“But I thought you had to work?” he said as he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow.
“I did,” I said, then gave him a choppy explanation about watching the game with Coach, in reporter mode. “A journalist can’t turn down that kind of opportunity.”
I moved toward him, putting my cheek on his chest, my right leg and arm clutching him like a koala bear. It was an intimate maneuver, but really had more to do with wanting to escape his eyes.
“Did you tell him about us?” he asked.
“No. Not exactly.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. What would I have told him? That we’re having sex?” I said, trying to be playful, and perhaps fishing a little.
“Jeez. I think it’s a little more than that,” Ryan said, his fingers combing through my hair.
I smiled to myself and asked a shameless follow-up. “Oh? Is it?”
“Yes. You know it is,” Ryan whispered.
After a stretch of silence, he said, “So you watched that whole game with him and never mentioned that we are seeing each other?”
Flustered, I said, “Well … he definitely knows about us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Miller showed up,” I said. “Of all people. And he told him.”
Ryan bolted upright, one of his many hard body parts clipping my chin as he switched on the light and said, “You saw Miller last night?” His eyes were intense; his whiskers seemed much darker than they’d looked just a few hours before.
I looked up at him, my eyes adjusting to the light as I tried to interpret what was happening, why he seemed to be so upset. Could he actually be bothered that I had seen Miller? Was he jealous? It seemed far-fetched, but because I had no other explanation, I said, “Yeah. He showed up out of the blue. It was actually pretty annoying. Coach and I were having a serious conversation about—”
“How long did he stay? Did Coach leave first?” His voice became strained and loud as he crossed his arms, muscles flexing in his chest and arms. He was definitely pissed.
“Ryan … C’mon. You can’t be jealous of Miller.”
“Of course I’m not jealous of Miller,” he snapped. “That guy is a stoner loser.” The indictment sounded so much worse coming from him than from Lucy, and I felt an odd surge of protectiveness.
“That’s harsh,” I said.
“Wow. You’re still sleeping with him,” Ryan said. “Aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Of course I’m not still sleeping with him.”
“Do you still care about him?”
“As a friend. That’s it. Look. I can’t control who walks into the Third Rail … And Coach invited him to sit down. It was no big deal. The three of us sat around watching you play. We were all happy for you. Miller was happy for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
It had been a long time since I had inspired jealousy in anyone, and I found it incredible to believe that Ryan and I were actually having this conversation. It was flattering, but also unsettling.
“It was no big deal. I’m over him. He’s over me. He’s got a girlfriend,” I said, rambling about Nan Buxbaum, then adding a gratuitous footnote. “I bet they get engaged soon.”
Ryan stared at me for a few beats longer. “Okay,” he finally said, turning off the lamp and putting his head back on the pillow. “I’m sorry.”
I told him he had nothing to be sorry for.
After a long beat, he said, “Can you just promise me one thing?”
“Sure. What’s that?” I said, wanting to make him happy.
“Promise me that you won’t see anyone else,” he said. “Because I know I can be old-fashioned … But I believe in monogamy. And I want you all to myself.”
“I promise,” I said, surprised by how quickly things were moving.
“I promise, too,” he said, then sealed our pact with a long, intense kiss—the kind that always leads to more.
Seventeen
A week later, after we drummed Oklahoma State on the road to move up three spots in the polls, J.J. and his wife, Mary Ann, threw me a going-away party, even though I’d been insisting that I wasn’t really “going” anywhere and that everyone would see me just as often. I dreaded being the center of attention, and hoped that once things got under way, it would feel like a generic party with the usual athletic department suspects. But when I pulled up to the Justuses’ house and spotted Ryan’s black Porsche, I knew there would be nothing generic about the evening. Nothing ever was when Ryan was involved. I couldn’t help feeling a jolt of annoyance that he was here when I had specifically not mentioned the party to him or told anyone at work we were dating. I decided that Lucy had to have orchestrated the appearance of Walker’s golden child, as low-key was never her default position.