Every stroke of my paintbrush melts memories from last night, confessing everything to Maisie only to have Ryan crossly leave me on the dancefloor. I heaved, dipping my paintbrush onto my pallet and mixing blue with a bit of black. The dark colours on my canvas are reflective of my current mood.
I tossed and turned all night long. Hot and bothered, riddled with uneasiness. My duvet felt like it was smothering me. I can't begin to remember how many times I kicked that feathered weight from my body. Nothing could make me comfortable. My mind raced with Ryan's last words on the dancefloor: I'm done.
Was he "done" with our friendship? Or was he "done" with dancing?
I gaze through the patio doors and onto the balcony overlooking the downtown core. I mimic the shimmering skyscrapers and rolling hills on canvas, hoping my random brush strokes will turn into something interesting.
Being alone in the quiet of our apartment was greatly needed. Maisie is spending the day golfing with Jayce. I am relieved to have the apartment to myself. I even powered down my cell phone to avoid the outside world. Having some time to think, away from everyone and everything, in the seclusion of our kitchen with my paintbrush, can sometimes be the only way to calm my racing thoughts. And the memory of Ryan's abrupt and cold departure from the dancefloor hasn't made my thoughts any less chaotic. If anything, he's front row and center, owning every thought I have left.
My body tensed at my front door clicking open, followed by heavy footsteps trampling into my apartment.
"Jonesy, you home?" Ryan's familiar voice shouts from the entryway.
What the hell is he doing here? He better be ready to apologize for being such an epic asshole. Because I don't think I can even look at him right now. I take a deep and steadying breath, telling myself to play it cool and not show him emotion. The last thing I need is Ryan thinking his words from last night had any effect on me.
"Yeah, hey, in the kitchen," I shout over my shoulder.
I hear his footsteps as they walk through the living room and around the corner. I see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, as he smiles at me with one of his most charmingly rehearsed expressions.
"It looks like a rainbow threw up on your smock," he says, studying my grubby painting attire.
I turn away from him, unimpressed and brush a few more strokes on the canvas. "It's called paint, wise-ass."
He laughs, pushing off from the doorway and moves inches away from my side. "Perfect timing then," he says, smirking down at me, amused by my distaste for him. "You can finally get started on my portrait. Clothes on, of course."
"Of course."
"Only stipulation," he says, flopping down on a chair beside me. "I get a seventy-five percent cut from every print sold."
"Considering no one in their right mind would purchase one," I quip. "I guess you got yourself a deal."
"Ha-ha," he says dryly, biting his lower lip. He lets out another quick laugh, dropping his head slightly, then lifts his dark brown eyes to mine. "Shall I lay across the kitchen table or dramatically lean against the patio doors to give you Zoolander eyes?"
I can't help but laugh, tapping the end of my paintbrush on the easel. After being so damn angry with him, followed by a sleepless night, he somehow still manages to bring a smile to my face. Besides, I guess there is no point in holding grudges; Ryan was completely drunk. Which, of course, is no excuse, but when I see that playful light in his eyes and the warmth I feel when he smiles at me like that, it's so easy to forget he ever angered me.
"What are you painting?" he asks.
"I'm not sure yet," I say, fighting a smile. "I'm using the view from the balcony as inspiration. After last night, I just felt like I needed to paint something. To decompress. To stop thinking so much."
His eyes trip down my face and stall at my lips. "Got a lot on your mind?"
"You know how it goes," I say, leaning away to distance ourselves. "Family shit. Life decisions. And, of course, other stuff..." my voice trails off.
"Did you not have a good time at Kale's birthday?" he asks.
We exchange an odd glance like he's waiting for me to confirm what he said on the dancefloor. His mind is probably still clouded from the copious amounts of alcohol he drank, and he probably can't remember if he said something or if he's imagining he did. He's allowing me to call him out on what he said, how he said it, and to ask him what he meant by it, but I'm a little too stunned to say much of anything.
I shrug. "Umm yeah, it was okay."
"I had way too much to drink," he confesses, raking a hand through his hair. "Hardly remember much... except for when Thor handed you that fruity fucking cocktail." His eyes meet mine, and I swallow under the pressure of his unwavering attention. "Why don't you just tell him you don't like that shit?"
"Because maybe I do like that shit," I say matter-of-factly.
"You never liked that shit before."
"I can change my mind about what I like and don't like."
A smirk catches his lips. "Or you've turned into a serious poser."
I stare back at him, feeling the strange warmth of familiarity spread through me. This teasing, this challenging banter between us, is what chemistry feels like. What my friendship with Ryan has always felt like. That connection, that spark between us, makes me feel alive. It somehow manages to calm me, yet it can also cause panic in my throat when I think how quickly we could lose it all if we were ever to blur the lines of our friendship again.
"What are you doing here, anyway? Did you run out of food in your fridge?"
"I didn't realize my pop-ins required a purpose," he gave me his most charming smile before he stood up, walked a few feet away to the refrigerator, and pulled the door open. He digs around momentarily, cracks open a beer, and leans on the open door, still smiling at me—dimples on full display. "Take a break from painting. Chill with me on the balcony. We can play rock toss."
I take another deep breath. I can't say no now.
"Okay," I surrender. "Grab me a bottle of water from the fridge."
Ryan gladly hands me a bottle of water, closes the fridge door and leads the way onto the balcony. The sun is exceptionally bright, but the air is cool from the breeze blowing off the coast. A three-piece patio set is tucked in the right corner of the balcony. I sit down first while Ryan grabs a container of rocks and an empty bucket from the left corner that we have stored away for a game called rock toss. Basically, you sit back and toss rocks into an empty bucket for mild entertainment. Our silence is filled with thunk sounds every time a rock lands in the bucket for the next fifteen minutes.
Ryan takes a pull from his beer and glances over at me. "Have you been practicing?"
I usually have terrible accuracy, and Ryan beats me every time, but today, I've successfully sunk almost every rock I've tossed.
I can't help but mess with him. "Yeah. I sit out here every night for at least an hour to train."
He glares at me, detecting my bullshit.
"Good one, Jonesy. You normally miss the bucket by a mile, is all I'm saying."
"Bet I can sink ten in a row," I challenge him, feeling a competitive confidence kick in.
"Are you trying to hustle me?" he laughs. "Because on a good day, you can hardly sink one, never mind ten."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you taking the bet, yes or no?"
"How much dough are we talking about?"
"Fifty bucks. And you have to stop calling Liam, Thor."
Sipping his drink, he nods. "Fine. But if you miss even one of the ten shots, you owe me fifty bucks."
"Deal."
"Oh, I'm not done yet," he laughs. "You're also my roomie in Newport Beach over Spring Break, not Thor's; oops, I mean Liam."
I study him and his cocky grin for a long beat.
"No way," I shake my head. "I am not rooming with you."
He takes another sip of his beer before he says, "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."
I glare at him for a few beats, debating on backing out. The thought of losing and having to owe him anything irritates my skin. Not to mention how incredibly dangerous it would be to room with him on Spring Break. But my competitive streak refuses to back down. I'll have to dominate this game of rock toss. There is virtually no other option.
"Do we have a bet?" he asks.
"Damn straight," I say, tugging the bucket of rocks across the table. "And when I sink all ten, you'll be sorry."
He laughs, mildly amused.
Any doubts I had about my rock-tossing abilities are slowly disappearing one by one. I've successfully sunk eight consecutive rocks into the bucket. Ryan's eyes are wide with anticipation, and he hasn't squeaked one word. I take a deep breath, close one eye for better aim and tell myself I can do this. I can sink this ninth shot, and once I do, I only have one more to sink to win this bet. When I hear the celebratory thunk into the bottom of the bucket, I can't help but holler a woo-hoo, only to hear Ryan groan and rub a hand over his face.
"One more to go, and Thor's nickname goes buh-bye," I taunt him and take another rock from the container, prepping for my final shot.
"You have horseshoes up your ass," he laughs. "Now hurry up and miss."
I roll my eyes and turn away from him, trying my best to focus. I calm my breathing and close one eye for better focus. I even pretend to do a practice shot to heighten the anticipation of my win. I toss my final rock, watching it soar through the air, only to hear a ding of the edge of the bucket and a final plop onto the balcony's concrete floor.
Ryan jumps up from his chair and hollers a "Fuck yeah," shooting his fist into the air.
I drop my head into my hands, furious. "No!"
Ryan ruffles my hair with the palm of his hand, and I lift my head, swatting his hand away. "A bet's a bet, Jonesy," he laughs, taking a satisfying sip from his beer and leaning back into the chair. "I expect an e-transfer and matching pyjamas. So excited, roomie," he says teasingly.
I'm so pissed I take my water bottle and react by squirting him with it.
"Hey, no need to be a sore loser," he says, and without realizing it, he reaches forward and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, grazing his thumb gently across my cheekbone. It's perfectly rough as it rolls over my flushed skin. My heart tightened as he watched me. I lose myself briefly in his dark brown eyes before quickly turning away from him and reaching for my cell phone.
"E-transfer password is wise-ass," I tell him.
He laughs and leans back in his chair. "What are your plans for tonight?"
I shrug. "Nothing. You are looking at them."
He wiggles his eyebrows. "Thor isn't taking you on a trip to Asgard for dinner?"
I glare at him. "You'll never refer to him as Liam, are you?"
"Should have won rock toss," he smirks. "Not my problem."
"We don't have plans," I tell him. "He's working again tonight. Why? What are you up to?"
"Kale asked me to go with him to McGriggons Pub," he says, pulling his beer long. "Some chick he picked up at Hennessey last night said she'll be there with friends. I guess he needs a solid wingman to help seal the deal."
"You're a true friend," I say with a cheeky grin.
Except he doesn't smile back. Ryan seems lost in thought. "You should come," he suggests, watching me.
"No thanks."
"Aw, come on. You've got nothing better to do."
"I am waiting on a call from Disney," I tell him. "I'm supposed to hear by today if I was accepted as the successful intern."
He glances over at me. "Oh. Already?"
"Yeah, I'm so nervous. I hope I get it," I let out a steadying breath. I've tried not to think about it all day, but I'm anxious to hear some good news. Talking about it makes me anxious, so I quickly change the subject. "By the way. I forgot to mention...I spoke with Alodie."
He raises a brow. "Oh yeah. How did that go?"
"You sure know how to crush a girl's love spirit."
He laughs. "What the hell is a love spirit?"
I can't help but smile. "Her ability to believe in true love."
He smirked and asked, "Is that why you're so shrewd? Because some guy crushed your love spirit many moons ago."
I roll my eyes. "Listen, I'm only going to say this once because I promised Alodie I would," I tell him, veering our conversation back on topic. I clear my throat. "You should call her back to hear what she says."
With a grimace, he tosses a rock into the bucket. "Nah. There is nothing left to say. But thank you for relaying the message."
"Love spirit crusher," I tease.
"Okay, Jonesy. Enough with the act. Don't pretend you aren't thrilled we broke up. And besides, you're the one who told me if I couldn't put up with her quirks, I should end things."
"I never once told you to end things."
"I don't regret my decision because it was simple," he says. "Once I realized I couldn't sit just on a balcony and toss rocks into a bucket with her to pass the time, she wasn't worth any more of mine."
I nod and turn my attention to my hands folded in my lap. My heart races at his omission. I tell myself I am reading too much into his words and hope he doesn't see how flush my cheeks are under the blinding sun. My phone vibrates on the table, and we look down at the unknown number flashing on my screen.
"Answer it," he says.
Panic pounds in my chest.
"What if it's Disney?"
"Jonesy, answer it," he repeats.
I click to accept the call and press my phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
A female voice asks, "Is this Ms. Ella Jones?"
"Yes."
I stand abruptly and walk through the patio doors and into the kitchen. Ryan follows me.
"Good Evening, Ms. Jones. This is Camilla Bright from Disney Animation Studios. We met over Skype during your initial interview."
I can't help but chew on my bottom lip. "Hi, yes, Ms. Bright. I remember."
"I'm just calling to thank you for your application and for partaking in our interview process. Unfortunately, you were not a successful candidate for the internship position. You interviewed very well, had exceptional grades, and some experience, but I regret to inform you we've selected another successful candidate."
My ears start ringing, and it feels like my knees might give out. I grab onto the countertop to steady myself. I can feel Ryan's eyes watching and waiting for me to say something. I'm completely shocked. My interview was perfect. My grades are spectacular. I want to scream. I want to cry. But instead, all I can muster from my trembling lips is, "Oh. Okay."
"Like I said, you were just wonderful, Ms. Jones. Unfortunately, the candidate we selected had more experience working in the field than you. And at the end of the day, we decided to pursue them instead."
"Jonesy, you okay?" Ryan whisper-hisses.
I don't answer. I can't look up at him. Slowly I sink along the cupboards until my butt touches the floor.
"Thank you for your call, Ms. Bright. And thank you for the opportunity," I say, my voice coming out much steadier than expected.
"I would, again, like to express my gratitude for your application and my regrets that you were unsuccessful in the position. You have my best wishes in finding a suitable internship. Please don't hesitate to apply to Disney Animation Studios again, as there may be more opportunities in the near future. I wish you well in all future endeavours," she says before we say our goodbyes, and I hang up her call. My breathing is erratic as I try to hold back my tears. My entire body is shaking.
"What happened?"
I can hear Ryan's voice in my ear. I know he is down on the floor beside me, but his voice feels so distant.
"I didn't get the internship," I say, lip trembling.
"Oh, Ella. I'm so sorry."
I can't hold back anymore. The tears threatening my eyes tumble down my cheeks, and my body lashes out into ragged sobs. I pull my knees to my chin, drop my head against them and cry uncontrollably until my throat feels raw and my eyes burn. Ryan's hand doesn't leave my back, rubbing circles as he keeps telling me everything will be okay.
"Fuck. Fuckity fuck," I sit up and wipe the tear from my eyes.
"There will be other opportunities- "he says, but I cut him off.
"No. There won't," I tell him, sucking back my tears. "I didn't apply anywhere else."
His eyes widen, shocked. "What? Why not?"
"Because Disney was what I wanted," I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. "I didn't want to work anywhere else. I wanted to work in the film industry doing 3D animation for Disney. I feel like I've worked so hard for nothing."
"Everything is going to be okay – "he starts to console me again, but I cut him off a second time.
"No, it's not going to be okay," I shout. "Fuck. I have no idea what I'm going to do now." I run a hand through my hair and glimpse my phone on the floor beside me. I grab it and say, "I should call her back and tell her they must hire me. They have to."
Ryan snakes my phone from my hand. "Ella, stop," I glance up at him, heart racing. "You are not doing anything except to take a deep breath and realize how crazy that sounds. Do you want to ruin all chances of ever working there?"
I shake my head. "No."
"Then take a deep breath and come here." He pulls me close, and I rest my head against his shoulder, trying desperately to calm my breathing and put an end to my tears. Damn, he smells good.
"I feel like such a failure," I breathe.
"You are not a failure," he whispers, smoothing my hair. "God Ella. You are the most talented person I know. It's their loss for not hiring you."
I glance up at him. "You really mean that?"
He smiles down at me. "Yes. Look at that painting." He nods to the easel and canvas in the middle of the room. "And all your sketches and all your other paintings and those weird little 3D creatures you make on the computer," he chuckles, leaning close and whispering so quietly I have to close my eyes to focus on his words. "You are amazing,"
"Not amazing enough to intern at Disney. The greatest animation studio of all time," I sigh.
"You will find another internship. And the next time you apply to Disney, you'll get it. I promise," he says, leaning down and kissing my head. My heart flips and flips, feeling his lips touch my hair. I turn into him, my nose in his neck's soft, warm skin, relishing in his familiar smell.
"Thanks," I say, blowing out a calming breath.
I remain focused on the feel of Ryan pressed to the side of my body and how natural it seems. I keep waiting for him to say something goofy or make some joke at my expense, but he's completely poker-faced— calm and steady— barely sparing a glance in my direction as he holds me close. I'm trying to decide if it's intentional; his calm and collected comfort helps me regain a steady breath and feel hopeful.
When I finally pulled myself together, I sat back against the cupboards, carefully sipping the bottle of water Ryan handed me and trying not to make eye contact with him.
"Connecticut is still on the table if you want to come with me," he says, smiling. I lift a brow, frowning at him to let him know I'm not impressed. "Too soon?" he laughs.
"Just a little," I laugh, too, dipping my head back onto his shoulder. "Ugh. This just ruined my entire night," I groan.
"Come and drink your sorrows away with me and Kale."
"God, no. I can't even fathom getting off the floor," I say. "My night officially consists of a flannel onesie and eating ice cream and Oreos."
He frowns. "That's depressing. You should come out with us."
"I respectfully decline your pity invite," I say, feeling his fingers graze down my bare arm. All the tiny little hairs rise to attention as he strokes my skin. "The last thing I need right now is to watch you two pick up pretty girls while I sit in the corner drinking all alone like a sad sack."
"Those pretty girls got nothing on you," he whispers against my hair. "Even when you're a sad sack, you're still a showstopper."
My pulse accelerates, hearing Ryan compliment me like that. "Thanks, but your kiss-ass remarks aren't changing my mind."
"Where's Maisie?" he asks.
"She went golfing with Jayce, and I suspect she won't return to the apartment tonight. You know how it goes...she'll be sleeping over at your apartment again."
Ryan's phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans, and he reaches for it, glancing down at Kale's text on his screen.
Ready to swarm pussy town? The girls are already at the bar waiting for us.
Ryan catches me reading Kale's text, blushes, taps out a quick reply I can't see and then tucks his phone back into his pocket.
"Kale is in serious need of a girlfriend," I tell him and walk toward the living room. "Have fun tonight being a wingman for the Mayor of Pussy Town."
"I'm not going to go," Ryan says to my backside.
Slowly, I turn around, facing him in the doorway. "What? Why not?"
He shrugs, "I can't leave you. You're upset."
I lift a brow, laughing. "You can't ditch Kale. He needs a wingman. And I never asked you to stay here with me."
"Too late. I already told him I wasn't coming." Ryan moves past me and into the living room, flopping on the sofa. He kicks his feet up on the coffee table. "Come on, sit down."
"Ryan- "I start, but he cuts me off.
"Hearing your sad news was a buzz kill," he tells me as I sit beside him. "Your tears not only softened my heart, but now my now dick isn't doing much better," he says, smirking.
I half-gasp, half-laugh, reach for a pillow and whip it at him. He blocks the hit, laughing, then places the pillow on his lap and pats it. "Come here."
I have zero fight left in me to tell him to join Kale at the bar. I slide over, lay down and rest my head on the pillow on his lap, stretching my legs down the sofa. He flicks on the television.
"You're going to find another internship, Ella," he whispers, smoothing a hand down my hair. "Tomorrow morning, I'll help you fire off resumes to every design firm within a five-hundred-mile radius of Yale campus."
I purse my lips together and glare up at him. "Nice try."
He laughs. "Okay, a one-hundred-mile radius."
"Further," I goad him.
"Okay, fine. Somewhere in Hollywood."
I smile and place my head back down on the pillow. "That's better."
"You know what I think will make you feel better?" he says, flipping the television to Netflix.
"What's that?"
"A super cheesy horror movie."
I laugh. Ryan always knows how to lift my spirits. "I do love watching a blonde bimbo run away from a masked serial killer."
"You're so sadistic," he says quietly, and my eyes instinctively flicker up to him. He's just so incredibly handsome. He's watching me, and it's all I can do to look away, focus on the television, and not let him see the emotions swimming in my eyes. I have no idea how it happened, but I have butterflies in my stomach from looking at Ryan Owen.
"Thanks for staying with me," I whisper. "You didn't have to."
"I know," he says, leaning back into the sofa. He turns on a movie and smooths a hand over my hair. Before the movie ends, my eyelids fall heavy, and I slip into sleep.
I don't open my eyes again until morning.