♫ I don't wanna be needing your love
I just wanna be deep in your love
And it's killing me when you're away ♪
(Maroon 5—Sugar)

The Ryan-effect became a familiar term for Coralie in the following weeks after he returned to London. She defined it as the delirious daze his absence caused, and the aftermath of the mess they'd made in her bedroom, in her bathroom, in her heart. She felt it as chaos unleashing in her gut whenever she peered at the condom wrappers in her trash can. Or when she sniffed at the pillow he'd rested his wet curls on, or the coffee mug he'd sipped from while eyeing her with lust.

She grappled to break from the trance he'd left her in, and spent most of the morning clutching the sheets to her chest, letting the soft fabric caress her skin. But it didn't feel as good as his fingertips gliding up and down her waist.

Later that day, Delilah poured them some mimosas and sat cross-legged on the carpet, listening to Coralie recount in vivid detail every aspect of her adventure with Ryan.

"Fuck," said Delilah, downing half her drink and fanning herself as her tanned cheeks flushed. "So it was everything you imagined, huh?"

Coralie huffed as she fell into the couch cushions. "More. I've had my share of good sex, you know that, but since Jayden... I wasn't sure I'd ever want it again. But Ryan..."

Delilah swirled the alcoholic juice, her neon purple nails clacking against the glass. "He woke you up, one hundred percent."

"One hundred percent." Coralie shoved a pillow over her mouth and screamed into it. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

"Hey—you did this to yourself." Delilah stretched out her lean legs and finished her beverage, smacking her lips in delight. "You were so ready to chuck him out of your life and tell him to fuck off, but one glance at his bulge—"

"—dude!" Coralie threw the pillow at her, but she caught it. "Come on, it took more than that, I told you."

"Yeah, it took him flying across the world to be with you." Delilah's dark eyes turned serious as she set the cup on the coffee table. "And look, I'm not cool with him cheating on his wife, but... that's a big deal. Guys don't usually buy a plane ticket and fly to another country for a quickie, or a random hit-it-and-quit-it. So hate him as I might... I admit I respect him for making that kind of effort and being an exquisite lover—"

Coralie tossed another cushion at her.

Ryan messaged her while she was at work that evening, to announce that he'd landed. She rarely checked her phone while bartending, but The Swirled Lady was mostly empty that night, and Roger had left for a family emergency.

So when her phone pinged, she fetched it from the back room and unlocked the screen at once.

Ryan Bennett: I made it home, beautiful. I can't stop thinking about you. You were a delicious treat, and I can't wait to eat you up again.

Heat swirled up her neck and over her forehead, and she almost dropped her phone into a puddle of liquor spilled earlier on the counter.

"Shit."

She locked the device and stuffed it into her pocket as a patron popped up, requesting a pitcher of beer—that she struggled to fill with her shaky hands and her distracted brain.

Once the client shimmied to their table, she got her phone out again, intent on responding—but Ryan had sent a few more messages.

Ryan Bennett: Almost had to spend extra time in the lavatories after waking from a pretty intense dream about you. Fuck, Cora, what have you done to me?

She squealed, then bit her lip to halt the noise from spilling out and alerting the customers. "Shit, shit, shit."

Ryan Bennett: I'm about to shower... and I keep replaying how you lathered my body and all the things you did to me—

This time she did drop the phone, and she thanked her clumsy self for investing in a basically bulletproof phone cover. She picked the device up, wiped it with her sleeve, and leaned against the counter, taking in deep breaths to erase the image of Ryan shedding his clothes and slipping into the tub and touching himself while thinking of her.

"You okay, girl?" Marion sauntered over, her high ponytail swishing as she threw a towel over the spill Coralie had been staring at to get her brain off Ryan's naked body. "You've been a bit out of it tonight. Do you need to take off early?"

Though touched at Marion's concern—she was Roger's niece, a kind-hearted hippie who smoked weed on her breaks in the parking lot and cared a little too much about everyone—Coralie shook her head.

"Just tired. The past few days have been... a whirlwind."

"Hell yeah, I bet they have." She clapped Coralie's back right where Ryan had nibbled her the night before, leaving a violet smear that she'd gasped at when showering before her shift. "Congrats again on the win! I can't wait to watch you perform your own stuff!" She hurried to her end of the counter, eager to serve the guy she'd been flirting with most of the evening.

Reeling in her emotions, Coralie opened the conversation with Ryan and sighed.

Coralie Amber Watson: RyRy!!!! I'm at work, you fool! You've got me so flustered :)

She poured herself a glass of Pepsi Zero and guzzled it down, letting the bubbles billow down her throat and settle in her uneasy stomach. She'd barely been able to eat before, too dizzy, stuck in the repercussions of her mattress-shaking with Ryan.

Ryan Bennett: Go into the back room and do something about that ;)

She hiccupped and set the glass down before she lost her grip on it. Giggling, she spun around and pretended to be busy cleaning cups and sorting through liquor, and placed the phone in front of her.

Coralie Amber Watson: Don't tempt me—I haven't been able to stop picturing us since the second you left. Fuck, RyRy, this is going to be so difficult.

Her heart thundered in her rib-cage as she imagined him returning for seconds. And thirds. As she envisioned them walking hand-in-hand near the Golden Gate Bridge, grabbing ice cream on the pier, venturing down the party districts at night in their fancy clothes, then devouring each other in some swanky hotel with views of the Bay. Her hands became clammy, and she snatched a napkin to towel the perspiration coating her forehead.

Ryan Bennett: I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking hungry for you... but I have to be extra careful. Gemma will get suspicious, so you might not hear from me for a while. But don't panic—there's no way I'm ever forgetting that body of yours. Ever. xoxo

Though some of his comments worsened her intense desire, the others smacked her in the face, bringing her to reality.

Gemma will have her eye on him a lot after this impromptu trip, won't she?

"Going on a break," she said to Marion, who waved her off without sparing her a single glance, too preoccupied with batting her lashes at the pretty boy on the stool across from her.

Coralie meandered outside and sat on the stone bench a few paces away; one she'd often lounged on with Delilah to cry about her woes, her boy troubles, her family issues.

Balancing her phone in her lap, she watched the cars roll by, smelled the fried delicacies from the nearby food trucks, listened to the weekly party-goers gallivanting on the sidewalk across the street.

How would she move forward after all this? Ryan hadn't even been gone twenty-four hours, and already she craved him more. Already she hoped his wife would somehow discover him and he'd have no choice but to leave her. Already she slapped herself internally for wishing he'd choose her over his long-lasting relationship and wonderful children. But would that ever happen? What feelings did he have towards her that might trump those of his loving, lovely spouse? Granted, he'd fallen in love with Coralie first, but if it came down to choosing... would he opt for the adventurous, detached, not-too-sure-about-her-future Coralie? Or the stable, exquisite, children-bearing Gemma?

She was about to yell at herself for wishing for the dissolution of his marriage when her phone rang. It wasn't the usual Facebook ping, but an actual call.

Without paying attention to who was calling—a part of her was desperate to talk to RyRy, and wished it was him—she hit the green button and the speakerphone, too lazy to bring the device to her ear.

"Hello? Is that you—"

"Cora?" To her dismay, it wasn't Ryan's sexy British accent that answered, but Michael's equally sultry voice. "I expected to get your voicemail. Aren't you at work?"

Frozen, breaths hitched in her throat, Coralie sat up straight. "I, uh... I'm on a break. Hi, Michael, sorry... I thought you were... Delilah."

He chuckled, the sound simmering into Coralie's core and paralyzing her further. "No worries, I was going to ask if you had plans in the next few days? I hoped to take you out and properly celebrate your win. I assume you're feeling much better by now, right?"

Her brain buzzed with all sorts of stupid excuses to dissuade him from wanting to see her, and yet somewhere within she wanted to see him. He might be a pleasant distraction from Ryan; he might help her move past her perilous cravings for someone she shouldn't have been falling for.

"I'm busy, working on songs and stuff, but... can you keep checking back with me? I do want to see you soon."

It wasn't a complete lie; she did have plenty of songs to revise and rehearsals to organize with the bar's new band. And she did want to meet up with him. But maybe not while her legs were still sore, and she had traces of Ryan's love-making scraped all over her arms and back and neck.

"Absolutely." A twinge of disappointment populated in Michael's voice, and yet she heard the smile in it, too. "I'll check in with you later. Can't keep me hanging on those kisses."

Despite her conflicting desires, she smiled. He was a good kisser; right up there with some of the best kisses she'd ever had.

But then she winced, remembering Ryan's kisses. His luscious, fruit-flavored lips locked onto hers, his tongue twitching around hers, sucking her deeper into his embrace.

"N-no," she said, shaking out of the wet-dream forming in her mind, "I wouldn't dare. I have to get back inside now. Talk to you soon, Michael."

She hung up and stood, her face torn between a grin and a grimace.

What the hell am I going to do?

***

Every morning, Coralie woke with a fire in her belly, a terrible migraine, and damp underwear. Every dream she had was of Ryan—his gaze digging deep into hers, his hands caressing every inch of her body, his tongue traveling over her lips and prying into her mouth with passionate aggression. Her sex drive had never been so active, not even in her "busier" days, her party years, her one-night-stand seasons. And less so after she'd recovered from the near-rape and its effects on her mental stability. She'd had a few escapades following that, and Jayden had reanimated her drive a little—but Ryan was on another level.

It didn't help that his voice, the reminder of his touch, and his presence prompted butterflies to swarm inside her gut—and they refused to leave. Even after his scent finally dissipated from her pillows, even after the details became blurry and she had to focus harder to recall them, he still stayed on her mind.

So not only did she wake with a fiery fury in her abdomen, but she had a craving for his love. Her heart swelled so much her chest hurt, and everything reminded her of him. The blankets, the shower, the spatula she'd used to cook him breakfast—his ghost lingered, teasing her, haunting her thoughts and loading them with images of what they'd done, visions of what they'd yet to do.

Despite his request that she not panic—she panicked.

Any time her phone beeped, she thought it was him, telling her they were over, they were discovered, they would never see each other again. And with each potentially scary outcome, she realized she was petrified of losing him, of never speaking to him again. Nearly twelve years of partial silence and being away from him had only reinforced the feelings she'd stuffed down to protect herself.

She continued to get distracted at work, too. Marion had noticed it that first night, and though she never commented on it again, she often squinted at Coralie as if questioning her sanity.

Isabela was more outspoken—she once took Coralie outside and scolded her, after she'd put vodka in a gin-based cocktail, and didn't react when the customer screamed at her. She dragged Coralie through the doors, asking her if she needed a mental health day, a nap, or another vacation.

"I'm fine, I swear," said Coralie, swiping stray strands of hair from her matted forehead, turning away to hide her reddening cheeks.

But she was far from fine. Her mind was plagued by Ryan, her heart yelped for him, and her body was still in pain from their love-making.

"You sound sick," her mom commented, calling her about two weeks after Ryan's last message. "Are you okay? Your posts are more sparse than usual. Are you not writing? When do you start the gig?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

Coralie sipped on her second glass of wine, glaring at the clock—it wasn't even five pm, on her day off, and she already anticipated finishing an entire bottle of rosé. She'd had nightmares about Gemma flying out to San Francisco and running her over with a car, and Ryan cackling over her corpse, saying "you were right, we shouldn't have done this!"

"The gig starts soon, Rog is still working out the details with the band."

"Well, you don't sound fine. Can't you take a few days off in the meantime? I can Venmo you some money if you need it."

Her mother, a resident of the wonderful state of Hawaii, constantly pried into her life and had kept a careful eye on her since the sexual assault incident. She always pushed for Coralie to move over there, to serve drinks at one of the tiki bars and sing for them; but Coralie wouldn't budge.

"Seriously, Mom, I'm good. I don't need money and I don't need a day off."

I just need RyRy.

♥♥♥