seemed enormous. I privately worried about that, but felt excited at the same time.
He blushed. “I better stop that for awhile.”
I blushed, too. I no longer was obsessed about what he saw in me. He saw something in me, that I didn’t see in myself, and that was that. Stop obsessing. But the memory of the week when I thought that I would never see him again haunted me. This could all go away at any moment. He is apparently dealing with a nasty ex-wife, and possibly other, deeper, issues, and he might be rebounding. And he might even have a girlfriend. Be cautious.
We got to the park, and tossed around a frisbee and a ball for the dogs. “How old are they?” I asked.
“Maximus is 2, and Brutus is around 8 months.”
“No wonder they’re so frisky.”
“Frisky is not the word. Spastic, hyper – those are good words.”
And indeed they were.
We lay the blanket out on the lawn, and then got out the paper plates, and plastic cups. He poured some wine for us both, and I broke apart the chicken. “Is a leg ok?” I asked.
“A leg would be great.”
I piled a chicken leg, about four new potatoes and a spoonful of green beans on the plate.
Ryan produced two pillows after our lunch, and he lay down on one of the pillows. At his urging, I laid my head on his stomach. I felt his eight pack beneath me without an ounce of fat. His body was sinewy, muscular and lean. He stroked my hair contentedly. “I never thought I could feel this way,” he purred.
“What way?”
“Happy, fulfilled.”
I played a little dumb. “But you were married.”
“Yeah,” he said, simply. “But I never felt like this with her.”
“Then why did you get married?” A logical question.
“Shhhh.”
I kept quiet. The mystery will remain for now.
After a few minutes, Ryan admitted “I was so sick last week, when I thought I might never see you again.”
“Why did you think you would never see me again?”
“I thought that you thought that I was lame for seeing a therapist and didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“So, what inspired you to come by?”
He smiled. “Liquid courage.”
I lay there, putting all the pieces together. I was only trying to give him his space when I wanted to leave when he told me about his therapist. I almost destroyed things because of it. Why didn’t I see that before? I evidently hurt his feelings by my indifference. Oh, how we can wound somebody without even knowing it.
I lay on his stomach, drumming my fingers on his rock hard abs. Should I ask about the therapist?
I took a chance. “So, how did the therapy session go?”
“Fine. I’ve been seeing Dr. Halder for awhile.” He felt more comfortable about opening up about it, apparently.
“Was there anything in particular that made you want to schedule an appointment that day?”
“Well I had a conversation with my ex-wife that morning. It….didn’t go well.” An understatement.
“Do you care to elaborate?”
“Well, she just wants stuff, still, even though the divorce is all settled and has been for awhile.” No mention of the blackmail and the threats to go to the press with…something.
In due time.
I lay there, silently. It was so difficult trying to determine how much to pry. I needed to make sure he knows that I care, but I didn’t want to push. I was walking a delicate line, and I knew it.
“What kind of stuff is she still wanting?”
“A new Ferrari, an airplane, that sort of stuff.” It sounds like he’s joking, although I know that he isn’t.
“How long were you married?”
“Two years.”
At this point, I was dying to find out everything. Why did they break up after only two years? Why did he marry her, when he apparently didn’t love her (he said that he never felt about her the way that he felt about me. Considering he had known me for less than two weeks, that wasn’t saying a lot for their marriage)? And, especially, what information was she using to blackmail him?
In due time.
He
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley