Touchdown

Chapter 22

"So.... We're selling the house?" Ryan asked slowly. I felt all the color drain from my face; I couldn't believe I said that and worse yet, that he heard it. My heart started to race, until he unbuckled my seat belt and pulled me into his lap.

"I'm so sorry, I can't believe I let her get to me like that," I groaned as I laid my head on his shoulder.

"You stood your ground, and I can't fault you for that. Besides, it's actually not a bad idea, the market is high right now, we'll make a profit, and get our own place."

"Our own place, with no memories, except for the ones we make," I whispered.

"Exactly," he replied with a kiss on top my head, "And you don't have to worry about Brooke, I'll take care of everything."

"But who will take care of you?"

"We'll take care of each other." My whole body radiated with happiness, our own place, creating a life together. My head was resting against his chest and I could feel his heart beat, as his thumb drew circles on my upper arm, "And seeing you stand up for me was quite the turn on."

"A turn on, huh?" I looked up, only to see him staring down at me, I pulled his lips to mine. He traced my bottom lip with his tongue, until I opened my mouth and granted him access. His tongue searched for mine and I felt myself start to dampen when his hand went to my inner thigh. I slightly spread my legs, and let out a low moan against his mouth.

"How drunk are you?" Ryan asked as he pulled back.

"Drunk enough to want to fuck you right now but sober enough to know I shouldn't. Why?" I heart a chuckle from the front of the SUV, why do I always forget about people being around?

"But still drunk enough to not hold your tongue," Ryan let out a loud laugh, "Thomas we need to go to that pizza place, the one on the upper eastside.

"Ryan I can't go out like this," I complained.

"You look fine babe."

"No Ryan, we can't go out like this, my feet are killing me, these heels are too fucking high and I can barely walk. Now I'm horny and I want to go home." I heard a snicker from the front seat, and Ryan's chest rumbled with laughter.

"Take us to the closest shoe store," he said still laughing. As I was finally getting comfortable again against his chest, the car came to a stop outside a Footlocker. "I'll be right back," he said moving me off his lap.

"Ryan wait," I whined.

He stuck his head back in the car door, "I'll be right back, give me five minutes." He shut the car door and held up a hand telling me just five minutes. I sat back, sulking and scrolled through my phone. I started to look through Ryan's Instagram among the workout selfies and ads I saw pictures of us at the private cove at the beach house, and a picture from the top of the ferris wheel. The most surprising one was of me in the back yard at the beach house reading a book when I didn't know he was there. I jumped when he opened the car door with a bag in his hand.

"What are you doing?" Ryan asked as he pulled a box out of the bag and handed it to me.

"Creepin on your Instagram."

"Sorry, I don't think this will work. I can't marry my stalker."

"Hardy har har," I mimicked sarcastically. I opened the box and pulled out black chucks, and gave Ryan a curious look.

"Just put them on. It'll be fun, trust me," he said sliding back in the car. He took his dress shirt and boots off and pulled out a pair of tennis shoes, a tshirt and put them on. As I changed my shoes he got out of the car and put a baseball cap on and looked like every other New Yorker.