Running Home to You (The Running Series)

by Sweeney, Suzanne

  As I run along my usual path, I contemplate the possible explanations for the missing fisherman. If he is Ryker and he knows he has a job interview today, perhaps he’s home preparing. Maybe he’s doing research on us. I know that if I were a candidate for a job in a new restaurant or bar, I would learn as much as I could about its reputation and owners. It strikes me as the responsible thing to do.

  But then it hits me, what kind of impression will he receive of Evan and me if he does his research on the Internet? Will he believe the stories about Evan being a pill-popping athlete hooked on steroids? Will he believe I’m a materialistic gold-digger feeding him drugs and using him for his deep pockets? But there’s an equal number of articles and images of Evan and me together that portray us in a positive light. Most people already formed an opinion of our relationship eight weeks ago when our whole world was turned upside down and broadcast to the world. It’s a very unsettling feeling – to know that people have formed opinions of you despite the fact that you’ve never met.

  Maddy and I make it to our usual turn-around location where we stop to take a break. Today I’ve brought her a tennis ball to keep her entertained. I toss the ball into the surf and she barrels through the breaking waves to retrieve it. Her tiny nub of a tail is wagging madly, showing how much she enjoys our game of catch.

  After a few tosses, we resume our jog. I’ve decided that if Ryker’s not here today, it’s probably for the best. Doing something I know would anger Evan is not something I relish. His tolerance for jealousy is already being tested with Derek, and I don’t think giving him something else to worry about is a good idea, particularly given his recent mood swings.

  Just as I’ve mentally written him off, Maddy and I approach his usual fishing spot and he’s actually there. I shorten Maddy’s leash enough to keep her close to my side and I head directly for the man I believe to be Ryker Donovan. He’s sitting on a cooler with his fishing rod beside him, firmly planted in the sand. Because of the hoodie covering his head, I cannot see his face, but I’m familiar enough with this stranger to recognize him.

  I approach warily. I’ve greeted him before and been snubbed each and every time. Somehow, I have to get him to respond to me. Rather than my usual, “Good morning,” or short and simple, “hi,” I decide to address him more directly.

  “Excuse me, Ryker, do you have a minute,” I ask.

  Nothing. No response. He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge me in any way. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this man isn’t Ryker at all.

  “Hello? Ryker Donovan? Can I speak with you,” I try.

  Again, no response. I walk right up to him and Maddy takes the lead, ears back, sniffing his pant leg. Her tail’s not moving, so I take that as a cautionary note.

  The fisherman isn’t put off by the intrusion into his privacy. On the contrary, he slowly raises a hand to scratch Maddy between the ears. He looks up at me and smiles.

  “Good morning,” he offers. “Friendly dog.” He stands to speak with me, removes his hood, and I notice he’s wearing a pair of Bose headphones. They’re probably the noise cancelling kind. That would explain why he never responds to any of my greetings. He never heard me. He removes the headphones and leaves them dangling around his neck.

  “Hi. I hope you don’t mind, but I run here almost every day and I wanted to introduce myself,” I explain. Now that I’m getting a good look at him, I notice that he does, indeed, have a tattoo sleeve on his right arm. I can’t see much of it, the majority of his arm is covered by the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He’s got wavy jet-black hair and dark facial hair, neatly cropped and trimmed, which frames his face quite nicely and accents his angular jaw.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary, Juliette. I know exactly who you are.” He offers his hand and I’m relieved to see he has a firm, confident handshake. “My name’s Ryker.”

  His familiarity with me has me speechless. All I can manage is a meager, “Wait, what?”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I see you jogging with Big Mac some mornings. You two are pretty famous, you know. I’ve been a fan of his since his Rose Bowl days playing for the UMD Terps.” He releases my hand and goes back to patting Maddy. She’s still not relaxed around him. She places herself between the two of us, acting as my protector.

  “Oh,” I respond. He seems friendly enough, so I try to engage him in conversation. “Glad to know you’re not a stalker. Evan and I have had our fair share of that lately.”

  He chuckles and adds, “How do you know I’m not a stalker? Maybe I come fishing here every day just to see if you guys will show up.” He has a friendly smile and I immediately feel at ease with him.

  “I don’t think so. I say ‘Good morning’ to you every day, and you completely ignore me,” I explain. “If you were stalking me, I think you’d take advantage of the opportunity to get my attention.”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “Sorry about that. It’s these headphones. I can’t hear a thing while I’m wearing them.” He takes a swig from his bottle of water, and then continues, “I should probably be upfront with you. I got a call yesterday about a job opening at your new place. Cheri called me and told me you guys were looking for a head chef. I was surprised you didn’t already have someone in line for that position. Didn’t you open the other day?” he asks.

  “We unofficially opened our doors on Monday. We have a fully staffed kitchen, but we need someone to take control. Are you the Ryker Donovan I’ve heard so much about from Hire a Hero Now?”

  “Yeah, I guess that would be me,” he reluctantly admits.

  “Well, you’ve got a great résumé. I’d love to have you join our team,” I tell him.

  He turns away, facing the ocean, and replies, “I don’t think so.” He lets the words hang in the air for a few moments before he continues. “I turned down the interview. I don’t think I’m right for the position.” He sits back down on the cooler and adds, “I hope you find a more qualified candidate. You guys have been through hell, and I know a little bit about that.” There’s a sadness to his voice that melts my heart.

  “What do you mean, you turned down the interview? You’re not even interested in hearing what we have to offer?” I ask him, baffled.

  “I’m not really looking for a leadership role. Been there. Done that. Didn’t turn out well for any of us,” he coolly replies.

  I’m sure he’s referring his deployment in Afghanistan. Considering the fact that we’ve only just met, it’s not a good idea for me to ask personal questions. I try to appeal to his sense of duty, instead.

  “We’re really in a tight spot here, Ryker. I know you have experience running kitchens. We’ve got some great cooks and an amazing chef. But she has no idea how to run a kitchen. Suppose you came in work with my staff just until the Fourth of July. Help me train them. Get my kitchen in order. Teach them discipline and give them the tools they need to do it themselves. I’ll write you a great letter of recommendation and help you find a position somewhere else.” I can see he’s considering my offer. “Evan’s got connections. If you can find it in your heart to help us out, we’ll gladly return the favor.”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

  “Listen, just meet with my GM, Marcus. Take the interview. Check the place out. Please,” I plead.

  “Okay,” he concedes.

  “You’ll take the job? Seriously?”

  “Maybe. I’ll meet with your GM and we’ll see what happens.”

  A few hours later and I get a text from Marcus.

  Marcus: interview over. Went well. He’s starting 2morrow.

  Jette: great news. U tell R yet?

  Marcus: nope. Calling now.

  Jette: let me know how it goes

  Marcus: will do, boss lady

  Marcus calls back to tell me that Reese is not happy. Not one little bit. She feels hurt and betrayed. He thinks it’s best if I stay away for a day or two and let him take the heat. Our next dinner service will be in two days, on Friday. It’s just enough time for Reese
to get used to the idea and hopefully get over the insult and find the positive.

  It’s near dinnertime, and Evan comes home a new man. He tosses his keys on the table in the foyer, grabs a beer, and asks me to join him on the deck. The heaviness in the air between us is gone. I pour myself a glass of Chardonnay and find Evan sitting on the love seat enjoying the view. The sun is hanging low in the sky and there’s a full moon beginning to shine. As soon as I step onto the deck, he opens up his arm and invites me in.

  I climb onto the loveseat with him, nestled beneath his warm embrace. I lean against him and pull my legs up to my chest. Evan rests his arm on the back of the chair and kisses the top of my head. “Juliette, I’m sorry I gave you a hard time yesterday. I know Derek’s a good guy. He’s proven that more than once. I just don’t like any man looking at you like that, other than me, of course,” he admits.

  “I know, baby. You’ve got enough to worry about without me adding to it,” I agree.

  “Well, we have one less thing to worry about today. The drug tests came back clean. Adam’s preparing the press release right now.” Evan takes a great big swig of his beer, nearly emptying it. He takes a deep, cleansing breath, and then continues, “Having this hanging over me was making me crazy. I didn’t want to bother you with it, but I was starting to get worried that it might come back positive.”

  “Seriously? You were worried? About what?”

  “I was starting to wonder if someone was slipping me steroids. I’ve been an emotional wreck lately. I’ve been taking so many vitamins and protein drinks, it seemed possible that someone could be slipping me something else, too. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, you know.”

  “Holy crap, Evan. Someone’s slipped you steroids before?”

  “No, baby, not me. Baseball players, cyclists, boxers – most professional sports, in fact – have all gone through the gauntlet of accusations. As a professional athlete, we’re constantly pushing our bodies to the limits and dealing with sports-related injuries. We get injections of cortisone to reduce swelling. People give us vitamin and mineral supplements to assist with muscle growth and improved energy. There’s always an opportunity for someone to slip us something without our knowledge.” Evan is playfully twisting my hair around his finger, sharing his previously unspoken worries with me.

  There was a small part of me that was worried, too. I’ve noticed the mood swings more than once and wondered how far Evan would go to return to the game he loves so much. It never even crossed my mind that someone else might be giving him drugs without his consent. No wonder he feels so strongly about taking pain medication.

  But that brings up another important question. If drugs aren’t causing his emotional ups and downs, then what is? Could the gravity of his attack be catching up with him? The events from last April were incredibly traumatic. He’s never fully spoken about it. Maybe it’s time he does.

  “Evan, would you like to speak with someone about these emotional swings you’ve been having?” I ask him.

  “No.”

  “It could help, you know,” I try to tell him.

  “I’ll be fine. Once this shit is behind me and I’m back on the field, everything will be great. You’ll see.” He finishes off his beer and then asks, “How was your day?”

  “Actually, it was pretty great. Marcus hired Ryker Donovan today. He starts tomorrow.”

  “Cool. I’m glad Reese is getting the help she deserves. This is just what we need, Juliette. Let’s celebrate. Take the day off with me tomorrow. You can do something you haven’t done for me in a while,” he teases.

  “Seriously, Evan? A while? It’s been one night without sex, not a month.”

  “I wasn’t talking about sex, but I’m glad to hear it’s bothering you, too. I was hoping you would make me some cookies. Your famous chocolate chunk cookies, maybe.”

  I put down my wine glass and curl up on his lap. “I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning. Your wish is my command.”

  I skip my morning jog and head to the market to get some cooking ingredients. I promised my man a day home alone and fresh, homemade cookies. With basket in hand, I walk around the store, hoping for inspiration. Evan asked for chocolate chunk cookies, so I will definitely make him those, but if I’m baking I may as well try something new, too.

  I walk up and down the aisles, searching for something to pique my interest, but nothing. I want to make a special gourmet cookie that I can serve with homemade ice cream at Rush. As I turn to explore another aisle, I notice an end cap dedicated to the classic S’mores treats. Perhaps I can work with those basic components and take it to the next level. Besides, who doesn’t love an ooey, gooey, chocolaty treat?

  I return home and start organizing all the ingredients on the counter. Evan emerges from his office and inspects the goods. “Is all of this just for some chocolate chunk cookies?” he asks.

  “No, baby. I’m going to do a little taste testing, too.”

  I open a few drawers, searching for the rest of the tools I need to get started, and I’m interrupted by a man who appears to have an insatiable appetite – for me. Evan stands behind me, sweeps the hair from my shoulder, and begins to lick and suck on my neck. “I’d like to do a little taste testing, myself,” he whispers in my ear. Unable to continue, I close my eyes and place my hands on the counter for support. The things this man can do to me with the slightest touch make me weak in the knees.

  Just as I’m about to turn around and reciprocate, he stops and backs off. “Don’t let me interrupt your process, Juliette.” He lifts my chin, places a loving kiss on my waiting lips, and steps away. “I’ll be upstairs in the gym. Call me when you’re ready,” he teases as he walks away.

  As he turns the corner, I mutter under my breath, “I’m always ready for you, chief.”

  As he heads up the stairs to the gym he calls down, “I know.” Damn. I didn’t think he could hear me.

  I immediately get started on Evan’s chocolate chunk cookies. It’s a recipe I know by heart. No instructions needed. I carefully measure out the ingredients, add a hidden treat, macadamia nuts, and scoop out man-sized dollops onto the cookie tray. I place the trays into the oven to bake, and start on my next creation.

  I know Evan is upstairs working out in his personal home gym. I can hear him cranking up his playlist, blaring Guns N’Roses through his sound system. Images of him reclined on his weight bench, his chiseled chest heaving as he strains to slowly raise the bar and bring it back down again, come rushing into my mind. Or perhaps he’s on his rowing machine, flexing his hard-as-rock biceps over and over again, working up a sweat that clings to his body, glistening on his bare chest. The urge to forego my baking experiment and sneak upstairs for a peek is almost too much to resist.

  Trying to refocus my attention, I turn on my own music and select an upbeat mix of Jason Derulo, Katy Perry, and Maroon 5 so I can engage in another one of my favorite pastimes, bakedancing. It’s like all my cares are momentarily forgotten. I don’t have to be careful, organized, neat or tidy. I get to be silly, creative, loud, and messy. It’s a part of me that I don’t let out often enough. My normally beautiful and orderly kitchen is currently a jumble of flour, sugar, honey, butter, chocolate, and about a dozen other ingredients, haphazardly covering every surface. But I don’t care, I’m in the zone.

  Time passes quickly and before I know it, I’ve successfully completed a batch of cookie crackers flavored with honey and cinnamon. Now it’s time to start on the chocolate ganache. As my music echoes through the room, I sashay across the kitchen to retrieve some heavy cream from the refrigerator, and then I measure, pour, and heat it over a low flame. Just as it’s about to boil, I pour it over a bowl of chocolate and wait for the chocolate to soften and melt.

  The music changes and I find myself dancing mindlessly to Ylvis singing about a fox. I grab a whisk and get busy turning my concoction into a chocolate delight. My dance moves interfere with my whisking, and I end up making a crea
my chocolate mess all over the counter, myself, and my favorite apron. I look down at my sexy little red apron that says, “I like big buns,” and see it’s been splattered with chocolate drips.

  Just as I’m about to remove the apron, I feel a strong set of arms around my waist, making me jump. “Interesting choice of music,” Evan whispers in my ear, nuzzling my hair, and inhaling deeply. “You smell good.” His warm breath tickles my neck, causing goose bumps to break out all over my body.

  I turn around to return the affection, and I get an eyeful of the tastiest treat I could imagine – Evan standing before me, barefoot, bare-chested, wearing just a pair of basketball shorts that hang low on his waist, revealing that sexy v-cut of his waist. He stands there, gazing down, appraising me thoughtfully. “What do we have here?” he asks with a glimmer in his eye.

  Looking down at my apron, I take a swipe of the chocolate dripping down my apron and slip my finger into Evan’s mouth. “This is my chocolate ganache. How’s it taste?”

  “Mmm,” he moans as he licks every bit of chocolate off me with his warm tongue.

  “Mind if I try something?” I ask. Evan nods his assent and I take a spoonful of warm chocolate ganache from the bowl, drip a small amount onto his beautiful chest and watch as it slowly glides down his body. It stops just above his navel and when it does, I quickly lean down and begin to remove the chocolate, bit by bit, slowly licking, sucking, and enjoying every single drop. “Sweet and salty,” I purr.

  “You’ve done it now, Running Girl,” Evan warns in a deep, raspy voice, his eyes dark and dangerous. As I listen to his words and the meaning behind them, I can feel the wetness between my legs that had been created just by the thought of what was about to come next.