A muscle in Ryland’s jaw jumps, but he doesn’t respond. He just glares down at me with the same hard, impenetrable look he always wears.
I can’t stand it.
My heart drums faster in my chest, and I cock my head at him, narrowing my eyes. “Have you been a good little stalker, just like he told you to? You say you don’t want to get inside my head, but you know a fuck of a lot about me, don’t you? Have you been in my apartment? Huh? Have you watched me through the window? Do you watch me dress and undress, watch me brush my fucking teeth, and hate it the whole time?”
“Ayla.”
There’s a warning in Ryland’s tone, but I refuse to listen to it. I shove at his chest instead, desperate to make the solid, unyielding force that is the man in front of me just—fucking—move.
“If you hate it so much, then stop! Just stop! Fucking st—”
The last word is stolen from my lips as Ryland drops both the shopping bags and grabs me, yanking me toward him. My chest smashes against his, and for a wild, insane second, I think he’s going to kiss me. Our faces are so close together that I can feel his breath on my skin, and his big hands splay across my back, seeming to cover the entire width of my body.
He’s like a rock.
Like a fucking brick wall.
But as I stare up at him in shock, the rock cracks.
For just a heartbeat, something besides the usual hard disdain crosses his face.
It’s soft.
Almost sad.
Then I blink, and it’s gone.
He releases me, holding on to my shoulders as he pushes me away from him. His voice is low and controlled when he speaks. “I can’t do that, Ayla. It’s too late.”
I don’t know what the fuck he means by that. What’s too late? How is it too late?
But he doesn’t explain. He just backs away from me several steps, his gaze still glued to my face. Then he turns and strides quickly across the road, disappearing down another side street.
Leaving me alone.
Trying to catch my breath, I stare down at the two bags of groceries Ryland dropped on the sidewalk when he grabbed me. The jar of pasta sauce broke. I can see the thick red liquid spreading across the bottom of the bag like blood. A container of juice cracked in the other bag, and it’s leaking out to pool on the dirty sidewalk.
Jesus. If that isn’t the perfect fucking analogy for my relationship with these three men, I don’t know what is.
They stalk me. They buy me groceries. Then they ruin those groceries and leave me standing on the sidewalk feeling like my chest has been turned inside out.
They patch up my heart and then break it.
Over and over and over again.
Chapter 13
I don’t see Ryland again as I return to the store and re-buy all of my ruined groceries.
In fact, I don’t see him or either of the other two men for the next several days.
The usual routines of my daily life continue as normal. I go to the bar every night—though I don’t drag any random men out back with me—and do another temp job on Thursday. Every time I leave the house, I glance around furtively, but I honestly can’t tell if anyone is watching me or not.
If they are, they’re back to being subtle about it, hiding out of sight and not just popping up in front of me like ghosts in a damn haunted house.
I’m not stupid or naïve enough to think they’re actually gone, though. Whatever that strange interaction I had with Ryland was, I doubt it was enough to convince him or any of them to disappear from my life.
But something feels like it’s shifted anyway.