I briefly wondered if I did.

“Drink?” he asks as I step into the room. He’s already pouring a second three-finger glass. Raising my hand up, I pass by and grab a glass of water instead.

“Water first.”

Ryder shrugs and sets the second glass down.

“Are we going to talk like adults now?” he asks. He leans against the bar and watches me. Again, I don’t answer him, only rolling my eyes at his sideways accusation.

“I’ll take that as a yes. How’s the shop then?”

“Business is good.” After the full glass of cold water goes down, my throat aches less but still feels like I’m swallowing sandpaper with every breath. “Why? You looking for a job?” It’s my way of teasing him, showing him once again that I’m not the fuck-up. It’s a cruel game we play, but he’ll jump in when the time is right.

“I was never the one who asked.”

“I know. You never did like to work for your money.”

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” My head flips up to see the serious look in his eye. He is being sincere, and I am not used to it. He was supposed to quip back with another jab for me, but he doesn’t.

“I’m the asshole?” I ask, slamming my glass down a little too hard. “I’m the one who stayed.”

“Did she ever ask you to?” Now he’s ready to play, knives out.

“If she had, I would have.”

“Has anyone ever asked you to stay?” he says as he steps away from the wall, walking across the kitchen, closer to where I’m standing. I’m not in the mood to get in a tussle, but a little fist across the jaw sure would ease some of this pent up tension.

“Oh fuck off, Ryder.”

He stops. “No, you fuck off, Murph. Go back to your tattoo shop and be a miserable dick for the rest of your life.”

“Oh, I will. Unlike you, I don’t need to stick around for the will to be read.”

“Then, why are you here? The only person who could stand you is gone.”

He steps closer until we are only a foot apart, both our chests puffed out at each other, fists balled.

Ryder points a finger at my chest. “And I see what you’re doing with the new girl. She doesn’t deserve to be fucked and forgotten.”

“At least I had the good sense to wrap it up first,” I snap back, and I can sense he’s about to punch me. There’s a change in the air when you know someone is about to throw a swing, and if I’m being honest, I want him to. I push his buttons on purpose because I want Ryder to throw the first punch. It gives me a good reason to finally knock him to the ground.

But he hesitates. I can see the flinch in his stance, like he’s about to lay into me, but he stops.