Page 28 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
Drinking until the water’s gone, my mind drifts back to earlier. To the damn audiobook that nearly had her melted into a puddle. What do I possibly make of her? I tried to keep a distance. It’s necessary, given my history.
But ever since seeing her on that fucking tire, with some of her mascara running down her cheeks, those bright hazel eyes marred by something heavy… I’m not aheartlessbastard, which means empathy now brews in my chest for her.
That’s not a good thing to feel when I need distance.
And what is a woman like her doing with filthy books? Maybe she doesn’t get enough from whoever she’s getting it from… I snort, replaying her face when digging through her purse to get to her phone. She flusters soeasilywhen around me. Except when she’s on sports therapist duty. She means business when it concerns the gym.
I respect that.
Chewing on my lip, I look out at the subdivision and run my hand through my still-damp hair from my shower. Somewhere in my mind, I hear my sister’s voice telling me to do something nice for Julie. Show her I’m willing to start on a new page, especially since she’s on my team.
I can’t refute that it’s a lot fucking easier interacting with Julie when I’m not trying to keep her on my cold shoulder. I only behave so harshly because Icannotlose Warlord, and if Julie evenhintsat turning out to be likeher… I can’t have that happening. Not right now.
But Julie doesn’t seem to be that way. And the banter is easier than I would have expected…
Trainingwouldbe simpler if I gave an inch on my attitude.
I look at my phone to see the time, noting fifty notifications on Tinder. Fishing on there is like holding a rare steak to a den of lionesses—I should be getting laid every night. But my mind is locked in on Warlord, and strangers only add stress to the unknown.
“Fucking hell, man,” I say to myself, pulling on my face, the sound of stubble grating against my hands. I need to shave. I didn’t even fucking bother after the shower. There’s a damn championship I have to win, rather than play contestant onThe Bachelorette.
Warlord. The competition. The money.
Maybe it would feel better to be nice to Julie. Maybe that’s what I need to focus on—simple, professional relationships at the gym, ones that strengthen my chances of winning. But at the thought ofmakingthe effort… I groan. Doing that feels as taxing as filtering through which chick to hook up with. It’s not that I necessarily hate being a decent guy; it’s just that I’m much better at judging people’s footwork, not social cues.
It doesn’t help that Julie’s a fucking knock-out, and my blood races with too much heat too quickly. Especially when she bends over a certain way, or comes near me wearing whatever pretty little scent sticks to her skin—
I stand, grimacing with new aches, trying to move my body to get her out of my head. Which is fucking hard to do, because every time a muscle spasms, all I think about is how eager I am to have her rub me down again. And now I know what kind of books she listens to in her spare time…
I need to focus.
Yelling down the stairs, I hope Andrew hears me over the blaring TV. “Your hot tub fixed, man?”
“Yeah, use it if you need to!”
Maybe the liquid heat can ease the tension inside my body.
Staring at myself in the mirror as I strip, I dissect every curve of corded strength, observing which ones are responding and which one need more toning. My tattoos are a mess of meanings, but they make my body feelmine. Those aremyscars,myink, andmymuscles that I’ve built.
I once fought formylegacy.
I suppose, in a way, I still am.
Sliding on swim trunks, I head toward the stairs, towel in hand. Andrew is watching the sports channel that my face used to haunt for years.
“...and then there’s Warlord. So many contenders this year.”
“Yeah, Allen, we got a lot of retirees coming out of the woodwork. They increased the reward, which is good for us fans. It’s gonna be one hell of a showdown.”
“I heard Joey Ryder might be making a comeback.”
“Man, Chris, I tell you, if that’s true, we’re going to have an intense Warlord. With Jimmy Rocks, Dune Legends, Ed James, Chris Bennett, Zack Mollesie, Raydog... I don’t even know how to make predictions here.”
Andrew talks back at the TV as I grip the backdoor. “No predictions, brothers. Just put your money on Ryder.”
I open the door with an upward crook of my lips and breathe in the late summer air, a familiar scowl returning.Fuck. I’m not looking forward to the press and shit. They’re still at a distance, but Andrew is right—we should probably make an official announcement soon.
Dipping into the hot tub, I nearly moan as my muscles melt into the heat, my back pressed against the plastic wall. Staring up at the dark sky, my mind drifts back to Julie, who always reminds me to grab twenty in the sauna. Screw it. I might as well clear up the tension, maybe bring her something in the morning, like a coffee. Let her know I’m be willing to start off on a new foot. She’s proven herself, and that’s what matters.
