by TC Matson
“They started it,” Kyce chuckles, pulling himself out of the water.
Jackson and I both shove out of the water and eye Kyce.
“Snitch,” I mumble under my breath with laughter.
“I was helping Sarah—”
“You were in on this too, Canary,” Jackson bites with a snicker.
It’s like we’re kids again.
We all burst out laughing.
“You’re too old to ground,” Dad says, stepping out from the house. “Not too old to bend you all over my knee.” He’s grinning from ear to ear. “For now, clean up the cake mess.”
After witnessing a very spoiled little girl get more than she needs, we help clean up before taking off.
“You down for a run?” I ask, reaching across the truck to hold her hand.
She moans toward the ceiling. “Yeeeesss.” She draws the word out.
I chuckle under my breath. “I’m gonna stop by the gym. We’ll change there.”
“A gym run?” I can hear the disappointment in her voice.
“No. Something better,” I tell her.
It satisfies her and she smiles, relaxing back into the seat, still holding my hand and dragging her thumb over my knuckles.
After changing and grabbing a few things from the gym, I pull into a parking lot along her old running route. I ran this with her for months, enjoying her company and hating she did it at night.
She grins looking out the window.
“Figured we could take your old path.” I shrug.
That smile. The way her eyes are lit the fuck up, her face shining her happiness, is exactly why she makes me so fucking weak. I aim to see it.
She rounds the truck and stretches to kiss my jaw. “Thank you.” Her voice is soft and velvety, and then she pats my chest. “Try to keep up.”
She used to tell me that when I first started running with her. I invited myself in hopes to get exactly where I’m at now.
I laugh, pushing off to settle into a stride beside her. Most people run for many health reasons. They count steps and keep up with heart rates and all that jazz. And even though it’s healthy, Whit does it to empty her mind from the day’s worries. She needs an outlet daily and running is her preferred way. I watch out of the corner of my eyes—her long strides, feet pounding the concrete, thoughts dissolving from her mind—and I’m next to her with a load of shit on my mind.
She’s simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on. She’s confident, stunning, a heart of gold, professional…this list is a fucking mile long. All her positives force my ass to be better. She makes me walk a straighter line.
I chuckle at the thought.
“What?” she asks.
“First time we ran together, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. Nothing’s changed.”
She smiles. “You made me so nervous.”
“Why the hell did I make you nervous? We were in your territory.”
She glances at me like I’m an idiot. “Place a lion in your house and you’d be nervous too. You’re intimidating as hell and you know it.”
“I didn’t intimidate you.” I laugh.
She rolls her eyes. “The hell you didn’t. I swear you were just there to mess with my head. That run did damage. Major damage.” She giggles. “I went home with more things on my mind than what I started with.”
We take the turn heading in the direction of her favorite part—the park where the trees dress up the path. As we enter under them, she closes her eyes and inhales the aroma. She enjoys it. Me? It’s overwhelming as hell. It’s flowery and smells like my grandmothers’ front door. That woman had so many flowers on her porch, you couldn’t help but to be bombarded with the scent and bees. Fucking bees.
I stop, grabbing her arm. “Enjoy it.” I’m grinning devilishly.
She gazes up at me and smiles. “You said that very thing on our first run.”
I pull her to me, wrapping my arm around her waist. “I haven’t forgotten. The way you looked, Whitney. You were staggering. Just as you are now.”
I release her, clutching her hand, and lead us toward the bench. My heart is fucking slapping the ever living shit out of my ribs. My fucking hands are motherfucking sweaty as fuck.
In front of the bench, strategically placed, is a heart made from red rose petals with several white battery-powered candles—because Candice was scared I’d burn the park down with real ones.
Whitney gasps when she sees it. I pull her into the middle, hold both her hands, and take the shakiest breath I’ve ever taken in my life.
“I fell in love with you at this very spot. I knew I was staring at my future. You make me a better person. Whit, you’re the challenge I’ve longed for. Someone who can handle me and all my flaws. I’m stubborn as fuck. Far from perfect, but I strive to be your perfect.”
Her eyes begin to well up with tears. My pulse is battering my temples as I pull the little black box out of my pocket and drop to a shaky as fuck knee. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“You’re all I need. All I want to wake up beside, all I want to hold at night. I want to walk through life with you by my side. Whitney, will you be my wife?”
I cannot fucking breathe.
Tears stream down her cheeks. She nods before gasping out, “Yes.”
With the tightest throat, I slide the ring onto her finger. She wraps her arms around my neck, weeping.
She smacks the fuck out of my chest. “You asshole,” she cries and then laughs.
I chuckle. “I have your dad’s blessing.”
She looks up to me with wet eyes.
“We had a long talk when you and your mom went shopping,” I inform her.
“Is that why you invited them? Not just to get them to like you?”
I kiss her lips. “I needed him to like me so he’d like your husband.”
With my thumb, I wipe away a tear from under her eye. “I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She looks at her ring. “It’s beautiful.”
Chapter 5
The house smells of soap and cologne as I step in from work. Ryker strides down the hall and greets me at the kitchen counter, where I place my purse and then tiptoe to kiss his jaw.
“Where’s Candice?” he asks.
Since this weekend is his red carpet event, we decided to invite the family over for dinner tonight to celebrate our engagement.
“She went home to change and will be here in just a bit.” I eye him in a pair of dark-washed jeans and a deep blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Are you dressing up for Candice now?”
He exhales and scratches the back of his neck. “Figuring it’s an engagement party, I thought I should look good for you.”
I laugh, stretching back to my toes and wrapping my arms around his neck. “You look good for me all the time.”
“I look better with you naked wearing only that ring beneath me.” He winks.
I pat his chest. “Maybe later if you’re good.”
He kisses me deeply, his silent way of saying he loves me, and then brushes his thumb over my cheek. I melt into his hand, moaning softly.
And then there’s a knock at the door. Ryker groans in frustration.
Candice pushes open the door with a loud thud and holds up two bottles of red wine. “Party has arrived. Also, the food will be here when Kyce gets here.”
Ryker lifts his brow. “You trusted him with the food? He’ll eat it all before getting here.”
“I’ll cut his balls off with a butter knife if he does,” she snickers.
She makes her way to the kitchen and grabs two wine glasses, pouring us both some.
The door shoves open again and Gracie comes bounding through, straight to me. “Let me see!” She grabs my hand admiring my platinum princess cut ring. “It’s so pretty. You did good, Unk Ry.”
She hugs my waist and Ryker squats for his hug. Jackson and Sarah immediately follow, congratulating and hugging us
.
“Everyone’s all googly eyes about a ring, but I’m the one with the damn food,” Kyce cracks up, carrying several bags through the door. He sets them on the counter and Candice and I begin laying it all out when Ryker’s parents come through the door.
More hugs, kisses, and praise rain down on Ryker for picking out a beautiful ring all on his own.
Kyce kisses his mom on the cheek and then heads back to the kitchen to help Candice. It doesn’t go unnoticed how properly he’s dressed. Although in his normal faded jeans, he’s also sporting a black shirt with its sleeves tugged to his forearms, his brown hair styled spikey.
As Kyce rounds the counter, Candice eyes him teasingly. “Aren’t you the baby heart throb?” She grins.
He smirks. “You can’t compliment me. You’re the one I’m not allowed to touch.”
She puffs, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms. “You’re the one I don’t want to touch.”
“Funny you’d say that to the man of your dreams,” he says.
She scratches the side of her head. “That’s odd. The man of my dreams isn’t so short and is much better looking.”
Since meeting the first time the other day, their banter is so wildly flirty that it shifts the air and you can almost see the sexual desire pulsing around them. But Ryker has warned Kyce to stay away from her considering when Kyce runs off and hurts her—which we all know he’ll do—it’ll put Ryker in a messy situation being between the best friend and brother.
Kyce doesn’t do relationships even though he’s known to treat his “flings” well. He doesn’t want to settle for just one. Ryker claims it has something to do with a girl who broke his heart in ninth grade, but I have a hard time believing that since he was bummed over his last girlfriend, Crystal, leaving. Ryker couldn’t have been happier, though. He despised her.
“You can’t get any better looking than me and you sure as fuck wouldn’t call me short when you’re moaning my name from—”
“Kyce,” Ryker warns.
Candice starts past him but pauses with a shit-eating grin. “It’s adorable how you come with a babysitter.”
After she saunters away, Kyce glares at Ryker. “You’re a shithead.”
“She’ll eat you up and spit you out.” Ryker grins.
“I’d let her ride the—”
He’s interrupted by his dad clearing his throat. “That’s not the way we talk.”
Kyce straightens. “We were talking about riding roller coasters.”
Ryker stifles his laugh, his shoulders shaking but his face remaining stoic.
Harold’s eyes warn Kyce in a dark, fatherly glance. “Behave.”
After he walks away, Ryker whispers to him. “You’ve always been a shit liar.”
Kyce rolls his eyes and heads out to the living room.
Ryker dips his head, placing his lips beside my ear. “You realize Candice is a challenge for Kyce and you know what challenges do for the Hayes, right?”
I smile holding my hand up, wiggling my fingers to bring my ring attention. “Adamant. Diligent. Absolutely no middle ground. Remind me again how I could forget.”
He beams. “You can’t. You’re stuck with me.”
“I haven’t said ‘I do’ yet,” I quip, batting my eyes and sashaying away.
I win, right?
Yeah. I didn’t think so either.
Candice ordered baked Ziti with salad and garlic bread from one of the best Italian restaurants in town. And after we make our plates, we sit around the dining room table, barely big enough for us all, and eat while we chat. The spotlight is on Ryker and me, more him and how his mother never thought he’d settle down.
“Do you have a date picked out?” his mom asks just before taking a bite of her salad.
Ryker drops his head. “Mom, I just asked her.” He groans his response.
She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean the details didn’t come the same night.”
“Something came the same night,” Kyce spews facetiously.
The table jumps with a thud and Kyce’s mouth forms around the word “ouch.” There’s no indication of who kicked him under the table because everyone continues to eat casually, except for his parents, who are regarding him like confused filth.
“This is delicious,” Sarah pipes up.
“It’s from one of the restaurants we use regularly for weddings,” Candice informs her.
“What kind of food do you want at your wedding, son?” Audrey asks.
“Tomato soup, Mom,” Ryker jests with a ton of sarcasm that lands him in silent hell from his dad. Ryker shakes his head. “You know, Whitney is an event planner. As is Candice. I think the planning department is taken care of.”
My heart aches for his mom. “But if you’d like to help us plan, you can.”
I’m met by a warm motherly grin. “If you need any help, you’ll come to me, right?”
The corner of my lips tug. “Yes.”
That pacifies her and she continues eating.
“I’m glad you asked her on my birthday, Unk Ry. Makes it more special,” Gracie tells him.
I look around my table. This is becoming my family. The three goofiest brothers, two of the sweetest parents anyone could ask for, and Sarah and Gracie to help balance out the crazy. I was a single kid with one set of parents growing up. And now that I’m an adult, I’ve got two brothers and another set of parents I adore.
Life is good.
Chapter 6
Fuck. Me.
I’m straining against my slacks gawking at Whitney. She’s stunning and absolutely exquisite as fuck in a red silky dress. The fabric dips low between her tits, teasing me with the soft skin. It’s tight against her body with a slit up each of her enticing thighs. It’s playing an evil game of “drive Ryker fucking wild.”
Fuck. I’m in fucking trouble.
She’s looking out the limo window as we ride to the red-carpet event for the big fights, tapping the fingers of her right hand atop her knee.
I place my hand on top of hers to steady her nerves. “You fret about the very thing you do so well.”
She slides her gaze to me. “I’m used to organizing these things, not mingling in them.”
I twist to face her and drag my hand up her thigh so close I can feel the fabric of her thong. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m ready to leave.”
She swats my hand. “How do you always think about sex?”
“Have you seen you?”
“Have you seen you?” she counters.
I straighten and tug at my collar. “I hate these things.”
She straightens the stupid bow tie I have to wear. “You look edible.”
“Enough to feast on me now?” I flash a charming grin.
She scrunches her nose. “How about if you play nice all night, I’ll let you do whatever you’d like when we get back to the hotel?”
“I’ll have that anyway,” I say.
She gives me a pointed stare.
“I always play nice,” I say.
“Then you’ll have your way with this dress later.” She smiles.
I exhale, resting back in the seat. “Please don’t make me wear a tux at the wedding. Dress up however you’d like, but don’t make me wear one of these stupid things. Suit—I can handle. Naked—I can do. Gym shorts—count me happy. Anything but this fucking thing.”
Her eyes flare with happiness. “You’ve been thinking about the wedding?”
I grin. “I didn’t ask you to marry me for the hell of it, Whit. Besides, don’t act like you haven’t already started planning it.”
Unashamed that she has, the corner of her lips pull up even higher.
“You plan it and I’ll be there, but not in a fucking tuxedo.”
“We need to set a date,” she says.
“After my championship fight,” I tell her.
Her head tilts slightly. “That’s just around the corner. I assumed you wanted to wait a little while.”
I
give her a pointed look. “I wanted to wait, or you?”
She shakes her head.
“Then plan it. Pick a day. I’ll have a long stretch between my champ fight and the next.”
She’s beaming. “Is there anything you want me to include? I know it’s normally all about the bride, but—”
“Just you.” I kiss her. “And no tuxedos. Do whatever you want, however you’d like. Just make sure it’s me you’re walking toward.”
“Who do you want to be the groomsmen?” she asks me.
“I want Jackson and Kyce beside me along with Matt. I want Gracie as the flower girl, and then my parents and yours there. After that, I don’t care who comes, or where we’re at.”
She kisses me very faintly so not to mess up her lipstick just as the limo pulls up to the entrance.
Paparazzi, sports reporters, and photographers line the velvet rope bordering the red carpet with their cameras, recorders, and microphones.
I hear Whitney take a deep breath just as I exhale. I hate these fucking vultures.
Lights strobe, flickering as the cameras click. I help Whit out of the car and they pick up in speed. We start in, her tucked into my side. I can feel her trembling, yet her smile is gorgeous.
Just as we step into the large room, Brian spots us. He and Melissa, his wife, approach us. “Aren’t you looking good.”
I smirk. “I look good all the time.” I shake his hand and then greet Melissa with a kiss on the cheek.
“Congratulations,” Melissa says. It causes enough confusion to rattle my brain and she giggles. “With your engagement. It’s all over the papers.”
I slide my view to Brian. “Have anything to do with you?”
“Publicity. The Striker settling down. The one who stole his heart.” He slaps my shoulder. “Many hearts broke that day. Tears flooded the streets.”
I groan, shifting on my feet. “Explains why Breakaway Sports has been trying to contact you,” I tell Whit.
“And here I was hoping they were impressed by my job with the Hills’ wedding,” she titters.
“Listen, man,” Brian starts and by his tone, I know he’s switching gears. “Parsons is here and we’re supposed to chat with him. Several mags are asking for pictures, including Breakaway. Are you going to behave?”