Page 6 of Ryder: Shadows and Desires
The worst part is that Andrew never freaking lets up on it, either.
My expression deadpans. “No, we can talk about that later.”
He shrugs, always as stubborn as a mule. “It has to be talked about. Not this very second, but Iwillbring it up again. My name will be everywhere if Ryder performs. I needmygym name, too. I’ve been carrying this place for six months and just attracted a fighter ofthehighest professional quality. Literally an MVP of the sport. This is my gym now, all but in name, Julie. You know that.”
“And Jeremy was a huge fan of Ryder and loved this gym name—”
A cheer breaks out. Andrew turns around while I look out my window to see that one of our fighters—Lucky—is being congratulated for taking out Fang.
The men like their nicknames around this place.
Andrew faces me, tapping on my door frame. “Anyway, we’re getting a contract set up for you with the lawyers. If he actually wins, I am getting seventy thousand. If you sign on, you’ll get thirty thousand. That takes a hundred out of his reward, and he keeps the rest.”
I hadn’t even considered the financial incentives. My voice raises a few octaves. “Thirty-thousand-fucking-dollars?”
“Yup. I mean, it’s not a lot compared to what the coach usually gets, but that’s the incentive of this competition. The fighters get the money, and everyone else fights for name recognition and a trophy. I want the achievement more than the money, anyway. If we can just get to Hell Week, I’ll be happy.”
That makes sense. In our sport, the coaches always get the fattest payback. Warlord turns that around. I frantically nod. “I obviously agree. Not about the name of the gym, but I’ll join the team.”
His eyes close with an exhale, but he seems to let it go, for now. “I want his body back to what it was. Massages, sports therapy, stretching. All of it. I want him limber and healing as quickly as possible. You’ll be traveling with us when we go to preliminary rounds, and I need you to drop everything if he needs it. I’ll be in touch when the contract is in.”
* * *
The drive to Andrew’s place is full of slow traffic and people who have forgotten how to drive in the rain. My heated seat’s turned on, and I change the windshield wiper from flapping like the car is on crack down to a slow, languid swipe as the heavy storm clouds roll through, threatening to bring more gloom.
Hopefully, it’s not an omen.
It’s been three days since Ryder walked into the gym, and I can’t believe I’m about to sign the contract.
When I arrive, an extra spark ignites in my navel when Ryder floods my mind, unable to remove the fact that he’s my celebrity crush, and I’ll be touching all over his ripped, powerful body. At least with the other guys at the gym, I make it a point never to look at them sexually. But this is different. I’vealreadythought of him that way, and my mind wants to race with similar fantasties from ten years ago...
No, stop. Do this for Jeremy. For yourself. For Mom and Dad. For Jer’s girlfriend, or ex, or whatever this makes her.
I get out to head to the front door. Andrew lives in an expensive suburban home with a small, covered front porch that I’m grateful for in this late summer downpour. The scent of wet grass and soaked concrete fills my lungs. Music blares from somewhere inside the house as I ring the doorbell.
The door opens to reveal a sweating and panting Andrew. It’s clear the music comes from the basement, along with theclickingof a jump rope.
Ryder.
My heart pounds, thinking of his sweat-covered body...Stop it. You need to get laid. And not by him. Well, maybe once by him. Okay, no, that would definitely make things worse.
Andrew looks at my hands. “What’s that?”
“Angel food cake,” I say, holding it up.
He motions for me to come in. I slip out of my shoes and leave them on the rug. I follow him through the rather undecorated home, most of the furniture a variation of black or gray.
“Why angel food cake?” he inquires.
“Jeremy used to love it. Thought it would be a good celebratory dessert. Something not too heavy. Also, kind of makes it seem like he’s here, in a way,” I say, my smile fading at the sad thought.
“Well, at least it’s low in calories. Ryder needs to get his edge back, but the fucker is already pushing me,” Andrew remarks, smacking the granite countertop of his renovated kitchen. “Put it right here.”
A shred of jealousy strikes me low in the gut when I step into the bright, expensive cooking space. Especially since Andrew doesn’t even cook. What I’d give to have a kitchen like this, but I’d have toafforditfirst.
It’s not necessarily greed that I feel… but seeing this place reminds me of what I lost. Of why I live where I do. I don’t feel comfortable making big financial moves like buying a house.
How can I do something like that when I’m still processing the past six months?
