Just One of the Guys(103)
“Chastity?”
My head jerks up. “Hayden.”
She glides down the stairs and stands above me. Well. I can’t have that, so I get up and tower over her. Sometimes being a quarter inch shy of six feet has its benefits, and this moment is definitely one of them.
To her credit, Hayden is not cowed. She puts her manicured hands on her h*ps and stares at me. “It’s time to let him go, Chastity.”
Ouch. “Trevor?”
“Of course, Trevor. Stop guilt-tripping him all the time.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You drifting in and out of his life, reminding him of the one time you were together, way back in college.” I see he told her about that. Crap. “You’re still mooning after him, and it’s really getting pathetic.”
Two times, Hayden. We were together two times. Guess he didn’t tell you about time numero dos. Aloud, I don’t say anything, just look down upon Hayden (literally and figuratively).
“Well?” she asks, swishing her long blond hair back over her shoulder.
“I’m not guilt-tripping anyone, Hayden. Trevor and I are connected, whether you like it or not.” I raise an eyebrow.
“He loves me, you know.”
“Sure.”
“We’re probably going to get married.”
“Sure.”
“So just back off.”
“Sure.”
It’s an old O’Neill sibling trick—to incite the most rage, simply agree endlessly. It works yet again.
Hayden’s face grows blotchy, but her chin goes up. “If he really wanted you,” she hisses, “don’t you think he would have done something about it by now? Do you think he’d be with me? Where’s your pride, Chastity?”
With that, she spins on her tiny little heel and flounces back up the stairs, back to Trevor.
WHEN I GET TO RYAN’S PLACE, he’s watching CNN. “Chastity! We didn’t have plans, did we?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “Ryan…I need to tell you something.”
He clicks off his plasma screen TV, Anderson Cooper’s face disappearing in a blink. He leans in to kiss me, then stops. “What is it, honey?” he asks, his voice gentle.
I can’t answer. My throat hurts and my mouth is dry and tears spurt into my eyes.
Ryan studies my face. “I see,” he murmurs.
My tears spill over. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
He leads me to the couch and passes me a box of tissues. The scene is so reminiscent of the night at Trevor’s, but I’m in no mood for irony. “You’re breaking it off?” he asks.
My ragged inhale answers for me.
Ryan sits next to me, sighing, then scrubs his hand through his McDreamy hair. “Well, what the hell happened?”
“Nothing, not anything in particular. Ryan, I think you’re a wonderful man,” I blubber. “You have so many nice qualities. And I do care about you. You’re very thoughtful and—”
“Please, Chastity,” he says dryly. “I don’t need you to bolster my ego.”
“Okay. Sorry,” I say, my face scrunching with tears. I dig in my pocket and hand him back the ring. He looks at it, frowning.
“I thought things were going so well,” he says. He looks irked, and confused.
“They were. Nothing went wrong, nothing really happened, Ryan, it’s just…” My voice trails off. What am I supposed to say here? There’s no good answer.
“It’s Trevor, isn’t it?” Ryan asks.
I bow my head. Harvard/Yale taught the man more than how to cut into people, I guess. “Yes,” I whisper.
Ryan swallows. “I hope he…I hope he’s good to you,” he says magnanimously. He gives his head a little shake.
“We’re not together,” I say, fiddling with the hem of my shorts.
Ryan’s gaze snaps back to me. “Then why are you breaking up with me?”
I swallow. “Because, Ryan, I think you deserve someone who loves you with her whole heart.”
“Well, that’s a noble sentiment, if a bit sappy,” he replies. “Are you sure, Chastity? I think we’re really well-suited for each other.”
I shift on the couch to face him more directly. “Ryan,” I say softly, “I’m in love with another man. I care about you, and I like spending time with you…but not like…It’s just not enough.”
“It’s enough for me,” he says softly, and I can see that it’s true.
“Not for me,” I whisper, the tears dripping off my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He pauses. “I’ll miss you, Chastity. You’re a lot of fun.” For a minute, I think he might get mushy, but no. “Well. Good luck.”
“Same to you,” I say, and with that, my engagement is officially over and done with.
What next, I have no idea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WORK IS INCREDIBLY BUSY the next day, mercifully, so I don’t have time to think about Ryan or Trevor or Perfect Hayden. Instead, I’m immersed in editing, assigning stories, talking to Alan about various and sundry issues, running things by Pen. Lucia gives me her piece for the month—seventeen column inches on making a wreath for your front door. “Looks fantastic, Lu,” I say, flying past her in order to avoid discussing it. Suddenly, I lurch to a stop and take a closer look at her.