27. Ryan

Chapter 27

Ryan

It’s been weeks since Kayla and I have found time to talk on the phone, and I finally get it.

She was justified in her concerns. These scraps of time would never amount to any kind of relationship. When I go to bed, she’s waking up. When she gets off work, I’m headed to the studio. Lunch is quick for both of us, if I manage to get away at all, and there’s not a lot of time for texting during the day.

Sometimes weeks go by with only a few messages, but on a couple of occasions we’ve caught each other at the right time, in the right mood, and it hasn’t taken long for our conversations to turn sexual. Phone sex isn’t a patch on the real thing, but I’ll take whatever I can get with her.

Kayla is always quick to remind me afterwards it changes nothing between us. We’re still friends, we still do our own thing, and we’ll still see each other next winter. I’d happily live in the delusion, but she gets a kind of post-nut clarity that brings us back to earth.

There’ve been a flurry of bookings before the season ends, but I know she has today off, so I call her before I’ve even gotten out of bed.

She answers from the sofa; her face a little pale, hair pulled up into a messy bun.

“Oh, honey. How is my friend Kayla doing?”

“Disgusting,” she groans. “I’ve barely moved all day. ”

“I thought you might be a little fragile, judging by the tequila photos.”

She covers her face with a pillow and screams into it. “Don’t say that word. I am my own worst enemy.”

Last night was the final Saturday of the winter season, and she headed to Rico’s for a farewell party. Today the chairlifts will stop running, the bars will close, and the instructors and chalet staff head back to wherever they call home.

“What do you have planned now?” I ask her, and she sits up, finishing a nearby glass of water.

“Going back to bed. Ordering pizza for dinner. Might watch A Cinderella Story and really torture myself.”

She must have watched it fifty times by now, and I laugh at the memory of her reciting lines. She grabs her pillow, and I watch her trek through her small apartment and slide into bed. Even hungover, she’s still so beautiful, and I hate the thought of her feeling shitty while she’s alone. If I was there, I’d cook for her, run her a bath, hold her in my arms until she fell asleep.

“I didn’t mean today, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“What do you have planned now winter is over?”

“Lifts open again in June,” she sighs, “but I want to explore as much as I can before then and make sure I have some good biking routes locked in. For now, I just want to be lazy for a bit.”

“It’ll be good for you to take a break.” She keeps her phone held up and burrows deeper under her covers. I do the same, imagining us lying side by side in the same bed. “You look so snuggly. I wish I was there with you.”

“Me too.”

“Was it a good time? At Rico’ s?”

“Yeah…” she mumbles, her eyes fluttering closed.

Party girl Kayla is a lot of fun, and I bet she had tonnes of attention last night. She looked stunning in the selfie she sent me before leaving the house, her hair in a high ponytail, dark tank top and jeans hugging every curve. If I’d been in the bar, I’d have been first in line to try to get her attention.

“So did you, uh…”

Fuck's sake. I shouldn’t be asking.

“Did I what?”

The rules of our situation mean it’s none of my business, and she doesn’t have to answer, but I ask anyway.

“Did you go home with anyone?”

“Ryan,” she says, her tone a warning.

It’s a decade old deal. Don’t ask, don’t tell. We don’t owe each other anything, and bringing it up now is like pulling at a loose thread. We won’t be able to put it back together if I unravel it all.

Still, I’m dying to know. Kayla is a sexual person, and if I can’t be there to give her what she needs, I don’t blame her for going elsewhere.

“It’s fine if you did,” I tell her. “I’m not mad, just interested. As your friend.”

It’s a bullshit addendum, but it works.

“Yes, I went home with someone,” she whispers, and my cock twitches behind my zipper.

“What happened?”

“Stop it,” she groans, burying her face in her pillow. I wish I could reach out and reassure her.

“I’m genuinely curious. I want to know.”

She sighs and pulls me back into view. “What do you want to know?”

Fuck .

I expected her to spill it, not make me beg for scraps of information. “Did you go to his place or bring him back to yours?”

“His. A hotel.”

“Did you know him before last night?”

“No. He flies home today.”

“So you won’t see him again?”

“Highly unlikely.”

Relief floods through me. I can handle the idea of Kayla and a one-night stand. If she told me it was a local, I’d be booking a ticket for the first flight over. I don’t care if that makes me a jealous prick.

“Did you…” The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can't push them past my teeth. “Sorry. Doesn’t matter.”

“Did I fuck him? Is that what you want to know?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“If you’re asking, I think you know the answer.” She pulls her sleeve over her fist and covers her mouth. My girl isn’t usually this shy. Kayla had buckets of confidence in the bedroom, and I want to bring her back to life.

“Was it good?”

Her shoulder lifts a couple of inches, then drops again. “Scratched an itch.”

My cock, already half-hard from the sound of her voice, surges to full mast at the thought of her getting off. I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my shorts and give it a firm squeeze, just to take the edge off. It doesn’t help.

“Is it weird this is turning me on?”

She gasps and bites her lip. “Is it?”

“Yeah, I’m rock fucking hard.”

“Show me.”

I pull the phone back, tug down my shorts and let my dick spring free, angling the camera so she can see more of me. She moans softly, rolling to her back.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Are you gonna touch yourself while I do?” she asks, a flicker of challenge in her voice.

“Is that OK?”

She hums gently, sinking lower under her sheets. “Only if I can too.”