Chapter 137 Sunday Dinner

Chapter 137 Sunday Dinner
Skylar's POV

I could hear him before I even got through the front door.

His laugh echoed from the kitchen, that same laugh that made every girl around forget whatever she'd been saying a second before.
Sunday dinner had not even started, and somehow he had already managed to get on my nerves.

I slipped my shoes off near the entrance and followed the sound of voices into the dining room. The house smelled like roasted chicken, garlic, and whatever dessert Aunt Gemma had decided to make this week.
I dropped my bag by the door and rounded the corner into the kitchen. There he was…leaning against the counter, a dish towel slung over one shoulder, talking to my mom about something that had her laughing.

Ryan noticed me first. "Well, look who finally decided to show up." His lips curved. "Thought you'd bailed on us again."
"I was working." I dropped into a chair in the dinning, refusing to give him the attention he wanted. "Unlike some people who just stand around all day charming everyone's mother."
"It's a gift." He shrugged, reaching past me to steal a piece of bread off the tray.

Aunt Gemma smacked his hand away before he could without even looking. "Leave the bread alone until everyone's seated," she said.
He grinned like he was already expecting that.a
I rolled my eyes, looking away from him, toward my dad, who was setting the table and aligning the silverware. "Need help?"
"Always." He smiled at me.
I crossed the kitchen to grab plates, grateful for something to do with my hands that wasn't sitting across from Ryan pretending his existence didn't get under my skin.

We settled around the table the way we did every week, the same seats. Uncle Christian at the head, Aunt Gemma beside him, my parents across from them, and me stuck directly across from Ryan because apparently the universe found that arrangement funny.
"So," Ryan said, once the food had made its rounds. "heard you turned down Marcus Ellery again."
I froze mid-bite. "How do you even know that."

"I have my sources." He leaned back in his chair.
"Your sources need to mind their business." I stabbed at my food harder than necessary. "And yes, I turned him down. Is that a crime now?"
"No crime." He shrugged, though something flickered behind his eyes. "Just surprising, thought he was your type."
I scoffed "My type."
"Yh, you know," he said. "Boring, predictable and sweet."

"At least they have personalities," I shot back. "Unlike you, who apparently just recycles the same three lines on every girl in our year."
Across the table, I caught my mom exchanging a look with Aunt Gemma, the look of two women watching something they found far more entertaining than they let on.
"I don't recycle lines," He said. "I don't need to." He paused, a huge smirk appearing on his face. “I’m sure you're also obsessed with me.”

I slowly lowered the glass, couldn't hide my hate anymore. “Excuse me?”
He took a pice from his chicken. “You heard me.”
“I wouldn't be obsessed with you if you were the last person on earth.” I spat.
He chuckled. “That's a strong reaction for someone who supposedly doesn't care.”
“Arghhh!! I react strongly because you're irritating.”
“Sure…I”

"Kids," my dad said, his eyes still on his plate, "some of us are trying to eat."
"She started it," Ryan said, at the exact same moment I said, "He started it," and for a second our eyes met across the table. Something familiar passed between us before I looked away first, focusing hard on my food instead.

Uncle Christian let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he reached for his glass. "Every week," he murmured to Aunt Gemma. "Every single week."
"They'll grow out of it," she said, though the smile tugging at her mouth suggested she didn't believe that any more than he did.
I didn't look up from my plate again for a while, aware of Ryan's eyes still on me even as the conversation moved on around us.
I told myself, the same way I told myself every week, that whatever I felt sitting across from him was nothing more than habit….. Nothing else.

Dad's laughter suddenly broke out on the other side of the table, his voice rising over Christian's as they argued about something, their glasses clinking as Mom reached for the wine….three separate conversations overlapping at once.

Across the table, I saw Ryan's jaw tightened.
He tried to hide it but I noticed it, if I hadn't spent eighteen years watching for it, I would have missed it. His hand went still around his fork, his eyes losing focus.
I nudged his foot under the table, to get his attention.
He blinked and whatever had pulled him under let go, his eyes finding mine again. He gave the smallest shake of his head, picking his fork back up like nothing had happened at all.
I didn't say anything, I just held his gaze.
He gave me a look that said I'm fine, drop it, followed immediately by him reaching for his water.

His phone buzzed against the table. He glanced down at it without much interest until whatever he saw made the corner of his mouth curl up.
He didn't look up from it right away, his thumb moved across the screen, typing something, the smirk staying exactly where it was.

"Who's that?" Aunt Gemma asked, noticing the smirk too.
"No one," Ryan said, pocketing the phone. "Just someone from school."
I stabbed at the last piece of chicken on my plate, telling myself it didn't matter and that whoever it was or whatever he was smirking about, had absolutely nothing to do with me.