INDY
T
he bartender slides me a gin and tonic as I scan the room for Ryan or Stevie or Zanders or Rio. Or just about anyone really. I like company, crave connection. I truly am a social butterfly, but that’s mostly because I’ve never been on my own and at twenty-seven, I’m afraid to learn that I don’t know how.
Mr. and Mrs. Morgan walk by, offering a wave and I hope they don’t find Ryan’s absence suspicious.
If I were either of them, I’d call us out on his pathetic display of a fake relationship. Ryan was so awkward with me. His big moment of PDA was essentially a high five to my upper arm. What the hell was that?
If the beginning of the evening was any indication, I thought we were going to crush it. When I stepped out of my room, Ryan’s eyes hooded, his lips parted. He spoke softl
