"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
"Yes, dear." he answers back, but there's a smirk to his smile, which has me concerned. Even the smell of the brewing coffee can't cover up his overly sugary expression.Finn steps over my legs to take a seat next Aspen right as Marissa yells back, "Stop being stupid."Ryland laughs. "I'll get right on it, Kitten."Marissa turns back to my conversation, a Cheshire cat grin on her face to match her kitten nickname. It turns to a scowl when she sees us looking at her, and she's only half successful as one side of her left lip is still turned up in the corner."Don't call me Kitten!" she yells back at him, but it's a wasted effort. The girl is madly in love.Finn leans in placing a hand on his knee and joins the conversation. "Your logic is nonsense. You're crazy."Aspen shushes him. Her grey shirt with a faded image of Mario throwing a red turtle shell at Bowser is obviously from Finn's half of the closet. "You guys are only allowed here if you stay in your area and don't int
"Honey, I'm home." The front door of our large blue Victorian house closes with a loud bang.My job as the youth center's director may not pay much money, but my ability to live in this house makes it worth it. Sure, we don't own the place, but with three other roommates the rent is totally affordable. Living in a San Francisco Victorian period home is a dream come true. All those nights spent watching Full House in Mrs. Haverbush's living room where I dreamt about having Danny Tanner for a dad and their awesome house. My foster mom is a wonderful woman, but her house in Oakland felt worlds away from the life Stephanie Tanner was living. I never got the dad, but the house makes up for it."So did you sleep with him?" Drew steps out of the kitchen, a small container of Ben and Jerry's in his hand."No. Of course not. It's 5 p.m. on Saturday night. Who do you think I am?" I yank the delicious frozen pint from his hand. "For that I'm stealing your ice cream.""Grant is a good-look
The couch bounces once as my ass hits it, the front door closing behind me. There's a faint odor of smoke on this side of the hallway, but I choose not to question it. Upstairs roommate must have his hotplate on again."Rough day?" Drew asks muting the baseball game on the TV.I blow air out my pinched lips, sounding like a distressed motorboat. "I'm having the worst Monday."Rather than sympathize with me, Drew laughs. "That's what you said last Monday.""Okay fine. It's the worst Monday since last Monday." I steal the remote from his outstretched hand and start flicking through channels. I cannot handle another baseball game, but there is always a mind-numbing show on Bravo. I stop flipping channels on a Kardashian commercial."I am not watching any more of your Kardashian shit." Drew tries to wrestle the remote back from me.I hit him with it in the arm. "It's a commercial, dumbass."With school officially out for the summer the center's hours change, adding more in th
But Grant would never want to live in a turn-of-the-century house with a leaky faucet, squeaky steps, and outdated heating system. For a moment shame weighs on me, but then I remember how much I love the arches, original woodwork, and our huge front porch.It's not that Grant Moore is too good for our house, but we're too good for him. He'll probably end up in a modern, bland, featureless place. It will have smooth walls and straight floors, and it'll lack character."Well I hope you're able to find a place up to your standards soon.""Yeah me too, but let's talk about much more important topics. Why you weren't at brunch yesterday.""It's personal," I'm quick to retort. Who the hell is he to question where I am or am not?Grant slows his steps and glances at me from the corner of his eye. "Aspen said you were sick."I must come up with new stack of excuses. "Women problems." That should shut him up and stop the twenty questions I expect he'll start any second."Oh..." Hi
"What is it you do in your fancy board room, anyway?" I ask to steer the topic away from where we were headed. Notice he doesn't fight me on the board room being fancy."Moore Investments has many different arms, but our biggest division is point of sale payment terminals."Grant stops like I'm supposed to understand the meaning of what he said. "And that is?""Oh." Grant thinks about how to answer the question. "The little black boxes you swipe your credit card on when you check out.""The credit card machines?" Why couldn't he just call them that? I don't need it kindergarten simple."Yes. We process the transactions and make many forms of the readers as well. There's a large manufacturer of them right here in San Francisco, but most of our work is done in China.""Why are they always broken?" Half the time when you check out the machine is either broken or the screen doesn't work properly. Who designed those stupid pens?Grant's forehead pinches together, lines forming