This Time Around (Maybe #2)(31)

“Tay,” he says, wrapping me in his arms from behind.

“Who was that?” I ask, not beating around the bush.

He sighs, like he knew the interrogation was coming. “Someone I used to know.”

“Right, and I get that, Ryan, but why was she touching you now?”

“She didn’t know I was taken.” Then he mutters under his breath, “And she didn’t believe me when I told her I was.”

I nod. “Why would they believe you, right? I mean you’ve been every woman’s go-to-cock for the last year.”

He flinches at my comment, gripping the bridge of his nose. “It’s going to happen, beautiful, and each time I’m going to tell them I’m not interested.”

That mollifies me somewhat, and I know I may be overreacting, but it still hurts. “Stupid whore,” I mutter under my breath.

“She’s not a whore just because she slept with me, babe. Don’t be like that,” he says, sounding disappointed. Disappointed! In me!

“Are you sticking up for her?” I ask, my mouth gaping.

“No, but it’s not her fault, is it? I’m the one in the wrong, not her.”

You know how in books, the man usually sleeps around a lot and doesn’t really care or respect anyone’s feelings, but when he meets the woman he changes instantly, treating her like a queen because she’s different and not skanky. Why couldn’t Ryan be like that! My rational side knows that Ryan respects all women. He doesn’t judge them or treat them badly. I should be happy about that, be proud that this man is mine. But right now, all I can see is him sticking up for a woman who had her hands on his face, and has had his dick in her body. I see red.

“I see,” I say, drawing out each word.

Ryan scrubs his hands over his face, probably wondering what exactly I’m seeing and what it means for him.

“You’ve been married to me this whole time, and it didn’t stop you then, did it. You’re acting like we only just got married.”

I see the first flash of anger in his eyes. “Well, you’re the one who left me that letter. What did it say in it again? Oh, that’s right,” he says, dramatically drawing out the syllables of the last three words, “‘Move on without me, because I’ll be doing the same.’ You can’t throw it in my face now, Tay. That’s really not fair. If you didn’t leave me that letter, you think I would have ever touched another woman?”

His question hangs heavily in the air between us. The taste of regret is thick and bitter. Isis sticks her head in, frowning. “You okay, Taiya?” she asks, narrowing her pale blue eyes on Ryan.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, forcing a smile. The bar gets crowded and Ryan leaves to help out.

“What was that about?” she asks, downing the last of her water.

I swallow hard, watching him. “Nothing,” I say, not wanting to ruin her night with my problems. “Shall we get a drink?”

“A real drink?”

I laugh. “Yes, a real drink.”

“Okay, I’ll get us something,” she says, a little too cheerfully if you ask me. She walks straight up to Tag, almost pushing some other woman out of the way. Ryan’s words replay in my mind. Why did I leave that stupid letter? I was hurt, that’s why. I was devastated, and trying to save face. I told him in the letter to consider us separated, and to move on because I wasn’t his anymore. I wrote it just after I saw him with her, and left it for him, covered in my tears. I can put the blame on him all I want, but the truth is that I messed up too. I shouldn’t have left, shouldn’t have left that letter. I know there’s no point in looking back, wondering what if. How do we move forward though? The past isn’t always so easy to forget, because it’s moulded us into who we are today.

“Here you go,” Isis says, handing me a tequila shot. With no lime or salt. Great.

“Tequila? Are you sur?”

She cuts me off, “Cheers!”

She swallows hers in one gulp, while I’m still staring at mine. Oh, what the hell. I tilt my head back, letting the alcohol slide down my throat, and then slam the shot glass down on the table. I can feel Ryan’s eyes on me, but I don’t look up at him. I’m still raw from our conversation. Isis saves me by grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the dance floor. Or at least the bar’s version of one.

A few songs later, Ryan grabs me from behind and spins me around. “All the men are watching you,” he growls, his jaw ticking.

I glance around, and it’s true; a few men’s eyes are on me. The thing is, I’m a dancer. I live to dance. I don’t dance for other people. I dance for me. So I don’t really care who’s watching, I just enjoy myself, getting lost in the music and the rhythm.

“So what?” I say. Not like I’m interested or going home with any of them.

He apparently doesn’t like my answer. “I don’t like them seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” I ask.

He leans down and speaks into my ear. “You look so f*cking sexy, dancing like this. You look so free. I don’t like them seeing you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “So what? You want me to sit in the corner and do nothing?” I’m having déjà vu right now. Ryan and I have had this fight before. I remember when I used to perform at high school concerts and he used to complain about the whole school seeing my ‘moves.’ He’s ridiculous. I tell him so. Isis pulls him to dance, and I laugh as he awkwardly tries to move away from her. She pulls him back and starts doing a half-grinding half-thrusting move, and he stares at me with a ‘please help me’ look. I grin, and walk back to the bar, leaving him to his own devices. I sit in front of Tag, who is watching Ryan and laughing.