I’m over by his dresser, which is littered with odds and ends. Including the pink lanyard covered with colorful romance-related buttons with their inside jokes I’ll never understand. I assume he’ll get a new one at his new store, where he’ll probably meet women who share his passion for romance.

He deserves someone like that. The thought wriggles into my mind, and I try to push it away, but I can’t. Ryan deserves someone softer than me. Someone sweeter, warmer, easier.

What do I know about happy endings, anyway?

“I guess I don’t need that anymore,” he says, coming up behind me. He’s close enough that if I lean back, he might wrap his arms around me. Maybe he’d take me to bed, and I could stop thinking about what’s happening.

My eyes land on one button in particular: Stfuattdlagg.

“You never told me what this means,” I say, touching the letters.

There’s a pause. A long pause. I turn around; he’s awkwardly shifting his weight.

“It’s, uh, something that got popular on social media,” he finally says. “The romance community picked it up, and…it’s stupid, honestly.”

The evasiveness in his voice sparks a jolt of anger. Okay, he’s leaving, and I have no say in the matter, and he didn’t even tell me until after he’d decided. But can’t he tell me this?

I face him. “I want to know what it means.”

“No, you don’t.” There’s a stubborn edge to his voice.

“You don’t get to decide what I want.”

That’s the crux of it: he’s made a choice that affects my life, and I don’t have a say. And just like that, all the feelings I stuffed down surge up again, a red-hot flame bursting to life. Because guess what? It’s so much easier to be angry than sad.

He’s inches away, looking down at me, his eyes memorizing my face—my lips, my hair, my neck. There’s a pained expression in his eyes, a tiny crack in the mask he’s wearing. I want to rip it off.

“Tell me, Ryan.” Heat crackles between us, like it did during those first few weeks of our battle.

“It’s nothing,” he says, sharper.

“What does it mean?” I’m egging him on, poking his chest with my index finger. “Shut the fuck up and…?”

“I am not saying those words to you.” His voice is a growl.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

I stick my finger in his face. “I swear to god, if you don’t tell me—”

“Shut the fuck up and take that dick like a good girl.”

And my knees hit the floor.

30

Ryan

My fantasy girl is on her knees in front of me, tugging down my pants. I stumble backward and hit the dresser behind me.

“Josie, wait, I didn’t mean you had to—”