Page 3 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
Or maybe he has social media...
I doubt much will materialize. He’s MMA-famous, not celebrity-level. And searching for him on social media feels... invasive. I kind of want to get to know him, face to face, with no bias. It’s what Jeremy would do. I laugh when the thought of looking up Ryder reminds me of ten years ago when my brother would roll his eyes and tell me to stop perving—“Julie, stop making comments about him pinning you to the mat... now go away. You’re ruining the match…plus, he’s a man-whore behind the scenes. You have higher standards than that.”
What Jeremy didn’t know was that Ryder being a notorious playboy only excited me more. My monkey brain saw it as “challenge accepted.” If I was at the right place at the right time, then all it meant was that Ryder might even sleep around withme.
How in the hell am I supposed to focus now? Especially as I rub my nose, recalling how it’d been inches away from the soft fabric of his shirt when my hand made contact with his very muscular stomach.
If he signs on, that legend will be our golden ticket to immortalizing the name of Rhino MMA.
For Jeremy, I need to be nothing but a professional, as if a raging crush never existed for Joey Ryder.
R Y D E R
* * *
I stepinto the small conference room as a man named Andrew shuts the door. The room smells of old carpet and looks like they haven’t used it in months. Dust floats through the sun’s glow, like someone’s dumped flour in here.
Maybe they just carelessly toss kitchen ingredients around in this damn place.
I hope Lowers’s sent me to the right fucking gym. So far, it’s off to a weird start. I smell like something sugary, and it’s sticky where my shirt is soaked the most.
Didn’t expect an unbelievably hot brunette to just run into me and act like I’m a distant crush come to life. Obligation demands priority. That sports therapist is completely off limits, evenifher eyes nearly got to me with their foxy shape—
Focus, dude.
That was definitely not the best way to sell this place.
Spilling coffee on me isn’t an issue, but the way I flustered her… I don’t have time for anything other than training.
Cracking my knuckles, I watch as Andrew shuts the interior blinds. He grabs a few towels from his shelves and slides them on the table toward me.
Once I blot at the stain, Andrew extends his hand after situating himself behind the desk. The man is as excited as a kid meeting fucking Santa Claus—wide-eyed and fidgety hands. “So, let’s meet,officially. I’m Andrew Boyden, co-owner and head coach of Rhino MMA. And, dude, I’m really sorry about the coffee and shit. Her brother was a big fan, so it’s why she acted like that.”
As I examine his extended hand, the next seven months of my life flash through my mind—fighting, sweating, and breaking my body down until I build it back up again. If I shake that hand, my entire life returns to the limelight.
While I love the fighting and the adrenaline, I also know the pressure that Warlord will become. I don’t have another option, though. This is what I’m good at, and I need the money.
Reaching out, I shake his eager hand. “I only go by Ryder. And whatever. These are cheap sweats, anyway.”
Stuffing my hands back into my pockets, standing squarely with my feet shoulder-width apart, I observe every move that Andrew makes. The coach has a few inches on me and has just as much lids to his eyes as his brows, like he’s a knockoff of Sylvester Stallone, except twenty years younger and only half the muscle mass.
I’ve never had interest in small talk when it’s all business, so I cut straight to the point. “I hear you know Mike Lowers?”
“Sure do. Trained under him right after you took a break, when he was looking to rebrand himself. I spoke to him two weeks ago when our key guy got injured, but he never told me he was sendingyou.”
“I’ve been flirting with the idea of getting back into the ring for Warlord. I’m tied to the area for now, so that’s why he sent me your way.”
Andrew doesn’t hide his surprise, the joy not fitting his rigid face. The coach looks away and shakes his head like he’sgiddy, lost in a haze of elation. “I’ll have to buy him a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle for this shit when I can afford that...” Andrew looks back at me and motions to the seat. “Go ahead, sit. We’ll discuss why you’re here.”
I take my hands out of my pockets and sit in the orange suede chair, leaning my elbows on my knees.
In a way, sitting makes it feel official. It means a deal is about to be made, and I’m about to walk out of here with a new purpose. Warlord could be huge for meifI have the right coach.
Andsports therapist.
I know I should be lucky that this gym even has one. That’s usually something reserved for elite spaces, not the amateur scene here.
I purse my lips, swiping them quickly with my tongue, gently nodding toward Andrew. “Yeah, about why I’m here. I know you got the other guy, but do you have room for me?”
