A Moment by Marie Hall Read Free Book Online

in appreciation.
     
    It’s so bright outside it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
     
    When they finally do, he’s there.
     
    Not Alex.
     
    But Ryan.
     
    ***
     
    Ryan
     

     
    I’m not ready to see her.
     
    Maybe ever.
     
    She walks into the coffee shop looking better than I’d remembered. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and she’s wearing a yellow crop top that shows a flash of belly at the bottom.
     
    Gorgeous.
     
    Knock out.
     
    I close my eyes. Last time she’d seen me she’d seen the loser. The asshole who’d tried to off himself because he just couldn’t deal. I’m getting stronger every day. But I’m still not ready for this.
     
    She looks over her shoulder, back at the door as if debating whether to leave. Like maybe I haven’t seen her yet.
     
    “Damn me,” I mutter under my breath, knowing I should just let her pretend, make it easy on herself and me, but I don’t. Getting up from the table, I go to her.
     
    She trembles, staring at me wide eyed, hugging her hands to her chest. Just like last time. Will I ever get her out of my head?
     
    Slipping my hands into my pocket I stop a safe distance from her. “Hey.”
     
    Worst line ever.
     
    But it seems to work.
     
    Her entire body inhales, then exhales, and a smile slips across her features, lighting her face. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
     
    My lips twitch, not sure how to respond. Grabbing my arm she gives it a gentle squeeze. “You look good. Healthy.”
     
    Healthy.
     
    Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what a man wants to hear.
     
    Tunneling my fingers through my hair, knowing it makes it stand up every which way and not giving a damn, I nod. “Every day. Going through the twelve steps. In fact, I finish tomorrow.”
     
    “Oh. That’s good.”
     
    Rocking on her heels, she looks over my shoulder. This is starting to get awkward, not good. She wants to leave, I can sense it; fell her thoughts shiver through the air. A muscle ticks in my jaw, now that she’s here I don’t want her to go.
     
    Hell, half the time I don’t know what I want anymore.
     
    “Yeah, umm…” I scrub my jaw, “one of the twelve steps is to you know, apologize and crap.”
     
    Those pink full lips I can’t stop obsessing about quirk. “Really?”
     
    I lick my own. “Yeah.” Being bold, not sure why, I take a step closer.
     
    She tenses, and again I know she’ll bolt if I push too far. Taking a trembling breath I stare down at her face memorizing each exotic line and plane of it. She has cat eyes, so green they remind me of spring. It’s hard to tell, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t contacts. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before. Not on someone of her skin tone.
     
    I smile when I see the freckles. I’d dreamed about them last night. Kissing each perfect dot along the bridge of her nose as she’d panted, grabbed my ass, and the rest had been a blur of moans and skin. I’d woken up so hard it’d been a miracle I hadn’t shot off in my sheets. Hadn’t had one of those things happen in years. But the intensity of the dream had felt so real.
     
    The shower hadn’t helped either, because I couldn’t go in without remembering how she’d held me.
     
    Alex had told me everything. How, when she’d called, he’d immediately run home to find her still in the tub, her legs spread apart and me cradled between them.
     
    I’d have given anything to have seen that for myself.
     
    Which is probably pretty fucking disturbing on my part, but it’s the truth.
     
    To my surprise she doesn’t flinch, or look away. In some ways she reminds me of a timid lamb, but in others, a fierce lioness.
     
    She fascinates me.
     
    “I’m sorry,” I say it slowly, drawing out the words, letting her feel the sincerity of them. It’s surprisingly easy to do.
     
    When I’d had to do it with Alex, he’d given me shit about it for three days. Cold shoulder, cold food, and monosyllabic answers. Which I guess I deserved.  
     
    Her