Page 44 of Face Off
“I always had one. I stopped requiring permission to use it.”
Ryan’s gaze moved across my face slowly. “I can see that.”
The bartender placed two shots on the bar with orange slices and a small dish of seasoned salt. I reached for both glasses before Ryan could object, sliding one toward him.
“You always drank my fancy wine and hated every sip,” I said. “This seems fair.”
“I drank it because you liked it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You acted like you did.”
“I was very committed to the character.”
Ryan looked toward the vodka, my blonde hair, and the cream halter top I’d chosen because it made my breasts look incredible. “You retired her?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“She still knows which fork to use at dinner. That information remains useful around rich people.”
He picked up the shot.
Ryan had stayed. I had followed without asking him to make the encounter painless. We’d managed several minutes without anger, apologies, or five friends monitoring us from the doorway. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it didn’t need to be.
“To an olive branch,” I said.
Ryan looked at the glass, then met my eyes. His expression softened enough for me to see the man I’d loved beneath everything time had placed between us.
He touched his shot to mine. “To an olive branch.”
We drank together.
The mezcal burned across my tongue and down my throat, smoky enough to make my eyes water despite my determination to remain unaffected. I reached for the orange slice before the cough escaped, biting into it while Ryan watched me with quiet satisfaction.
“That was graceful,” he said.
“Shut up.”
“You look like you swallowed a campfire.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“You ordered it.”
“I wanted the experience.”
“You’re experiencing regret.”
“I’ve survived worse decisions.”
His almost-smile became real for half a second before he lowered his gaze.
Voices carried from the hallway outside the bar. Briggs laughed too loudly at something Easton said, followed by Aura demanding they both behave like they’d been invited somewhere on purpose.
Our ten minutes were over.
