Page 15 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
Once close enough, he leans in, my eyes wide and unblinking. Ryder rasps, “My personal life is mine. You got it? I don’t need gossipy shit following me here. I’ve already dealt with that kind of shit-show, and I won’t have it for Warlord. Or I’ll tell Andrew I want a new trainer on my team.”
My stomach twists uncomfortably. “I told you it was anaccident.”
He shakes his head and walks away, leaving me dumbfounded in the doorway. I place a hand on my chest, my lungs aching from the morning air. Or perhaps that’s the embarrassment, which already stains my cheeks red.
Well, shit.
J U L I E
* * *
Nine hours have passed,my mind relentlessly dissecting everything. I struggle with the revelation that Ryder is actuallyendearing, while simultaneously being a giant dick.
Why did he react that way? And what’s up with his statement about experiencing this“kind of shit”before? Great. He now thinks I am history repeating itself, with a team he clearly didn’t like.
Why didn’t I move?
The end of my shift drags on, the time blurring from when I leave the gym to now standing in my bedroom. It’s practically hopeless to forget feeling like an asshole or, more importantly, thathe’san asshole.
It was just a freaking accident!
I huff, nearly tripping on my discarded shoes when I near the thermostat—I’m still soflustered. To make it worse, my rental house is so poorly insulated that I’m pleading with the cooling system once again.
“C’mon,” I grumble, tapping at the thermostat. “Why is it so hard for you to cool this place?”
It’s just another thing to worry about on top of everything else:I have no family in the area to vent to, the lead fighter at my gym hates me, and now my house is too warm. Sweat beads down my back, staining my clothes.
After taking a cold shower I stand in front of a mirror, makeup in hand. Invasive thoughts of Ryder’s glower make it impossible to get my eyeliner just right. Giving up, I apply only mascara and lip gloss before dressing.
I stand on my porch, eyeing the outdated, green carpet, then fix my gaze on the weathered wrought iron fencing. Street lights flicker to life.
I hate leaving my house at night. Well, this hour isn’tsobad, but it’s coming home and being forced to park a few streets over that gets my patience all wadded up. I’ve learned my lesson and ordered an Uber, not willing to risk losing my safe parking; it’s only a few cars down from my house.
This neighborhood isn’t terrible, all things considered. I just have the cheapest house on the block, since it’s been sitting as a rental for nearly three decades with little renovations—I only took it because I went into survival mode when everything fell apart.
It’s the surrounding area that’s sketchy, which tends to bleed over into these streets when the sun is down.
As I wait, a hooded man rounds the street corner, glancing at my porch. He is pale, tall, and has greasy black hair that’s always pulled back into a ponytail. He’s told me before that he“has a thing for cute little brunettes.”
I’ve also heard him claim a myriad of interests, depending on who he’s harassing.
Placing a thumb on the trigger of the mace inside my windbreaker, I brace myself. Fight or flight floods my system, and right now, I choose fight.
I’m so sick of his shit.
I’m so sick ofeveryone’sshit.
When will I just get a fucking break?
Like always, the repulsive stranger surveys his surroundings, assessing if anyone is watching. Craning his head up at me, he smiles to reveal graying, yellow teeth.
Creepy George.
I don’t actually know his name, but that’s what I call him in my head. Like he’s the personified monster from underneath my bed.
“Enjoying your view?” I bark.
“Would be better up close.” Eerie eyes consider the gate of my very small fenced front yard, as if entering might be worth his trouble.
