what you’re pissed about. So you might as well stay here and tell
me.”

I’m not about to cave and talk because he’s
ready; I need time. “I have some work to do,” I say as I move past him and head
to the computer. “So, your plan backfired.” I pull out the documents containing
everything for the T.M. event and set about getting my work done, hopeful he’ll
leave me alone.

I
think
he’s impressed with my
stance because there’s a flash of shock in his eyes. “That’s fine, Em. You
work, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He makes a show of moving to the
couch and grabbing the remote to turn on a movie. The volume is turned up to an
annoying level, but I know he’s trying to get a rise out of me so I choose to
ignore it.

The stubbornness both of us are
displaying is fast becoming a game to see who can top the other. I still won’t
say a word to him and opt instead to up the ante by turning up the volume on my
computer so I can hear my playlist better. To make it a little more maddening,
I select a band that I know he hates and sing along, way off key and missing
words. At this point, I know I’m not really getting any work done, not that I
was going to get much done anyway, but I’m finding this charade increasingly
entertaining.

Ryan gets up from his seat on the couch
and I’m sure that I’ve won, until he goes to the kitchen and turns on the
faucet. I don’t have to look to know that he’s not washing anything; he just
knows how much I hate water going to waste. I contemplate my next move, now
that it’s my turn to make him squirm, so I do the only thing I can think of. I
stand up and start walking to our bedroom and just before I get through the
door, I take my shirt off, toss it to the couch and pause for only a moment to
take off my bra and when I look back at him, the shock on his face tells me I
just won. I rush into the room as I see him start to head in my direction and
lock the door behind me.

I slide down the door until I’m sitting
and reach for my t-shirt that’s lying on the floor. No doubt it’s dirty, but
I’m too tired and hung-over to care. With my head resting on my knees, I try to
relax and gather my thoughts. Sparring with Ryan is daunting, but being more
stubborn than usual is making this day a little more tolerable. In the solace
of our room, I use the time to reorganize my drawers, shuffling things around,
even though it makes no sense. Every so often, Ryan knocks and asks if he can
come in, which I respond to by turning the radio up a little louder.

“Mature, Em,” I hear him huff on the
other side.

He’s right; there’s nothing mature about
the way I’m acting and yet, he’s still here. He wants to talk and I guess I
need to be open to the conversation. I turn the music down and unlock the door
before taking a seat at the edge of the bed. When he comes into the room he
sits down next to me and offers his hand and I give him mine.

“I won’t go,” he says in a hush, looking
down at the floor.

That’s what I want more than anything,
for him to choose me, but from what he’s told me that’s not a realistic choice.

“What would happen if you turned it
down?” I have to ask the question, because he hasn’t even mentioned this.

“Turn it down?” He repeats with sarcasm,
as if he hadn’t thought of it. “It’s not like they’ll fire me tomorrow, but I
certainly won’t be up for any promotions anytime soon. They’ll think I’m not a
team player.”

I shake my head when I realize that he might
really turn it down if I ask him to, but is that something I want to do?

“I love you, Em. There’s nothing that I
wouldn’t do for you, and despite what you think, I am thinking of us. This
position is temporary; you and me, we’re forever.”

“Ryan, I know how hard you’ve worked for
a chance like this. I really am proud of you- I don’t want you to go, but I get
it.”

He walks toward me and hugs me tight.
“Come with me.”

“I can’t,” I repeat the words I’ve
already told him. “Things are starting to pick up for my career, too. I’m not
going to beg you to stay, I know this is a great opportunity for you, but I
can’t go with you.”

“I know,” he whispers into my ear before
kissing my head.

“Besides, a year isn’t so bad.”

He pulls away and looks down at me as if
no stranger words have ever been spoken, especially by me. “It is a long time,
and you know it.”

“We’ll be okay.” I try to convince him,
as much as I try to convince myself. “This is just a nasty hurdle we have to
make over, and once we do, it will be a small blip on an otherwise calm
journey.”

“You know you’re a terrible liar, right?”

“I’m just tired of fighting,” I admit.
“And I really think that everything will be okay. Don’t get me wrong, it’s
gonna suck and it’ll be hard, but we can do this, right?” I need reassurance
from him. He’s always been the logical one, but right now, I need him to be the
one that tells me what I need to hear. If he sells it, maybe he’ll believe it,
and if he believes it, maybe I’ll start to as well.