GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “When I find the one or hell even the girl with possibility of being the one, I won’t hesitate. It’s gifts and champagne every night. I’m not talking about coffee tables, friend. You need to let them know where you stand. The least you could do is give the gimp a ride to and from work. It’s not like there’s anything else for you to do.”

  This time Ryland flinches with Grant’s accusation. It can’t be easy to go from extreme busyness with a major soccer team to holed up in your condo in San Francisco in February.

  “I have it under control.” Ryland crosses his arms over his chest done with the conversation.

  “You may think you do, but you do not, my friend. I promise you.” Grant gestures with both hands, the movements growing larger with each argument he adds.

  “I’m not some helpless female who needs to rely on a man for a ride to work.” I speak louder this time and draw the attention of both men.

  It’s kind of nice having Grant stick up for me, but the bottom line is Ryland doesn’t owe me anything, least of all to become my personal chauffer. The elevator is more than I ever hoped for. There’s no possibility I’ll be riding the Ryland express anytime besides my fantasies.

  “Whatever, Ry. Don’t listen, but you’ll regret it one day.” Grant shakes his head at both of us and grabs his coat from a stool and then walks down the short hallway to the elevator.

  The elevator dings as the doors close, leaving me alone with Ryland. I risk a look in his direction and find him staring at me. Nerves crawl up my body increasing my heart rate. We need to reach the comfortable kind of friendship we had before our kiss last night. But I worry we’re past that.

  “Grant’s crazy.” I wave a hand in front of me to help reassure Ryland, but when he doesn’t move I’m left questioning the effectiveness. I try to laugh, but it comes out squeaky, which doesn’t help my nerves or remove Ryland’s eyes from mine. "Feel like killing stuff?”

  With my question his head shakes from side to side, but it’s not a denial as his lips loosen and spread across his face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Later in the night the new sword from Grant sparkles from its enchantments as I swing the glowing blade toward the large rat at the face of the cave. The sound of clashing metal sings through the television speakers as I step over the dead rat carcass to claim the few pieces of gold he left behind post death.

  “Did Finn need to be so graphic when he designed Dragons Reborn?” I ask guiding my character farther into the cave.

  “Yes. We’re guys. We like the realism of dead things.”

  “Hey I enjoying killing stuff as much as the next player, but I don’t want to step over bodies to get my loot.”

  I catch his headshake from the corner of my eye too worried about what else we’ll find in this new cave to waste seconds looking at him. “You’re such a girl, Marissa."

  Narrowing my eyes at the television screen, I plot my revenge for his comment and take a swipe at his character with my sword.

  “Hey!” He tries to strike back, but I’m already halfway down the cavern tunnel.

  “What?” I fake innocence. “I was just checking out my new glittery sword from Grant. Isn’t it pretty?”

  “You don’t need Grant’s cast off sword. We’ll get you your own implement of destruction on one of these raids.”

  “You don’t keep extra swords in a secret hidden chest like Grant?”

  He scoffs at my question. “No. I don’t need to try and impress girls with shiny baubles or acquire extra weapons. I upgrade my original iron sword when I reach new levels.” The amount of reproach in his voice could fill a dump truck.

  “Well maybe I’ll upgrade this one from Grant. It sounds easier.”

  “No. We’re getting you a new one.”

  My lips press together to suppress a smirk, but the corners still tip up. It’s a ridiculously silly thing to get pleasure from, but I can’t help myself. I enjoy his jealous side too much.

  Of course I’ll never admit any of these feelings to Aspen. The girl spent weeks going on about how Finn built her a castle in this make believe realm, and I gave her complete crap over it. I’d never hear the end of it if she knew I've started to like this game. At least when Ryland plays with me.

  “Can’t we call up Finn and ask him to poof me in a sword?” It sounds like a great plan to me. I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before.

  Ryland shakes his head. “Nope. Finn lost that kind of control over the game when he sold his rights, but even before he didn’t believe in poofing items in."

  I smack my lips together. “Why not?”

  This time Ryland lowers his controller, his player’s advance stopping. “Well some people, Finn and me included, consider that cheating." He raises one eyebrow in my direction daring me to question him.

  Of course I do. “Cheating? It’s using your connections well.”

  He laughs, a deep baritone chuckle and goes back to playing. The cave darkens the deeper we go and Ryland begins placing torches to light our way every few blocks. “It’s cheating and if there’s a single lesson I took away from my father, it’s you don’t cheat, no matter the game.”

  “Yeah, is your dad full of sage advice to keep me from a maxed out sword?”

  Ryland laughs again, but this time it’s humorless. “Nope, he’s mostly an asshole who thinks he knows what’s best for everyone. Even if no one ever meets his expectations.”

  “Oh.” I’ve clearly hit a sore spot for Ryland. We’ve never discussed such a personal topic before. I’m not sure if I should question him for more information or change the subject.

  In the end Ryland makes the decision. “I’d lie and say he singlehandedly ruined my love for soccer, but that’s not true. He's only seventy-five percent at fault. I blame the media for the rest.”

  The numerous photos of him with tall blondes on his arm hover in my consciousness at his mention of the media. I haven’t forgotten I’m a short brunette. There are pages of shots on the Internet with Ryland doing mundane activities like eating at an outdoor patio or playing soccer. The shirtless ones where he’s sweaty are my favorite. But the photos I remember the most are those where he stands next to a tall leggy blonde, their arms wrapped around one another.

  “Does your dad not support you with the whole soccer thing?”

  “The opposite,” he answers but doesn’t continue. Ryland starts digging an unnecessary hole in the side of the cave. A total waste of energy and supplies, but I don't comment hopeful he’ll open up. I’d like to learn more about my enigmatic neighbor.

  It takes less than a minute. “My father’s obsessed with soccer. I played kiddie soccer at three and from that day forth he’s expected the entire family to live and breathe the sport.”

  My nose scrunches up. “Like with face paint and big signs at your games?”

  “More like 4 a.m. wake-up calls to practice and run drills from the time I turned five. Happy birthday to me.”

  “What?” It’s a question filled with shock, but also disbelief. What kind of person makes a five-year-old run drills?

  “On holidays we didn’t watch old family vacation movies. We analyzed recordings of my games.” He stops his futile attempt to dig a hole through the cave and this conversation. "I couldn’t wait to get away. When it came time for college, there weren’t any major scouts interested. Soccer isn’t really popular in Iowa.

  “I accepted an academic scholarship to Stanford but couldn’t resist the open try outs. Soccer is… was my life. Being on the field, playing, it's become a drug for me. The only one I need.”

  “That’s when you walked on the team?” I put down my controller and let loose some of my knowledge. Ryland lifts an eyebrow in my direction. "What? I Googled you.”

  He shakes his head at my admission. “Yeah. I walked on as a freshman and after my junior year had a few local teams scout me, but my coach had connections with United. I accepted the first offer they made me. You don’t pass up a contract in Eng
land. Plus, it was an ocean away from my dad.”

  I’ve never been good at consoling people. Aspen said after I didn’t give her lip service about the death of her parents, she knew we’d be best friends. I didn't do anything special. But what do you say to a story like that? She took my silence as enough. Ryland must do the same because he carries on not waiting for me to chime in.

  “Teams in England generally pay more than teams in America, but my first contract was peanuts. I signed a one-year deal and worked my ass off to stay on the team. The next year they offered me a three-year contract at a hundred and fifty.”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand a season? That’s good right?” Don’t most non-football sports players make their money from endorsements?

  He laughs and this time it contains real humor. “One fifty a week. Plus, I’d started to sign endorsement deals.”

  I try to do the math in my head, but lose track somewhere around a million, my eyes going wide with the realization. “They pay that much for soccer?”

  Ryland shakes his head and grins causing small lines around his eyes. I want to reach over and smooth them out. “You really don’t know. Do you?” I shake my head, but don't speak. “You’ll also never have to buy me underwear.”

  “What? Why not? Wait… why am I buying you underwear?” The thought of Ryland’s underwear forces my eyes to shift to his groin. Images of what he’s hiding under there make my face go red… what if he doesn’t need underwear because he's commando?

  From his light laugh he doesn’t miss my reaction. “A free supply came as part of my endorsement deal. You’re asked to use the products that pay you and they pay a lot to see my pretty face in their underwear.” One side of his smile tips up further than the other in a sexy smirk. “Also I’m lazy and don't want to spend time buying my own.”

  “They haven’t dropped you …” My sentence trails off after I’m unable to think of a way to mention his recent departure from the team.

  “Not yet.” I regret my decision to ask as his face falls, the humor from our earlier exchange lost to my stupidity. “The sponsors I have left will wait to see what team I'll go to next. They’re sure I’ll get picked up quickly.”

  “But you’re not?” I’ve already ruined the atmosphere in the room. I might as well get the answers to the questions I’ve listed out in my head.

  Ryland sighs and leans back on the couch, sinking into it. “Soccer is part of my life, whether or not I want it to be. I’ve lived soccer since before I was fully potty trained. I’m not sure I know how not to play. But do I want to go back… I don’t know.”

  His words don’t make sense to me. How can he love soccer but not want to play the game? The question obviously weighs on him as he stares at the empty white wall, lost in thought.

  “Once you reach a certain level in the pros, it’s no longer about the game. Reporters don’t focus on how you play. I could score one hundred goals in a half, but they'd report on what type of suit I wore or who I’m dating.”

  “But most athletes go through that, right?”

  “Not most soccer players in America and trust me, not everyone. The guys who don’t get the endorsements or press become the first ones to rat you out to a tabloid. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes regardless of the cost.”

  His comment makes me think of his last incident with the team where he punched the goalie. What are the odds goalies don’t get as much press as they think they deserve?

  I’ve pushed away the question, but with Ryland being open and honest, I can’t hold back any longer. The need to know has eaten away at my resolve for days. “What will you do?" Each time we’re together my body burns to spend more and more time with Ryland, but I can’t let myself get too attached if he’ll jump back across the pond soon.

  “No clue. I left my gear in England. I couldn’t stand to look at it, but now… now I don’t know. I love soccer, but I don’t want the extras. While I’m here I need to get tips from Finn on how he avoids the press.”

  My chest deflates at his answer. He said “while I’m here” meaning he won’t always be here. Ryland hasn’t admitted it to himself yet, but he’ll return to soccer. And when he leaves I’ll be left here alone. It should be a good thing. He’ll go back to a sport he loves and I’ll get to break any of the rules I want, but rather than happiness, his admission leaves me hollow.

  I told myself not to get my hopes up. Not to get attached. Not to develop a crush. Yet, at some point I stopped listening and allowed all those things to happen. Now it’s going to come back to bite me like I worried.

  “What about your mom? She must miss you.” Maybe a topic change will help me forget Ryland’s impending departure.

  He sighs again and it circles the room around us. Apparently this wasn’t a good topic either. “I love my mom. The one reason I still talk to my father is because of her, but not once growing up did she stick up for me when my father hit a new level of obsession." He picks up his controller again so I do the same. “As long as our family looked the part of perfect, she turned an eye to the fact her husband made a six-year-old run suicide drills in the backyard for two hours before school started.”

  Ryland’s eyes go sad and I start to hate a woman I’ve never met. What kind of mother lets her young son go through such abuse? She’s lucky I don't know where she lives.

  “Oh fuck. I died.” Too lost in my anger for Ryland’s lost childhood I allowed marauders to sneak up on me in Dragons Reborn. With my basic armor they took me out easily.

  I scramble to regenerate my character in the game, but the last save was far outside the cave we’d been exploring. With the turn our recent topics of conversation have taken, I’m not interested in playing any longer.

  “What? Where is he?” Ryland runs his character back to where I died.

  “He came up behind me. His name was DashD or something.”

  “Head back to base camp and I’ll meet you there. I’ll take care of Dash later.”

  My fingers pound on the controller to move my player to the small base camp Ryland and I built the last time we played. Every time you die in the game, it randomly deletes items from your inventory. My heart thumps in my chest with worry as it takes forever to load my character’s chest of items. Images pop up one at a time and I groan once they stop loading. "They took my enchanted sword and fifteen torches.”

  “Thank God,” he mumbles under his breath as his character walks into our small cabin.

  “What?”

  “I mean, oh darn it, not the sword.” He mocks sadness at my plight.

  “Ryland, I had a good sword,” I say the words around a yawn and use a hand to cover my mouth.

  He logs out of the game and stands. “I told you I’ll get you a better one. Come on. I’ll walk you home.” The crutches lay on the floor at my feet and he picks them up handing them to me.

  “I’m pretty sure I won’t be attacked in the private hallway.”

  Ryland shrugs and does his cute one-sided smile. “Better safe than sorry.”

  I’m better with the crutches, but it still takes me longer to reach my door than it does Ryland with his outlandishly long legs.

  “I haven’t complimented you on the rug yet.” He looks down and steps on my flower mat.

  “It’s cute, huh?” I grin up at him knowing full well he considers this a violation of the rules.

  Ryland leans in closer, his lips next to my ear. “It’s something.”

  His words caress against my skin and I suck in air. We haven’t been this close all night and I can’t stop my hand from reaching out to lightly grab his upper arm. My crutch falls to the floor, but neither of us spare it a glance as our eyes lock on one another.

  Ryland’s dazzling blue eyes widen in question. He lowers his head leaning over to press his lips to mine. The kiss is quick, over before I process what’s happening.

  He steps back and reaches down handing me my toppled crutch. In shock I open my door halfway as Ryland steps away from the
entryway giving me room to walk in.

  “Goodnight, Marissa.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  I’ve ridden in many taxis, but relying on them as my sole transportation over the last week has been interesting. Each one smells different, most of them not the good kind of smell. Another whiff of body odor hits me, a storm front blown back by the taxi’s heater. I release another deep breath through my mouth. I’d rather not swallow any of the dirty germs from the air, but anything’s better than more of the pungent stench eating away at my nose.

  The phone in my hand vibrates distracting me from my breathing pattern. A gag boils up and I’m forced to close my mouth quickly covering it and the bottom of my nose with my hand. The rose scented perfume I applied this morning does little to block out the powerful air.

  Ryland: You don’t need to worry about DashD97531 anymore. I took care of him last night. You want to finish the cave this morning?

  I smile, but keep my mouth open and breathing on point. Seven o’clock came way too early this morning after being at Ryland’s until midnight last night. I didn’t fall asleep until after one, lost in replays of our second kiss. More of a peck, but I swear my lips tingled for an hour later.

  I mentally slap myself for smiling over the memory. I’ve never felt such mushy girly thoughts about a guy before and I refuse to start them with Ryland now. He’ll leave soon and I’ll be left trying to find someone to fill the void. Someone who creates the same feelings in me. Someone I’m sure doesn’t exist. Still the boy makes me swoon. Shut up, Marissa.

  Me: Sorry. Today’s girls’ brunch at Cosmo’s. Boys not allowed.

  It’s not entirely true, more than once the guys have been there for a while with us, but I need time where Ryland isn’t up in my space. When he’s in the room it's hard to watch him and not have dreamy thoughts. It’s rather annoying.

  Ryland: Do you need a ride?

  His return text vibrates my phone fast and I get a kind of sick perverse pleasure from knowing he must have waited for me to respond.