Happily Ever After? Ask Again Later II
Well, the couples decided to go shopping together as newly weds. Lila pushed the squeaky cart down the aisle, her eyes scanning the shelves with surgical precision. Ryan trailed behind, tossing random items into the cart like a child on a sugar high.
"Ryan, put that down," she said, plucking a giant family-size bag of cheese puffs from the pile.
"What? Newlyweds are supposed to snack together," he protested, clutching it to his chest like a life-saving flotation device.
"Cheese puffs are not a love language," she deadpanned, shoving it back onto the shelf.
"They could be," he countered, dropping a jar of pickles into the cart.
Lila frowned. "Do you even like pickles?"
"Nope," Ryan said with a grin. "But I like watching you eat them. You make this little face," He scrunched his nose and puckered dramatically.
"Stop it," she swatted at him, laughing despite herself. "People are watching."
"Let them. We're the cutest couple in aisle seven."
A lady passing by smiled knowingly. "Newlyweds?" she asked.
Lila forced a polite smile. "Something like that."
Ryan leaned closer, smirking. "See? Even strangers can feel the chemistry."
"Chemistry?" Lila tossed a box of pasta into the cart. "You mean static electricity from you constantly annoying me?"
"Oh, come on," Ryan said, grabbing two tubs of ice cream. "Chocolate or strawberry?"
"Neither. Vanilla," she replied firmly.
Ryan's eyes widened like she'd just confessed to a federal crime. "Vanilla? On our first grocery trip as a married couple? You really do plan to make this marriage bland."
Lila grinned. "Exactly. Consider it payback for ruining my wedding night with your Casanova jokes."
He pointed a finger at her. "Oh, you'll pay for that comment, in aisle twelve."
They were still bickering over ice cream flavors when a stunning woman sashayed past, long legs, curves for days, hips that swayed like they had their own theme song. Ryan's head turned almost instinctively, and before Lila could even roll her eyes, he let out a low, appreciative whistle.
Without missing a beat, he slipped an arm around Lila's waist, pulling her close. "Hey, best friend, how about you help me out here, like old times?"
Before she could ask what on earth he meant, he grabbed a little carved figurine from the impulse-buy counter and shoved it into her hand. "Here. Go give this to her and tell her your big bro likes her very much."
Lila stared at him like he'd just grown two heads. "Little sister? You do realize she's going to take one look at these matching rings and think I'm the worst sister in the history of fake siblings?" She held up her hand, the gold band glinting under the store lights.
Ryan paused, then smirked. "Oh, right. The rings. Guess we'll have to do something about that."
"I don't know, genius. Maybe go do it yourself." She puffed her cheeks and pushed the cart forward.
"Oh, that's how it is now?" He followed her with mock offense. "Have you forgotten how I played wingman for you with Mr. Hunk the other day?"
"Whatever," she said, not even glancing back.
"Fine. I'll do it myself." He tugged off his ring, pressed it into her palm, and with a grin that spelled trouble, he strode off in the woman's direction.
Lila lingered in the cereal aisle, secretly rooting for him to crash and burn. She even stuck out her tongue in his direction for good measure. Come on, lady, give him the classic "I have a boyfriend" speech.
Instead, to Lila's horror, the gorgeous stranger smiled back, slow, sultry, and with a look that promised she knew exactly how handsome Ryan was. Within seconds, she was tapping her number into his phone.
Lila facepalmed so hard she nearly knocked a box of cornflakes off the shelf. Of course she gave him her number. Who wouldn't? He was tall, devastatingly handsome in that unfair, cinematic way, with shoulders that filled out his shirt and a smile that could probably convince someone to sign away their inheritance.
Ryan strolled back, smug as a cat that had just raided the cream jar. "See? Still got it."
She snorted. "Please. She probably just wants free cheese puffs."
"Or," he said, slipping his ring back on with a wink, "maybe she's into charming grocery store guys with incredible bone structure."
Lila rolled her eyes, steering the cart toward the checkout. "Bone structure won't help you when I 'accidentally' run you over with this cart."
"Oh, you wound me, Mrs. Vanilla Ice Cream."
She ignored him, though her lips were fighting a smile.
We loaded the groceries into the trunk, still sniping at each other like kids who'd just been told to share candy.
Ryan slammed the trunk shut and slid into the driver's seat with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. I buckled in, refusing to look at him.
"What?" he asked, already sounding entertained.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Yes, you are. You get this little wrinkle right here," he reached over and tapped between my brows "every time you're mad at me but don't want to admit it."
I swatted his hand away. "Stop poking my face!"
"Come on, Lila," he drawled, starting the engine. "Just say it. You're jealous."
I scoffed. "Of what? Your cheap charm?"
He laughed, deep and warm, the kind that made my stomach do that annoying flip. "Admit it, you didn't like me talking to Miss Caviar back there."
I stared out the window. "I couldn't care less."
"Oh really? Then why did you almost dent the soup cans with your death glare?"
"I was just, protecting the grocery store's reputation."
Ryan chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road but grinning like a man who knew he'd already won. "Sure you were. Totally not because you were imagining throwing me in the freezer aisle and marking me as yours."
I turned to him sharply. "Ryan West, I would never,"
"never what? Claim me? Kiss me? Fall madly in love with me?"
The words were supposed to be teasing, but they landed like little sparks in the air between us.
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Maybe I already have!"
Silence.
The car hummed forward, but Ryan's grip on the wheel tightened. His smirk faltered into something softer, something that made my heart trip over itself.
"Lila," he said quietly, almost cautiously.
I scrambled, waving my hands like I could erase what I'd just said. "I mean as a friend! Obviously. Like, best friend love. You know. Harmless. Completely platonic. Obviously."
But Ryan's side glance told me he wasn't buying a single word.
Dinner Disaster
It started innocently enough.
"Let's cook something fancy tonight," Ryan announced, leaning against the kitchen counter like he was auditioning for a cooking show.
I raised an eyebrow. "Fancy? You think sprinkling cheese on pasta counts as fancy."
He grinned. "No faith in me, Brooks? Prepare to have your mind blown."
Five minutes later, my kitchen looked like a pre-battle scene. Cutting boards, vegetables, meat, spices, all scattered like an artist's chaotic masterpiece.
"Step one," Ryan said, dramatically tying an apron around his waist. "The master chef preps the steak."
"Step one," I corrected, yanking the knife from his hand, "is not letting you handle sharp objects."
"Oh, come on," he protested, grabbing it back. "I can totally,"
A chunk of onion went flying across the counter.
We froze. Then I burst out laughing.
"Smooth," I teased. "What's next, tossing the steak like a frisbee?"
Ryan narrowed his eyes, grabbed a frying pan, and slammed it onto the stove with way too much confidence.
"Step aside, Sous Chef Lila. The meat needs the magic touch of a West."
I snorted. "The only magic touch you have is turning edible food into charcoal."
Twenty minutes later, smoke curled toward the ceiling, the pasta water had boiled over twice, and we were both yelling instructions neither of us followed.
"Turn down the heat!" I cried.
"I'm not burning it!" Ryan shot back.
"Yes, you are! That's literally smoke,"
And then the fire alarm blared.
We looked at each other in silence for a beat before dissolving into helpless laughter.
Dinner was officially dead.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, cartons of Chinese takeout spread between us. Ryan handed me a pair of chopsticks with a mock bow.
"Gourmet, courtesy of Chef West."
I grinned, shoving a dumpling into my mouth. "Best thing you've ever cooked."
We ate straight from the boxes, our knees bumping, the warmth of laughter lingering long after the food was gone.
We were halfway through our noodles when Ryan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted from relaxed to, deer-in-headlights.
"What's wrong?" I asked, mouth still full.
He slowly set the phone down. "My parents. They're, in town."
I blinked. "Okay, and?"
"And they're five minutes away."
I choked on my noodles. "Five MINUTES?! You could've led with that!"
He raised his hands defensively. "I just found out!"
I scrambled to my feet. "Ryan, your parents already think we're madly in love. If they see us surrounded by takeout boxes, looking like we survived a kitchen explosion,"
"They'll think we're real," he said with a smirk.
I pointed at him. "This is not the time for jokes."
We had three minutes to make the place look somewhat respectable. I shoved the takeout into the trash, Ryan sprayed half a bottle of air freshener, and we both tried to look, well, couple-y.
When the knock came, we pasted on smiles so fake they probably deserved their own acting award.
"Sweetheart," he said, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Darling," I replied, resisting the urge to elbow him in the ribs.
His parents stepped in, all warmth and smiles, immediately commenting on how "perfect" we looked together. Under the table at dinner, Ryan pinched my side every time I tried not to laugh. I retaliated by kicking his shin.
"So, Lila," his mother said sweetly, "how did you two meet again?" Like she forgot we've been friends since we were little.
Ryan answered before I could speak. "It was love at first sight."
I turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Was it now?"
He grinned innocently. "Absolutely. She practically tripped into my arms."
I took a slow sip of my water. "And by 'tripped,' he means I was running away from him."
His parents laughed like we were the cutest thing they'd ever seen. Meanwhile, we kept exchanging secret jabs, both of us working way too hard to keep the act going without cracking.
By the time they left, I collapsed on the couch, exhausted. Ryan flopped beside me.
"You have a great poker face," he said.
"You have a great ability to lie," I shot back.
We both burst out laughing.
Well, that night, after his parents left, I slept alone in our bed while Ryan slept next door with miss busty from grocery shopping earlier.
Her loud moans were like needles pricking at me. Oh I hate her stupid fake cry, which is as unreal as her fake eyelashes and BBL butts.
"Arrrrg!" I said for the umpteenth times as I dragged the duvet over my head.