Erin was easy. There was nothing emotional there, but my two old best friends—too much history.

Instead, I booked my own flight back home and ordered a car.

It was close to midnight when I texted Ryan, telling him I was outside his house. The driver’s taillights were disappearing when he came out the front door.

“Hey.” Dressed in lounge pants and a soft shirt, he folded his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms. He eyed my small suitcase. “You really came straight from the airport?”

“Was this stupid?” A normal girl might’ve had that thought in her head. But my head? There wasn’t enough room for second thoughts in there. I gestured to his house. “Should I go home?”

“No.” He’d hunched over a little but straightened and shook his head. “No. It’s fine. Seriously.” He went back to eyeing my luggage. “I thought you were joking about the airport. I could’ve picked you up.”

“Oh.” That meant a lot. “No, this is fine. Simple. No fuss. That’s how I roll these days.”

He fought back a grin. “Except when we break into my buddy’s house to spend the night, right?”

I laughed. “Except for that.”

“Come on.” He jerked his head toward the house before reaching for my suitcase. “My mom has book club tonight, which is aka wine night, and Peach is at Erin’s house.”

“Your dad?” I had to admit it felt nice as I stepped inside, warm and cozy. I hadn’t known how cold I was until then.

Ryan closed the door behind me, locking it. “He’s downstairs watching the baseball game. He DVR-ed it, and trust me, by the time it’s done, he’ll be a full case in. He’ll either sleep down there or head straight to bed. I’ve had friends over before when it’s a baseball night for him, and he had no clue.” He stepped around me, moving quietly. “You want something before heading up?”

I fought back the smile this time. “Going right to it, huh?”

He glanced back, and his eyes darkened. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” I shook my head. “And I’m good.” My stomach rumbled, which makes Ryan’s eyebrows rise. “You sure? Your stomach says otherwise.”

Thinking about it, I didn’t know when I’d last eaten.

I ate breakfast Thursday morning. My mom drove me to the airport two hours later. There was a meal offered on the plane, but I didn’t eat it. Gianna’s mom picked me up, and we went to a pizza place. I picked at a slice, but I couldn’t bring myself to chew it and digest it.

Zoe and Gianna had eaten popcorn that night while we watched movies. They’d laughed. I’d curled in a blanket and tried to sleep.

Then this morning, I had orange juice and coffee. That was right. Zoe and Gianna went to the coffee shop and brought back bagels and lattes. I had one of the lattes. Lunch was licorice for them, which Gianna’s mom didn’t approve of. She made a big salad, and the other two nibbled on it, but they were too full from licorice.

And this afternoon they’d left me.

I hadn’t eaten on the plane again, so it had been almost two days.

I shrugged. “Maybe a drink?”

He clipped his head in a nod. “Got it.” We went upstairs first, and he stowed my luggage in his room before returning to the kitchen. I went into his bathroom, grateful it was attached to his room, and by the time I’d cleaned up and felt a little refreshed, he was back, carrying a glass in each hand and a bag of chips in his mouth.

“Here.” I started to take the bag, but he shook his head and held up one of the glasses. I took that instead, and as soon as I did, he opened his mouth.

The bag of chips fell to the bed and he took a sip from his own glass. “Mmmm . . .” He winked. “Rum and Coke. Good stuff, right?” He clinked his glass to mine and then settled on his bed, moving back to rest against the wall. The chips went on the stand next to him, along with his drink after a second good sip.

He had a loveseat against the other wall in his room, and I perched there. Fuck. This drink was good. I craned my head back, staring at it. “I could down this whole thing in two seconds.”

“So do it.” He opened the chips and popped a couple in his mouth. Grinning at me, he added, “Not to tread where you might not want me, but I’d think you’d want to pass this year in a drunken haze. I would.”

Yeah. I drank a third of it before leaning back against the couch. “It isn’t my style.”

It would’ve been Willow’s, though. She would’ve drank, partied, and become a nympho if I’d been the one . . .