I rub my eyes with the palm of my hands. “You got it.”
I glance at Ryder, who’s already boring his gaze into me. I look down at the blanket.
Andrew says, “Sorry, you… uh… have to see me like this.”
We both say it’s not a big deal, and the coach goes back upstairs to sleep off his hangover.
After he goes to bed, I stand up, the threat of the contract termination akin to throwing water on a match. “I’m going to go to bed, I think.”
Ryder sighs, saying, “Yeah, me too.”
I fold up the blanket and tell him goodnight while he goes to the kitchen, waving a hand at me.
As I pass by his room, pausing to stare through the open door. A table lamp illuminates the bedroom, and I stare at everything that’shim.From his clothes to the phone charger in the wall and the way there’s a pillow on one side, like he sleeps with his arm around it.
I hurry to my room, an uncomfortably strong temptation whispering for me to go lie in that bed, that if the devil on my shoulder had to place a bet, he’d say that Ryder wouldn’t kick me out if he found me in there... if anything, he might just shut the door behind him.
Lying on the comforter of my bed, staring at the ceiling, I almost laugh at the thought of spinning the stereotypes at the Warlord Gala in New York, “Why yes, I am Julie Stevens. Oh, yes, I do own a gym that hosts Joey Ryder, and I’m also romantically involved with him.”
I roll over and face the empty side of my bed, wondering what in the hell I am supposed to do. Especially since I don’t think we can go back to pretending like there’s nothing here at all.
No… I don’t think we can.
J U L I E
* * *
I wakeup the next morning with a stretch, nearly giving myself a charley horse in my calf, groaning as I try to slowly release it. Sitting up, I observe the small details of the room as the morning sun gently touches everything. I caress my leg to ease the angry muscle.
By the time I rise to make coffee, Ryder is out for his morning jog. I dress for work, applying only basic make-up that I bought at the grocery store. It’s enough to make me look refreshed.
When I descend the slightly creaking stairs, I spot Ryder in the kitchen downing a bottle of water and covered in sweat, his hoodie slumped over on a bar stool next to the kitchen island.
“How’s Andrew?” I ask, walking to the front door.
“Feeling like shit. I’m rolling in late today, too. Gonna take it easy,” he replies, lowering his bottle when I turn to look at him.
Placing my hand on the doorknob of the front door, I say, “Make sure Andrew checks his phone by noon, if he’s not up by then. I needed to report in about Keith today, since he might be signing up for the amateur category. I think that deadline is by five.”
“Text me to remind me.”
“I don’t have your number.”
He smirks, and damn do I like his boyish charm when he lets it out. “Lots of women would kill for such a privilege.”
I grin, pulling out my phone. “Oh, shut up. What’s your number? Might as well have it, with us going to New York and all that.”
“Now she’s being bossy.” He throws the bottle away as he pulls out his phone. “I don’t fucking know it, hold on... this thing is new.”
He reads off the number, and I text him to confirm it’s correct before opening the door, shoving my phone in my purse. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“Sounds good.” He nears the fridge, but not without stealing a glance at me one last time before I leave.
Slowly but surely, something is changing between the two of us. Like bringing a lit match closer to the wick of a candle that desperately wants to burn.
Except we are a candle underneath a paper house, one that can’t be allowed to catch fire.
R Y D E R
