Ryan takes a sip of his beer and places the bottle down onto the bar. “Can I speak honestly, Sullivan?”

I find myself squaring my shoulders. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry if I came off a little...abrasive last night. I know you and I have a lot of history, so for my part, I’m going to try to keep my distance and be civil when we’re together.”

I’m disappointed when I should be relieved. It’s unsettling.

“That sounds like a good idea. I don’t want to be the one bringing bad energy to Cristina’s wedding week. Let’s be civil.”

“Civil it is. We’ll give it the old college try.” There’s a trace of a smile on his face as I’m pretty sure we both mentally revisit a few choice things we tried together in college.

“Just out of curiosity,” I ask, “what brought around this sudden change of heart?”

He picks up his beer and takes another sip. “I don’t want to mess with anything Jason has going on this week, and my reason for annoying you seems trivial in comparison.”

“And what reason is that?”

He pauses, seeming to reconsider something before saying, “That even after all this time, I’m still so mad at you.”

I look away at his words, watching as a couple gets seated at a small table in the back of the dining room. They’re holding hands and the man is laughing at something the woman said. I’m oddly irked by them.

“Fine,” I say, turning back to face him. “And for the record, a big part of me is still mad at you, too.”

“I guess we’re even, then.” He’s staring at me with something more than just annoyance when I notice Cristina waving us over.

“Our table is ready.” My voice is as biting as winter wind and I make no effort to stop my shoulder from bumping into his as I push past. I can sense him walking behind me a few seconds later as I follow Cristina, Jason and the hostess into the dining area.

We arrive at our rectangular booth and the happy couple sits next to each other, leaving me and Ryan to slide in side by side. Once settled into our seats, it doesn’t take long for me to realize that sitting next to Ryan is going to be a problem. The booth is tight and his upper arm touches mine no matter how I position myself. Considering our somewhat hostile greeting, I don’t think he’s doing it intentionally, but maybe he is.

Maybe I want him to.

I bang my shoulder into the wall as my last thought jolts me into whipping away from Ryan’s arm, shifting sharply in the booth to break the contact. Ryan doesn’t look at me, but his back straightens as he keeps his eyes glued to the menu.