Illicit ✔

two

She paused, fingertips hovering over the letters, wondering if she should be honest; if she should admit she'd thought of him a million times since she'd left, that she'd more than once imagined their reunion.

Coralie Amber Watson: I miss you too, RyRy. What are you up to? How's your beautiful family?

She winced. Beautiful family wasn't something she was happy to type. Though she'd never said it aloud—except to Bella and Delilah—it always pinched her heartstrings to realize how well Ryan's life turned out to be. He was a successful executive working for a burgeoning luxury brand, a fine wine connoisseur, a restaurant snob, and loaded with money. Ryan had grown from the smart-ass, back-of-the-classroom comedian to a well-known, respected businessman.

With a perfect wife and perfect children.

Looking at her own life—failed relationships, a near-rape in her early twenties, mental abuse, working an exhausting bartending job in a crazy busy neighborhood of San Francisco, striving to be discovered on YouTube and become famous—Coralie felt intimidated by her peers. Most of her friends had married, had several kids, and lived in exotic places like Barcelona or Athens, or had huge condos in London; but not her.

She'd had her shot at the home-life with three different men, and she'd blown it. And every time she traveled home, she had to remind everyone that she was fine, that this was the way she'd envisioned her existence. Wild and free, unattached, never projecting herself too far into the future.

Which reminded her that every time she went home, Ryan wasn't around to see her. He wasn't around to listen to her actual issues, like how she wasn't as spontaneous as she pretended to be, that in fact she spent her days planning and organizing until her head ached. He was the only person she used to tell such things to.

Ryan Bennett: The fam is wonderful, so happy. I wish you and I talked more.

Coralie scoffed, nearly spitting out her gulp of java. "Ha! You ghosted me, buddy." She almost typed that, but refrained; first conversation in four or five years? She couldn't mess that up.

Coralie Amber Watson: I agree. We should catch up!

Delilah's bedroom door creaked open. "Ugh, why are you so loud?"

Coralie blinked as she slanted against the oven, watching her roommate and best friend saunter barefoot into the living room. She had on the same burgundy top from the night before, ruffled and tucked into her boy-short pajama bottoms.

"You're home? Weren't you staying with... ah, I never remember his name."

"Lionel," said Delilah, prodding over and shoving Coralie aside to grab her own mug of coffee. "And I was, but his roommate was there and he was annoying. What are you bitching about?"

Waving her phone, Coralie moved over to the opposite counter and heaved herself atop it. "Ryan, remember? He messaged me last night?"

Delilah snickered—she despised it when Coralie sat on the counter. "Ryan." Her chocolate eyes widened as her jaw dropped. "Ryan, yes. RyRy. Is he still talking to you?" She tipped a few swigs of coffee into her mouth and let out a long sigh of pleasure. "What else did he say?"

"Nothing." Coralie yawned and set her phone down beside her. "He said he missed me."

"Missed you? Sure, he misses you so much he only sends quick messages on your birthday and likes one in a thousand pictures that you post." Delilah flipped her hair as she slithered to the couch and lounged on it as if posing for a photographer. Even in her waking hours, with mascara lining under her eyes and marks on her legs from her tight jeans, Delilah embodied a perfect Filipino diva straight out of a magazine. "What else?"