Ryker Read online

  "Fine," I grumble, and lean forward across the table to take a bite. My teeth sink down into the light crust and warm chocolate spills over my tongue. I can't help the moan...absolutely impossible with what was just put into my mouth.

  As Ryker pulls the croissant away from me, a small dribble of chocolate stays on my bottom lip. I quickly lick it off and then chew on the ecstasy in my mouth. I look at Ryker, nodding my head vigorously to indicate how good that was.

  He smiles at me, but it's almost lecherous in nature. His eyes travel down to my lips and he says in an almost whisper, "Still got chocolate on your lip."

  The way he's looking at my lips...it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if he just leaned across the table and licked it off. I think by the mere fact that I don't make an immediate move to wipe it off myself must mean that I want him to do that. Finally his eyes rise to mine and our gazes lock.

  I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "What are we doing?"

  "Eating chocolate croissants and drinking coffee."

  "No," I say with a shake of my head. "What are we doing?"

  He studies me for a moment, acting as if he's trying to glean something from my face, but in truth I can see the gears grinding in his brain. He's trying to decide how truthful to be with me, not to ease his own conscience but to ease mine. I know this because Ryker Evans is a man who really doesn't care about appearances.

  "Would you let me kiss you right now?" he asks.

  "What?" I exclaim, trying to sound outraged and not turned on. "No, of course I wouldn't. That would be inappropriate."

  I expect Ryker to argue with me. To call me a liar.

  Instead he pushes out of his chair and rounds the table. He walks right up to me, and even though I lean back sideways in my chair because the closeness of him is too intoxicating, he keeps right on coming.

  Hand sliding into my hair, covering the back of my neck, and holding me firm.

  Ryker bends over, tugs on my hair to tilt my head back, and when I gasp in surprise, uses the opportunity to press his lips against mine. He kisses me softly, no tongue. My eyes drift closed and I try to swiftly commit everything to my nearly eidetic memory because until this moment, I'm not sure I've ever truly been kissed before.

  His lips are full, soft. I didn't expect they'd be so soft.

  I can still smell that same combination of eucalyptus and peppermint, a shower gel I'm guessing, and there's just a faint underlying hint of the sweat he worked up during our yoga class. His scruff-covered chin rubs against my own and his fingers tighten in my hair.

  It's too brief. I want to cry out in disappointment when he pulls away. My eyes immediately snap open, wary and uncertain as to what this all means.

  Ryker does nothing more than squat down beside my chair. He keeps ahold of the back of my neck and stares at me, his eyes warm and confident. "I'm doing what feels right to me. You feel right to me."

  "We can't," I murmur.

  "We can," he cuts me off, rubs a thumb on the side of my neck.

  "I'm your boss...it's inappropriate."

  "And yet I don't give a shit."

  Is it really that simple? My mind quickly tries to process all of the implications if I were to give in to this. If we were found out, I would lose credibility. Ryker would lose credibility. My father would lose faith in me. The entire executive office would lose faith. The players, who already think I'm a joke, would revel in this. I have so very much to lose.

  I bring a hand up and wrap it around Ryker's wrist. Not to remove his hand from touching me, but simply to give him a squeeze so he knows that I very much like his touch just the way it is right now.

  "Ryker...there's just too much risk for me to get involved with you. I've just started as the general manager. I have everyone doubting me--"

  "I don't doubt you," he interjects.

  "No, you don't and that's part of what makes this so damn hard to say this. I have too much to lose for something that may be nothing more than a fling. It's just too difficult."

  Ryker's hand falls away from me but he remains squatted down so we're eye to eye. "You're wrong about one thing. A fling wouldn't be difficult, because it would be quick and secretive and over probably as soon as it started. You'd have little risk of ever being caught. But I don't do flings. You would be way more than a fling to me."

  I blow out a breath of frustration, because damn...damn, damn, damn. Why do we have to be in this position? Why, for the first time in my life, do I have to be really interested in a man who is amazing for me personally but terrible for my career?

  Why, why, why?

  "Tell you what," Ryker says as he stands and moves back over to his seat. He picks his croissant back up and waves it at me. "How about we just let things ride for a bit? At the very least, let's agree to be friends."

  Gratitude overwhelms me at this moment, because while it could still be considered a conflict for me to have a personal friendship with a player, right now...Ryker is the only one besides my father who has truly supported me since I came on board as a GM.

  "Okay," I say in a quavering voice filled with emotion. "I could use a friend."

  Ryker gives me a big smile. "Friends then."

  I pick up my coffee to take a sip.

  "But," Ryker drawls. "If you ever decide you want to try to seduce me, I just want you to know I'm not going to stop you."

  And that's just fucking great. I was kind of hoping Ryker would be the strong and sane one out of the two of us, because for all my brave words just a moment ago, I know that I'm going to have a terrible time resisting him.

  Chapter 9

  Ryker

  "Eat your toast, Rubes," I say as I tilt my wrists slightly to lower the top half of the newspaper to peer at her. She immediately drops her iPad--because, yes, at nearly five years old she has an iPad because I felt pressured to get her one since all the other five-year-olds had one.

  I slide my eyes over to Violet, who is thoughtfully chewing on a piece of banana, her eyes looking out the window. If I were to ask her what she was thinking right now, ordinarily she would launch into an epic tale she was spinning in her head, but I know she's thinking about her mother. Hensley should be here soon to spend the day with the girls.

  I flip the paper back up and continue to read the article about last night's game against the Boston Eagles. I can't help the satisfied smile as I read the same paragraph again. It's the third time I've soaked it in.

  Once again, veteran goalie Ryker Evans was unstoppable, securing another shutout for the Cold Fury. Not even the league's goal and point leader, Patric Sutter, could seem to breach the impenetrable Brick Wall. Sutter launched a record high nine shots on goal against Evans, and each one was easily stopped, including one breakaway that pitted the best player in the league against one of the best goalies ever.

  Man, I love that sports reporter. I should send him a fruit basket or something.

  I have no clue if Hensley is going to bring Patric with her for this visit, but it's going to be hard not to gloat about the game. I shall try to persevere, though.

  I decide to move past that one paragraph and read the rest of the article. There's a small mention at the end that Max Fournier, the starting goalie for the Cold Fury last year, has just been released from the injured reserve list and will be starting practices with the team next week. Of course, the postulations have begun about whether he should replace me as starting goalie and I'd be lying if I didn't say I was a little worried about it. It's just not something I've thought about until now, instead having concentrated on myself and getting wins for the team.

  But it's going to come to a head sooner or later. The coaching staff will have a decision to make, and the most I can do is keep playing my ass off to keep my spot secured. This is the last year on my contract, and if I don't have a stellar season all the way through, it's not going to get renewed and I don't care what Gray's statistical model says.

  Speaking of Gray, I fold my paper, set it aside, and take a
peek at my phone. I sent her a text this morning to see if she was interested in getting another cup of coffee. I had nothing better to do after Hensley took the girls today.

  Okay, well...I did have something better to do. I had a lot of shit I needed to do. More laundry--which never seems to end with two young girls--a trip to the art supply store because Violet has to do a diorama or some shit like that this weekend for school, grocery shopping, and I need a haircut. I have to do this all today, because tomorrow I'm getting ready for a late-afternoon flight to New York for a Monday evening game against the Vipers.

  I have absolutely no business wasting time on coffee with Gray, although just now saying the words wasting and Gray in the same sentence makes no sense to me. For some reason, time with her is just not a waste to me. That is very odd, because she and I have decided to just be friends, and I don't do "friends" with women. Not that I'm opposed to it, but I've never had the opportunity to do so. I've always been the type to pal around with men, not have coffee with a woman.

  But who the fuck am I kidding? I want this to be more than friends so I'm doing this in the hopes that something can develop with her. And I'm willing to wait. I'm not in a hurry because I don't even have a freshly inked divorce decree in hand yet. I know it's coming any day, but I'm not in a hurry to jump into another relationship.

  Am I in a hurry to get into Gray's panties?

  Abso-fucking-lutely, divorce decree be damned.

  But I also wasn't kidding with her the other day when we talked. She wouldn't be a fling. A woman like Gray Brannon--gorgeous, genius, larger than life, funny, and let's face it--I've seen her in yoga--she's very flexible too. Yeah...she wouldn't be a fling, but I really, really want to get inside those panties, which I have already imagined would be white virginal lace for some reason.

  I know she's not a virgin. At least I highly doubt she is, but I'd like to imagine that what would happen between the two of us...what I would do to her...well, let's just say my fantasy includes her in white lace.

  I rub my hand across my face in frustration. Frustrated that I see she didn't text me back, because I really like spending time with her, frustrated that I'm horny for my boss, and frustrated that before too long I'm going to have to see Hensley and try to pretend in front of the girls that I enjoy their mother's company. I promised myself when Hensley and I first separated that I would never let them witness my true feelings. At first that meant anger and betrayal, to the extent I had a hard time looking at Hensley without disgust written all over my face. Now it's more of an annoyance. Like swatting away a bothersome mosquito intent on drawing your blood.

  Setting my phone back on the table, I put Gray Brannon out of my mind. At least temporarily, because I am still buoyed by the fact that she did text me late yesterday afternoon before I got to the arena for the game. Her text was simple but it told me a lot.

  Missed you in yoga today. Good luck tonight. I have faith, not analytics, that Sutter won't sneak one by you tonight.

  Three sentences, all of which made me confident that Gray is very seriously thinking of that kiss we had. She's considering the possibility of something more. I know this because A) she said she missed me, B) she wished me luck and GMs don't text their players to wish them luck, and C) she isn't relying on the comfort of her analytics by which to bolster my confidence. She has faith in me.

  That right there...

  It means I'm by no means ready to give up my pursuit of her, no matter how stupid it may be.

  I push back from the kitchen table and pick up my plate, my eggs, bacon, and some sliced fruit long since polished off while Violet and Ruby pick at theirs daintily.

  "Want some more milk, Vi?" I ask my oldest, eying her empty glass.

  "No, thank you," she says, and eats another bite of banana.

  "Drink your milk, Ruby," I add as I walk away from the table. She ignores me and nibbles on bacon. She hates milk and would prefer water. When the girls first came to live with me, I didn't know if that was a bad thing or not. I knew kids needed milk, right? Calcium and all that shit. But on the flip side, I was ecstatic that Ruby loved water. She shunned sugary juices and soda, preferring ten out of ten times to have some basic H2O.

  I actually called the pediatrician first, and after leaving a message, came to realize that was a pretty stupid fucking question to ask a doctor. I then called Kate and she assured me it was okay if Ruby didn't like milk. Some kids didn't and I just needed to get calcium in her another way. It didn't stop me from trying, though.

  The doorbell rings and my shoulders immediately tense up knowing that Hensley is on the other side of the door. Both girls scream out, "Mommy's here," and they fly out of their chairs, through the living room and to the front door. I roll my head, loosening up the muscles that are clenched to either side of it throughout my neck and shoulders. I could use a yoga session right about now. Not just to avoid my ex but to see Gray.

  Fuck, I wish she'd text me back.

  I walk into the living room, put on a smile for the girls' benefit and not Hensley's, and watch as Violet swings the door open. There she stands, in all of her beautiful glory. Hensley is one of those women who will always cause a man's head to turn. She's tall but curvy with long, wavy blond hair that's natural, huge tits, flat stomach, and legs for miles. But it's her face that first captured me when I saw her in a Los Angeles bar while I was playing for the Demons. High cheekbones, narrow nose, perfectly symmetrical lips, and an orthodontist's dream of dazzling, straight teeth. She was model worthy. Literally...that's what she did. She was a model and her big claim to fame was getting into Sports Elite's yearly swimsuit issue. I may have been a little taken with the sunny California girl who could rock a bikini like no other, and we were married in six months.

  So fucking long ago and I wish I could pinpoint where it all went wrong. And I'm man enough to admit it. It went wrong sometime long before she fucked Sutter.

  Hensley squats down and catches both girls in her arms, turning to bury her face first in Ruby's neck, then over to Violet's. I'm relieved to see she's alone and have to give her credit for that. I know she likes to stay attached to Sutter's hip, but this shows me she truly wants some quality time with her daughters.

  Finally she releases them, takes each of their hands, and steps inside. Her eyes come to mine and she gives me a genuine smile. "Hello, Ryker."

  "Hensley," I say in greeting and am pleased that my voice doesn't sound annoyed but semi-welcoming. I don't ever want Ruby and Violet to think that I don't welcome their mom into their home.

  Ruby immediately starts chittering like a squirrel as she leads Hensley into the living room. "I'm so glad you're here, Mommy. We have a big swing set in the backyard and Violet and I share a room upstairs, and we play a lot over at Ben's house. Daddy takes us to school each day when he's here, and Kylie Frankle's brother cut her hair while she was taking a nap and her parents were really mad, so he's not allowed to play with his Xbox, and..."

  Violet just stands there and listens to her sister with a patient smile, swinging her hand back and forth in her mom's grasp. Hensley listens to Ruby, sliding a quick look over to me with an amused grin. How many times have we both been caught in the tidal wave of Ruby Ramblings? I return the smile, because fuck...Ruby's cute as all get out when she's excited like this.

  "Why don't you girls give your mom a tour of the house while I go clean up the kitchen from breakfast," I suggest, and that's all it takes for the girls to start tugging her upstairs. I have a feeling they're going to get stuck in the playroom, because the one thing I'll never take away from Hensley is that when she was present, she was a damn good mom. She could spend hours playing with the girls and keep them entertained.

  I head into the kitchen, swinging by the table to first check my texts--nothing there--and then grabbing the girls' dishes. It takes me no more than five minutes to load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters and table. I go ahead and start a load of laundry, this time making myself only load the bin
three-quarters full and resigning myself to the fact I'll have to do two loads of darks.

  Just as I'm walking from the laundry room into the kitchen, the girls show up with Hensley in tow.

  "Your new house is lovely," she says, trying but I think failing miserably at small talk. I don't care if she likes the house or not. All I want her to do is spend time with her girls and hopefully make up for the time she's lost over the last several months.

  I give her a nod of thanks. "The girls love it, particularly the huge treehouse and gym set that was in the backyard when we moved in."

  Looking down at Ruby, who is always the one who wants to play outside, "In fact...why don't you take Mommy outside and show it to her."

  "Yeah," Ruby squeaks with excitement. She grabs Hensley's hand and starts tugging her to the door that leads onto the back patio from the kitchen.

  "Get your jackets on," I say as I smile inwardly and very smugly to myself that I used my kids to redirect and avoid conversation with Hensley.

  "I'll go upstairs and get them," Violet says, my mature little dreamer who acts as a part-time mommy.

  "And Daddy," Ruby says as if she's about to jump out of her skin. "Mommy said she could stay and help us put the Christmas tree up tonight."

  I freeze...my hand stretched out toward the refrigerator door as I was going to grab a bottle of water. I can't help the panicked look on my face as my gaze slides slowly...almost painfully over to my littlest girl. She stares back at me as if she'd never ask for another thing as long as she lives if I'll give her this.

  Fuck.

  We did, indeed, have plans to decorate the Christmas tree tonight. It's December thirteenth and we are far overdue in getting it up. I promised the girls we'd make a grand night of it, drinking hot chocolate, roasting marshmallows in the fireplace, and hanging up the ornaments. I had already dragged the artificial tree out of the attic and set it up in the corner of the living room.

  I just assumed Hensley would be long gone by the time this evening rolled around. In fact, I distinctly remember her email saying that she wanted to come by and visit the girls for a "few hours." It's nine A.M. now so I assumed she'd be gone by lunch.