Page 64 of The Downside of Love
“So . . . you think I should see where my feelings for Stryder take me?”
“I think if you feel strongly for him, it would be a shame for you not to see where it goes. Love is a funny thing, honey, because it can come in all different kinds of packages. But until you spend the time unwrapping them, looking for your forever, you’ll never truly find it.”
I put my head in my hands and hold back the scream that wants to pop out of me. “Why do I have to like him, Mom?”
“Despite what people try to think, the brain doesn’t control the heart. Your heart controls your brain. Stryder has a piece of it, and if I know that boy like I think I do, you have a huge piece of his. There are not many men out there your brother gets along with, or men who would sit by your bedside after an appendectomy, or who would wait on you hand and foot afterward, making sure you’re taken care of. He likes you, Rory. You need to give him a chance.”
Taken aback, I look at my mom dumbfounded. “I’m kind of shocked that you’re pulling for Stryder. When I first told you about him staying with me, you were against it, against him.”
Taking a sip of her water, my mom smiles at me. “It’s not very hard to win me over, Rory. Love my babies, and I love you. He adores Bryan and treats him as an equal. And where you’re concerned, there’s such a strong connection. It’s hard not to like a man who looks at your daughter the way he looks at you.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks, heating my face. “He looks at me a certain way?” I might have caught it a few times, but then again, I thought I was imagining it.And then he left so suddenly the other night . . .
“Oh, honey. When you’re around, his face softens, his body language leans toward you and only you, and his voice holds a different tone, almost like when you’re around . . . he feels at peace.”
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, fluttering frantically, causing a smile. I try to think back to the many interactions we’ve had together, but the one sticking in my brain is the concert, where he sang to me sweetly and held my hand for the rest of the night. I should have known then . . .things were different between us.
I should have seen it in his eyes.
I should have felt it in the way he holds me.
I should have reciprocated, because I want more with him. I want him to hold my hand. I want him to be in my apartment every night, not just on the weekends.
I want him to hold me every night—through the night—not just for the ten seconds when we hug good night.
I just hope I’m not too late.
I’m going to take a chance, because my heart and soul are just as tuned to him as his are to me.
No more missed cues.
No more missed opportunities.
* * *
Stryder:Leaving work now.
That was twenty minutes ago. Stryder should be here any minute. After staying the week with Ryan, I almost feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen him—talked to him—and I couldn’t be more excited about seeing him tonight, for him to stay with me.
I need to make sure I don’t bombard him, though. That my excitement doesn’t jump the gun, and I don’t try to make out with him right away, despite what my body wants. I need to take this slow, to make sure it’s something he wants.
I check my hair in the bathroom mirror, making sure the soft waves are pinned back in place. I loosely curled my hair and pulled back the front, leaving the back down and wavy. I put on a little bit of makeup and decked out my eyelashes with black mascara, making my eyes pop. Unsure of what to wear, I decided might as well go all out. I put on a royal-blue cotton sundress that is cinched under my breasts and then flows to just above my knees. It’s cute but also casual, nothing too fancy, just a step up from the normal pajama shorts and shirt Stryder sees me in.
The apartment is clean, dinner is in the oven—lemon chicken and broccoli—and his bed is made and ready. Wanting to seem casual when he comes in, not like I’ve been impatiently waiting for him to open the door, I hop on my bed, pull out my iPad, and start scrolling through my social media feed, mindlessly taking in statuses and pictures, checking the clock every two seconds.
Where is he?
Maybe traffic was bad. Should I text him, see how far away he is?
No, that would be obvious.
The sound of a car door shutting echoes up to my open windows, alerting me that he might be home.
My heart hammers in my chest as I wait to hear the creak of the stairs.
I wait, impatiently, wondering if that was him.
And then, someone starts climbing the apartment stairs, getting closer and closer until the handle on the door starts to twist open.
