“Reality hit you?” he asked.
Shit. I wasn’t usually that easy to read. “Maybe.”
“It’s an awkward situation, I guess. In another life, maybe things would be different. It’s hard because I don’t regret Mads in some ways—I do love her, and she was always my best friend. I felt comfortable with her, and we had so many laughs and good times, but in a perfect world, we would have had those things while I knew I was gay and had never started dating her in the first place—or at least I’d come to terms with it before asking her to marry me.”
He didn’t forgive himself. It was clear to me as I saw the devastation in his stormy eyes. He ached with his past every day, and while I didn’t want him to hurt, it endeared him to me even more. Ryder was a good person who was punishing himself for what happened with Maddy. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The words should have been harder to say than they were.
“Whose was it, then?”
“No one’s. Or society’s for making straight the default. If it wasn’t, then maybe it would be easier to figure out sometimes.”
Ryder circled his finger over the lid on his cup. His hands looked calloused, slightly beat up as if he worked with them a lot, which surprised me. I’d always had a thing for hands—rough and veiny—the way they felt on my hips, my cock, holding me down or pulling me on top of a man.
I shook those thoughts out of my head, guilt like acid in my gut. I had no business thinking of Ryder Lynwood that way.
“You’re different,” he finally said.
“Am I? I thought you said I haven’t changed a bit?”
“You have in some ways but not others. I think…or maybe we just never had the chance to really get to know each other one-on-one.”
No, no, we hadn’t, and we really didn’t need to be now either, but I didn’t stand up to leave right away, and neither did Ryder. And the following week, when we both showed up to volunteer, we had coffee a third time and talked even longer.
It was okay to be friends, I told myself. Maddy would want that.
I hoped I wasn’t a liar.
8
Ryder
I was busy at the shop during the day, and then every night, I talked to my doc. We still hadn’t exchanged names or anything else identifying, but every day that passed, I looked forward to speaking with him more. I wondered if there could ever be something between us, before squashing that idea because I didn’t want to ruin a good thing. Plus, I didn’t know if I wanted more at all. I’d just moved back to Atlanta. Mads and I had just made up. I was busy with work and the center, so a relationship wasn’t high on my priority list.
But I did miss sex. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t hooked up with anyone other than the twink who gave me head over a month, maybe two, before.
The strangest part of my life right now was probably Hutch. I still couldn’t get over the fact that for three weeks in a row, we’d had coffee together after volunteering. This last week, it had been awkward. I hadn’t wanted to assume we’d go again. I’d wanted to ask him to go downstairs with me, but wasn’t sure it was appropriate, and I was pretty sure he’d felt the same, so we’d just…walked and didn’t mention it or ask, as if it was this thing that had always happened or was destined to happen.
I liked Hutch. I always had. I’d looked up to him as a kid, wished we’d been closer back then.
Guilt teased at me the whole time, while I tried to figure out if I should feel that way or not. Mads and I had been over for five years. She’d told me she wasn’t in love with me anymore, that she’d forgiven me, so why couldn’t I be friends with her brother? It wasn’t as if there was anything more than that there. He was sexy, of course, and holy hell, had I been surprised when he’d said he was bi. If things were different, if I’d never been with his sister, Hutch would definitely be my type, but that wasn’t the case. I had been married to Mads, and yeah, I was attracted to him, but that was normal. As long as I didn’t act on it, I didn’t see why we couldn’t be friends.
But again, it was a reminder that I really wanted to get laid. My hand had gotten quite a workout lately.
It was almost time for my nightly chat with my doc. We’d gotten into the habit of cooking while we messaged, and then I usually ate on the balcony like he did. Tonight he’d said he was having dinner with his family, so our usual plans had changed.