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my key a second from slipping into the lock—I heard “Harder. Harder.” That voice, it belonged to a woman. I knew without question there was someone on the other side of this door with Teddy. That wasn’t TV or porn or anything else. Teddy was inside his open-plan loft apartment and he was in there with a woman. Who wanted it harder.
“Baby, I’ll give it to you as hard as you want,” he ground out, the thin walls doing nothing to muffle the sounds of mattress springs and slapping skin, “but you’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow.” My cheeks burned like his palm had cracked across either side of my face. He’d said those exact words to me, that exact way, not four nights ago. He’d called me baby and I’d loved it. I’d felt so special, so chosen. So precious. I’d felt like we had something real. Like the ring I’d found in his drawer last month was meant for me.
when the bag digging grooves into my wrist broke and my precarious pyramid of foil-covered dishes crashed to the floor.
I’d even made a fresh, dill-y chicken soup for myself. The last time I’d cooked a whole meal for him, he’d made a point of telling me I didn’t need the same amount of calories he did. He wanted me to start eating a little lighter.
“Did you hear that?” “Neighbors. Don’t worry about it.” He slapped her ass. It was a sound I’d know anywhere. Up until five minutes ago, I’d believed him when he said he had never once wanted to leave his handprint anywhere until he got ahold of my ass. “Be quiet and let me finish.” Uh, yeah. I was familiar with that one too.
There were more sounds from inside the apartment and then stomped footsteps. The door banged open, revealing Teddy with a towel clutched to his waist. I saw the snarl coming before he roared, “What the fuck?” His jaw went slack as he blinked at me. He blinked to the side. Toward the bed. Then, much less of a roar. “Oh. Hey. What’s up?” My laughter died as I shook my head.
A pretty face peeked around the doorframe. Dark, sex-tousled hair spilled over her shoulders as she pinned the hem of Teddy’s t-shirt to her thighs. “Is everything okay?” I leveled my coldest, most brutal, most detached stare at Teddy. “Great,” I drawled.
“But I wouldn’t expect Teddy to explain it. He seems to have trouble remembering important details.”
With frozen fingers, I pulled out my phone and fired off a quick birthday text to my best friend from back home. High school home, as it was. I had a lot of homes. Asking me where I was from was a ride most people didn’t survive.
Wildcat: thanks Wildcat: it’s good to hear from you Wildcat: I was thinking about you the other day Wildcat: any chance you’re free for dinner sometime soon? Wildcat: I’m around this weekend
“Tell me about this Ryan fellow.” I grinned at my screen as I shot back a quick response. “He plays football. Quarterback. For the Boston team. Or, New England. Whatever it is.” “You’re on a birthday-text basis with a high school friend who went pro?”
“Again, I have to ask—you’ve never mentioned this to me?” I motioned to my phone. “This is the most I’ve heard from him in the past few months. Usually we send birthday texts and maybe a random thing about back home. He has a million things going on. These days, I barely see him once a year.” “But he’s been thinking about you.”
“Is he a friend from high school or a boyfriend from high school? Are we talking about some kind of first love situation?” she asked. “Friend,” I said. “We were always friends.”
For a long time, Ryan was my only friend. Only true friend. And the only one who’d lasted after we’d finished high school and moved away from home.
“Are you going to meet up with him?” “Yeah,” I said, automatically. I’d really wanted to rot in bed all weekend, but I’d always make time for Ryan.
“Ryan…Ralston? Why does that sound familiar?” Her brow wrinkled as she typed. “No, no, no. That can’t be—no. You didn’t casually go to high school with one of the most famous players in pro football, Emme.”
“There’s also the matter of this.” She enlarged a photo of Ryan, completely naked save for the football loosely held over the juncture between his legs. He’d been part of a special feature in a sports magazine where all the athletes were tastefully nude. When it came out, he’d texted with a link and asked how much shit everyone from high school would give him about it. A lot, we’d agreed.
She pointed to the screen and a photo from the sidelines after a game. Ryan had his helmet tucked under one arm, me under the other. A serious, scowling set to his jaw like always. “You two were awfully cozy. Just look at this arm around your shoulder. See the way his forearm is braced high across your chest? It’s like he wants to paw at your neck. It’s possessive.”
He was the only person I had and I couldn’t lose him. It wasn’t the sort of thing I’d gamble on.
“Trust me, we’re just friends. That’s all it’s ever been. I’m sure you’ll uncover plenty of red carpet photos of him with supermodels and pop stars getting even cozier. He’s made the rounds since being in the League.” “Oh, tell me more.” She handed back my phone and returned to her own. “I’m in the mood to decode some more body language but I’m betting there are zero supermodels jumping into his arms while he was dripping with sweat, unlike some people.”
“I remember when the internet was on fire over this last year.” I plucked the phone from her hand and set it facedown. “I don’t think that’s what you think it is. There’re all kinds of padding and protective thingies in there. It’s very complicated. Think about it—they wouldn’t be slamming into each other without making sure their downstairs affairs were protected.”
Wildcat: Saturday? 7? 8? Wildcat: I’ll handle the reservations Emme: Saturday at 7 works for me Wildcat: I’ll shoot you the details when I have them Wildcat: can I send a car to pick you up? Emme: no, I’m good. thanks though
though with my luck, it wasn’t surprising to hear a car door slam and then, “Everything okay over there, Muggsy?” “Shit,” I sighed to myself. Straightening, I smoothed a hand down my sweater and over my hair. Still red-faced like I’d lost a slap contest, I turned to find all six feet, three and a half inches of Ryan Ralston staring at me. I barreled toward him, arms wide open. “It’s so damn good to see you.”
“Do I even want to know what you were doing over there?” he asked, his voice deep and quiet in my ear. “Try to assume the best and ask no questions. The fewer details I disclose, the safer you’ll be.”
“Does this work for you?” I went back to fanning myself. “I’m good with anything.” “We both know that’s rarely the case with you. Did you look at the menu?” “If it’s all the same to you, I’m in the mood to turn my blood volume into pure vodka, so the food is incidental to me.”
“I take it we have some catching up to do.” I headed toward the restaurant. “You won’t believe the half of it.” He held open the door for me. “Try me.”
I held up my glass for a toast. “Happy birthday, old man. Enjoy the time while you have it. I hear it’s all downhill after thirty.”
“Yeah, well, you’ll find out for yourself when we’re back here drinking to you in three months.”
“But here’s the really sad part. He’s the best man in Grace’s wedding and I’m supposed to be putting everything into making this special for her, but I’m out here white-knuckling it through every damn minute of wedding planning. I’m barely cutting it as a maid of honor and it’s because of this trash-bucket boy who had a ring in his drawer that wasn’t for me and I can’t get away from him for the next few months.”
“Obviously, I need a revenge date for this wedding,” I said, laughing to fend off the bitterness, the hurt that still lingered right beneath the surface. The desire to scream until I lost my voice and the urgent, fiery need to make Teddy regret every single minute of it. I needed him to know how wrong he’d been—about all of it. “I’ve been working that angle hard, but do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a decent, tolerable human man who is actually, literally single and not just a creep on the internet? It’s next to impossible. I have been looking and looking for years, Ryan.
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“Then why are you doing it?” His words were low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear.
I want to stop looking for someone to love me.”
“You can.” “What?” I turned the water glass, letting the condensation slick my palms. “What do you mean?” “Stop looking. Marry me.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. Tears filled my eyes and my ribs ached. My face was burning hot again but I couldn’t help it. “Oh, you’re precious,” I said, patting his rock-solid biceps. “Oh my god. I haven’t laughed like that in ages.”
“Do you remember how we promised to marry each other if we weren’t married by thirty?” “I—” I gulped my water before saying something I’d regret because yes, of course I remembered. But I remembered it the same way I remembered the pepper spray I kept in my bag: It was nice knowing it was there but I didn’t think I’d ever need it, and even if I did, the odds were high that I’d fuck it up and injure myself in the process. “What made you think of that?”
“I think we could help each other,” he said. “By…getting…married?” I drained the rest of my cocktail. Fuck it, drunk wasn’t the worst thing to be tonight. “Yeah,” he said with a defiant chin lift that had me choking out a manic laugh. “You said you needed a revenge date. How about a revenge husband?”
“One too many,” I said. “I’m worried about you, Wildcat. You’re not making sense.” “What if I am?” What? What does that even mean? What is this about? I motioned to his plate. “Don’t you need to eat like every forty-five minutes to maintain the whole two hundred and thirty pounds of hurricane-force muscle thing?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Two twenty-five.” “Well, then, you’re wasting away.” I gave him an admonishing head shake. “And I’m sure you worked out today.” He shrugged this off. “Only two hours. Off-season.”
“Em, I was serious about—” “Not until you tell me why,” I said. I closed my hand around his wrist, my fingers flat on his pulse. It seemed quick, a hard and steady beat against my fingertips. “Either you tell me what’s really going on or I’m dragging you to the nearest hospital to get your head checked.”
“What’s in it for you?” He made a face like he already hated the taste of the words to come. “My image needs some work. I’m making some moves for life after the League, and if I want things to go my way, I need to acquire something resembling a family values vibe.”
“I think marrying my best friend—the girl from back home, the one the media called my high school sweetheart in all of the Heisman packages because there are so damn many photos of us together after my games, the one who waited all this time for me to find my way back to her—will do the fucking trick.”
The group lurched closer and I took a large step back. Ryan’s arm circled my shoulders and he held a hand out to them, saying, “Give my girl some room, fellas.”
“If you think I’m leaving you here right now, you’re out of your fucking mind.” His hands settled on my hips, gripping tight. “It’s ten thirty at night, freezing cold, and there are seven drunk guys over there who would think nothing of following you all the way home. Get in the fucking car, Emmeline.”
I reached for the door handle, but Ryan stopped me, saying, “Wait. I’ll come around.”
“I’ll walk you up,” he said, flattening a hand beside my door. His driver took off toward Charter Street. I watched as the taillights flashed before disappearing from sight. He was probably looping back up through Prince Street and not leaving Ryan here. Because why would he leave Ryan here?
“I have to be in LA tomorrow night, but I’ll be back on Wednesday. Can we meet up later this week? I have some events coming up and it would go a long way to have you with me for them.”
“Or I could stay and watch while you think. Just like I used to.”
I beckoned him closer, my arms open. “Come here,” I said, fisting my hand in his sweater and pulling him to me when he didn’t move. “You’re not allowed to leave me without a hug.” I held him close and, after a pause I didn’t understand at all, he wrapped his arms around me. The scruff of his beard scraped at my neck, and for once I didn’t wiggle away from it. “I love you, you know,” I said, my words muffled against his shoulder. “I know. I love you too.” Ryan drew in a deep breath and said, “Figure out what you need from me to make this work. Anything you want, anything at all. I don’t care
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“I guess it’s nice to know I’m not at the bottom of your list or something depressing like that.” He met my eyes. “You’re the list, Em. You’re it.”
I was so fucked it wasn’t even funny.
“Ryan Ralston has a heart,” he said. “I haven’t seen it until now because you left it with her.”
