"Anyway." She takes the last swig of her drink. "I am happy for you, Marissa. It was fast, but you and Ryland are adorable together. I knew he planned to ask, but I didn't expect a wedding this quickly.""Yeah, we're going to talk about you knowing and not telling me Ryland had a ring." I look to both girls with a side eye."Simone knew too." Aspen points a finger at poor Simone and I laugh. "Come on. You missed brunch yesterday and got married. Let's go to dinner to celebrate." Aspen stands and motions for Simone to as well.Simone resists. She's still learning how we work around here. "Don't you think we should give Ryland and Marissa their first night together?"Aspen's response is rapid. "No, he gets her the rest of her life. We get her tonight. Amanda should be almost ready to leave work. I'll call her. Let's go."She heads to the door and I shrug at Simone and stand. "Let me at least go tell Ryland I'll be back. We can take the elevator.""Fine." She opens the door an
Fresh pasta and cheese smells waft their way from the counter where Ryland piles food on our plates. The red and white striped banners in front of Tony's Pasta Palace are so close, less than a fifteen-minute walk from our building, but we do not eat there enough.He's in jeans today and has been since we went to Vegas. His ass looks nice in the fitted dark wash denim, better than the loose workout pants or basketball shorts he wears the most. A simple grey long sleeve t-shirt stretches at his shoulders. Ryland's back side is a great view to have."What's the Internet saying about us today?" Ryland slides a plate across the countertop to where I sit, waiting to be fed.I push the side button turning my phone screen black and tuck it back in my pocket. "Nothing." His fork stops midway to his mouth. Busted. With a sigh I answer, "I'm still a gold digger you married in a drunken night in Vegas. Your latest stunt in a career of mistakes fed by wild nights and alcohol."He flinches.
Eyebrows narrowed in question. One slightly raised in intrigue. Both eyes wide in surprise. His nose scrunched up with a line forming on his forehead when he finally speaks."Are you sure? Would it be a long-term agreement or until the season ends?" Ryland asks. "Yeah, I'd sit down and talk with him. Honestly, James, there's not another team I want to play for, but I'm worried about the players' feelings on the matter."He's quiet again until a small chuckle starts. "Yeah, that's because Obreski's an asshole. I didn't do anything every other player on the team wished they did." Now it's easy to figure out he's talking about the goalie he hit. The final straw before the general manager kicked him off the team.Other than the goalie issue, the rest of the conversation goes over my head. I have no idea what team Ryland wants to play for. He hasn't made any preference known to me over the last few weeks besides not staying in the US."What time is the flight out?" Ryland checks his
For a comic book store Cosmo's Comics and Café is a well-lit open space. It's a thin narrow building, longer than it is wide, but the large shop window and glass front door make one entire end open to the early Sunday morning sunlight. It smells like coffee and paper, and who doesn't love those smells?When Aspen first suggested our new location, I was hesitant. My appreciation for Cosmo's has grown since then to a point I enjoy our Sunday brunch dates here.Well every week except this one. Today dragging myself to Cosmo's feels like a walk into my own execution. Aspen will drill me on Ryland and what's going on in England. I haven't talked to Ryland since he boarded a plane for London yesterday morning. After the eight-hour flight and time change, I'm not even sure where he is. Late last night he sent me a text with a simple "I love you. Sleep well." and nothing more.It takes a deep breath, but I gather the courage to open the door. Cosmo's is gloomier today, not all the overhe
Divorce.It's a nasty word. Especially when you've been married less than seven days. I guess if I try to stay positive, it's longer than some celebrity marriages.I flip the channel on the television again and scowl at the innocent black box when I stop on a soccer tournament. Look, the wives of those men know where they are. What a novel concept.The last message I received from Ryland came last night, almost twenty-four hours ago. I've been to work. I've had dinner. What I haven't had is a conversation with my husband. The day started with me irritated, by lunch I hit frustrated, at dinner I became highly annoyed, and now I'm livid.My fingers tap on the edge of the couch, but the motion loses effect when my nails don't make sound on the soft fabric. I'm about to turn off the television when my phone vibrates.Ryland: Where are you?He didn't? He didn't text me demanding to know where I am. Did he? He's not that dumb?Me: My living room.Ryland: Why are you over ther
"Ryland." I yell his name into the empty condo space when my hot new husband doesn't greet me as I step off the elevator.I haven't figured out where he's storing the damn orange kayak, but every day I suffer from nightmares I'll walk in to a matching one waiting for me. No way am I paddling for my life on the bay. I've seen the YouTube videos. There are sharks out there. Throwing my purse on the kitchen counter, I yell for him again."In here," his faint response comes from the master bedroom.The bedroom resembles mine so much my steps falter and I stop right outside the doorway. Clothes are strewn over the floor in a large disorganized pile. Others are stacked in nice neat rows on the bed categorized by item. There's a pile for shirts, shiny basketball shorts, jerseys, and even a few pairs of jeans. None of this is my fault. I haven't moved my clothes over yet. After the excitement of Ryland's return home yesterday, we planned to do most of it tonight.I scan the room again
* Ryland *The smells of spring in early May are all around as I take in a large breath in hopes I capture it before the game takes over my senses. I love being on the field after it's been clipped—no smell matches fresh cut grass. Especially those nasty candles my mother sends me for Christmas every year. Wait till Marissa finds that box in her quest to organize twenty-five years of soccer shit. The thought of that argument makes me chuckle and my dick perks up even though he got some action this morning.Marissa's pert little ass comes into my line of sight and my eyes are drawn in her direction as she bends over one of the brand new white goal post we purchased for the Youth Center. She swats at something around her face, batting her hair in the process. When her feet start stomping on the ground as she tries to look at the bottom of her shoe, a chuckle escapes. Her head raises to the sky in silent prayer and I outright laugh. My Kitten hates mornings. And nature.My laughter
VOLUME FOUR: QUESTQuest: A long or arduous search created for either story or character advancement.San Francisco isn't known for its sunny days, but a massive cloud has been hanging over my life since the night I met Grant Moore.Darkness closes in and I resort to bargaining. "Get me through tonight without seeing Grant and I'll never eat another Oreo again," I promise the ceiling.It doesn't answer back."But only the regular ones. The birthday cake flavor is still on the table," I renegotiate our deal.The room is brightly lit, but shadows linger in each corner. In my mind they reach out for me like long distorted hands of an unknown beast. The action figures lined up in neat rows on the walls stare at us, their blank eyes tracking each movement. Well... for what it's worth I'm pretty sure Hellboy is supposed to look demonic.A loud tapping sound heralds the end to my privacy on the couch. Aspen barks out an order for no whip on her hot chocolate and I sigh, not read