GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “Oh all right, Aspen, get on with it. We know it’s coming.”

  She laughs. “Well, yes. So just give us the details rather than making me pry them out of you.” She waves her hand presumably to get me talking. “I tried to figure it out on my own, but I don’t know Ryland well enough to know how much sex he’d need to overlook the rules for a fish.”

  Simone gulps down her sip of wine so not to spill it on the floor. “Before we left she tried to ask Finn, but he refused to discuss anyone’s sex life with her.”

  “So…” Aspen asks and leans closer.

  I’d try to get out of it if I thought I could, but Aspen will get her answers one way or another. “It’s happened a couple more times, but nothing serious."

  She searches my face, overdramatically moving her head from side to side and top to bottom. I must pass inspection because she nods once and remains silent for now.

  “Are we doing din—” Ryland’s yell cuts off as he finishes opening my apartment door and spots the two extra women in my living room. "Ladies.”

  “Ry, how nice to see you.” Aspen smirks in my direction when she addresses him.

  She’s the worst secret keeper in the entire world. At any moment she or Simone might break out in a fit of giggles rolling around on the floor. I need to get him out of here.

  “Sorry, Ryland, you can’t come in.” I wave a hand toward the door.

  “Why?” he questions.

  I keep my eyes adverted from the tight white shirt hugging his chest and the bare feet, which poke out from the black track pants covering his legs. I have firsthand knowledge of what he’s got under those clothes. It’s hard not to visually undress him whenever he's near. I picture my hand, palm flat against his chest as it lowers and slips under his waist band. Focus, Marissa.

  “You see, my landlord makes me keep these rules, and number four states I can’t have more than two people over. That means no more than three people total at any given time.”

  Aspen grins knowing where I’m going with this as I point to her. “One.”

  My finger moves to Simone. “Two,” I say.

  Sticking a thumb to my own chest. “Three. Sorry, Ryland.”

  “You’re kidding me?” His mouth drops open.

  Aspen smothers a laugh with a hand over her mouth, but I carry on. “Those are the rules.”

  He places a hand on his hip the move bunching his shirt up an inch or so. Not enough to see anything good. “Now you’re worried about the rules? What about number seven? How many people know the code to get on the floor?”

  “Only me and Goldie,” I lie and barely suppress the smile forming at his undignified look.

  His eyes continue to bore holes through us for a few moments. If I didn’t know him so well now, the look might actually worry me a little. Finally, Ryland turns and heads back out the door without an actual good-bye.

  The room stays quiet until the door closes behind him and then all three of us break out in laughter.

  “Wow, Marissa, you have that man caught.” Aspen reaches for her wine glass once she’s regained her composure. “How many rules have you broken now?”

  What rule haven’t I at least attempted to break? I mentally catalog the different areas I’ve followed the guidelines a little more loosely than others. “Well…… it depends on if you’re counting all of them or only the ones he knows about.” I bite the corner of my lower lip.

  Aspen laughs. “She means he hasn’t seen her bedroom yet.”

  She’s right. A few feet away lies quite possibly the biggest disturbance to Ryland’s rules thus far. He hasn’t been in my room since those first few days and the room's been lived in now. Aspen has firsthand knowledge of my lack of organization skills from our time in college together. Her side of the dorm room was kept spotless, each item picked up after she finished using it. It’s weird if you ask me. I like to keep my supplies closer to hand. Or wherever I drop them the last time I use them. Either works. It’s a system.

  “What will you do about that? Clean maybe?” Aspen asks casting a glance toward the closed bedroom door.

  “Never let him past the kitchen, obviously.”

  “Well what’s the game plan with Ryland?” Simone asks.

  I sigh and blow a breath out between my lips. “Why does there have to be a plan?” I’m lying to myself. I’m a plan girl, but I promised I would try harder to let events happen as they’re supposed to this time around. “He’ll probably end up on a team far away and then it won't matter how many rules I break.”

  Aspen’s face falls at my words and she looks to the corner of the room. Her attention is so focused on one spot in particular it’s impossible to not figure out she’s hiding something.

  “Just tell me, Aspen.” I suck in a breath when she doesn’t start right away. That means it’s bad.

  Her head faces my direction, but her eyes are still cast to the corner. “Well… Finn may have admitted Ryland’s had teams calling him. So far he hasn't agreed to any tryouts though, so that’s good.” She rushes the last sentence to try and smooth over her news.

  A part of me, a deep part I refused to address, knew Ryland had to have teams calling. Even with his past trouble, he’s a top player in the sport. Teams want him regardless. It’s not news, but having it confirmed hurts. Why didn't he tell me himself? Is he planning to up and leave one night? Lock the door behind him and leave me and Goldie here alone?

  Never one to be good at over dramatics, except for those few months after my breakup with Cody, I stick an unaffected expression on and continue as if hearing Ryland’s on his way out the door doesn’t feel like a knife splitting open my chest cavity to dig around at the important tissue behind it. My heart.

  It must not convince them as I’d hoped because Simone leans over and pats me on the leg. “I’m sure he’ll talk to you about it eventually,” she says. Am I that easy to read? “Life always works out in the end even if you can’t see it right now. The important thing is to remember life is short and you should embrace it while you have it. Figure out the rest later.” Simone’s words are serene, but they do little to calm me. She lost her mom last year and is the best one to give out this kind of advice, but I can't help thinking it should be different for Ryland and me.

  A few hours of conversation later, Aspen and Simone leave, but I don’t move from my position on the tan couch. Do I have what it would take to be Ryland’s girlfriend? Does he even want me for the job? And if he did, could I handle the lifestyle? A move to England or wherever he ended up being paid to kick a ball around? Would I move? These last few weeks he’s been so normal it’s easy to forget my landlord’s a sports star. It's even easier to forget there are girls throwing themselves at him when he’s at a game. Coming off a horrible ending to my relationship with Cody, could I date Ryland without suspecting him of cheating every time he walked out the door?

  I pour myself the last of wine and lean back on the couch lost in the questions we’d face if we tried to make more of what we have going on now. I wish I had easy answers for them all, but I don’t. I wish I could be the kind of girl to send her man out into the world and trust him, but I’m not. But damn do I wish I could.

  The apartment door opens slower than the first time he barged in. There isn’t even a need for me to confirm it’s Ryland. Anyone else would knock. “Did Aspen leave?"

  An empty wine glass in my hand, I continue to hold it as I stare straight ahead at the black television screen. “Would you cheat on me?”

  He stops at the edge of the couch. “What?”

  “Have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?” I ask. I’m not sure where the question came from or why I asked it, but it sounds simple enough. Yes or no.

  “Who said I’ve ever cheated on someone?” He pauses. “And now we're in a relationship?”

  With the wine glass on the coffee table next to Goldie, I shrug. “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “Marissa…” He trails off and I grit my teeth refusing to tear up
or any of those other stupid emotions girls do when they don’t get the answer they wanted.

  I wave him away. “It’s okay, Ryland. I wanted to know and now I do.” I so wish I didn’t. I was happier in fantasy land.

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t want a relationship with you, but I don’t know what team will pick me up. My whole life is up in the air right now.”

  “So you’re going back to soccer?” It’s such a stupid question there's no reason for me to ask it, but there’s this masochistic need within me to hear him say the words.

  He takes a step back from the couch, maybe worried he’d be too close when dealing the blow. “Well yeah, eventually. I play soccer, Marissa. It’s the only thing I'm good at.”

  I allow our eyes to meet startled by how much truth his hold. What’d I think, we’d have sex a few times and he’d drop his career for me? I wouldn't ask that of Ryland or anyone. Hearing the truth sucked, but I’m glad it happened. At least it’s what I promise myself I’ll feel eventually. In a few years.

  With a genuine smile I pat him on the arm and stand grabbing empty wine glasses. “You’re right and you’ll kick ass once you're back on a team.”

  His chest puffs out a little. “You think?”

  “Yup. If you pick a warm place, maybe Aspen and I will fly out and watch a game.”

  He stops outside my kitchen while I load the dishwasher. “You’d fly out and see me play a game?” he asks in angry disbelief. "How often? Like what once? Twice?” Anger slashes each question as he spits the words out.

  Clueless to what I’ve done to upset him in the last five minutes, I shrug. “Sure, a couple. However many I could manage.” Soccer's a long season and my vacation days are limited.

  “That’s nice.” He uses a harsh tone and I finally lookup to see Ryland scowling at me from across the open bar area. “I wouldn’t want you to miss any important work at your job as a marketing assistant to watch me play a silly sport.”

  What the fuck? “Excuse me?”

  “Forget it. It’s good to see where I’ll stand with you when this is over.” He backs away to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning to take you to work.”

  The door slams behind him shaking a picture on the wall and I stomp over locking the deadbolt for the first time in two weeks. Screw him. Whatever his problem is he needs to figure it out on his own. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After a silent car ride to work this morning, I’d hoped for more from Ryland this afternoon. But we’ve both carried on with our childish game of giving each other the silent treatment. We’re really making our first fight worth its money.

  He parks in a designated space for the condo while the other two remain empty, and I shake my head at more proof of Ryland’s ridiculousness. I jump out of the car and close the door behind me.

  “Could you not slam my car door so hard?” Ryland’s eyes drill me to the spot as he leans over the hood of his car glaring at me.

  Deep breaths, Marissa. Deep breaths. “Why don’t you leave me a sticky note?” I yell back at him and walk on the elevator pressing the close button repeatedly. Unfortunately, he makes it in before the doors close on him and we stand side by side on either side of the small space.

  The door dings and I squeeze through as fast as possible. I stomp through Ryland’s condo and stop in front of my door searching my purse for the keys I never use any longer.

  “You locked your door?” Ryland leans against his doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest stretching another stupid white shirt and making his arms look nice. Stupid arms. Stupid Ryland. Stupid men.

  A nail scrapes the bottom of my leather purse, but I grazed the single key on my leather ring and rip it out. “Yeah, I didn’t want Goldie to feel unsafe.”

  He snorts, his head facing the ceiling. “Unsafe? What were you even planning to feed the fish while he lived in a water pitcher?”

  He didn’t question my fish raising skills, did he? I turn, purse my lips and narrow my eyes, “Bread.” My fingers pinch together to highlight the size of this answer, one I'm aware is ridiculous, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. “Little pieces of bread, Asshole." Truth be told, I hadn’t considered food at the time, but I would have…eventually.

  I walk into my apartment and slam the door behind me. It rattles the picture and I smile. That’s a door slam. Let’s hear him accuse me of shutting a stupid car door too hard again.

  There’s nothing to eat in the refrigerator and I shut the door harder than necessary for good measure. Clothes litter my room. Shoes are piled up in front of the closet door and I kick them out of the way as I stand in the small walk-in closet. There’s nothing I want to wear in here either, but I change into a pair of jeans and a big yellow boyfriend sweater to get out of my work clothes.

  With nothing else to do, I grab the clothes from the bed and work on hanging them back up. It’s something to get rid of my pent up anger over Ryland and his stupid pretty face. By the time the bed’s cleared, I’ve deflated from our current argument, but I’m not ready to apologize.

  Eventually I’ll break down and order food or go raid Ryland’s fridge where we’ve been storing our leftovers, but for now I'd rather continue to stew. There has to be an angry housewife on TV having a crappier day than I am.

  With hope I’ll find someone else’s misery to replace my own, I flick through the few hundred channels. At least the apartment came with a good cable package. The hunky landlord used to be my favorite part, but the TBS channel will never accuse me of fishy neglect. On the other hand, TBS doesn’t have a six pack and short hair I like to tickle my palm with.

  My butt vibrates from where my phone is stored in a back pocket and I lift up to grab it.

  Ryland: I’m an idiot.

  I try to stay angry and ignore his lame attempt at an apology, but it’s impossible. Before the next commercial break of a show I’m not even watching, I decide I’m not totally pissed anymore. What were we even fighting over in the first place?

  Of course I’m not ready to give in and let him know I’ve forgiven him just yet.

  Me: Yes, you are.

  My apartment door opens and Ryland peeks his head through but doesn’t enter. Maybe he’s worried I’ll throw my phone at him…… it’s not too far off. The thought did cross my mind.

  “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” He hesitates, but when I don’t scowl or jump up he enters the rest of the way keeping his eyes on where I sit on the couch.

  His clothes differ from when he picked me up from work. His shiny black workout pants have been replaced with a pair of sexy ripped jeans. Rather than his normal plain t-shirt, his chest is covered with a big and baggy grey sweatshirt, a weird red devil image in the center. A well-worn black San Francisco ball cap covers his short hair. It might be the most clothing I’ve ever seen him wear. He’s like a sexy bum. A sexy bum? I’ve officially lost my fucking mind.

  “In what way are you planning to make it up?” I ask without moving. An orgasm or two might do it. That or food. I’m always up for food.

  He sits on the couch beside me and lifts a hand turning my head toward him. “A movie?”

  “I could go for a movie.”

  His lips seek out mine, but the kiss is over before I want it to be. “That’s my girl. Let’s go.” His hand leaves from where he’d twisted it in my hair and he pats me on the knee like he’s encouraging on a best friend.

  Shouldn’t I get make-up sex? I’ve never had it before, but I’m pretty sure it’s a thing. There isn’t time to think about it as Ryland bounds out the door stopping in the hallway for me.

  **

  The theater is bright as Ryland picks seats in the middle placing me on the aisle. A few pieces of popcorn fall over the top of our shared bucket as I put my individual liter of cola in the holder to my left.

  The small amount of remaining annoyance I may have carried with me to the theater left when he purchased our tickets for Love Notes,
the movie I’d wanted to see all along. I didn’t press my luck by buying M&Ms for the popcorn, but Ryland’s insistence I get my own drink won him serious points.

  “There’s one more thing.” Ryland reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out an individual bag of peanut butter M&Ms —— my favorite kind — that aren’t sold at the theater. He rips the bag open and dumps them over the top of the large bucket of popcorn. “Good?”

  “You gotta shake it a little.” I tap the bucket on the chair’s armrest and smile up at him. “Thank you.”

  His lips find mine again for another quick peck. “You’re welcome, Kitten.”

  My eyes roll and I sigh, giving up on trying to correct him. It doesn’t do any good.

  “We can eat this now, right?” he asks taking a large handful of popcorn without M&Ms.

  “Sure, Tiger.”

  “Tiger. I like it.” He grins while chewing and I curse myself. I should have gone with a name he wouldn’t find sexy. Whale or maybe elephant.

  A large group of teenage girls enters the theater and takes seats behind us. Ryland lowers his ball cap and sits deeper in his seat. It’s a weird move to make and it takes me a few seconds to figure out he’s trying to hide from any potential fans to maintain our quiet evening. The whole incognito outfit makes sense now.

  “Ryland,” I start.

  He pushes a hand out to stop me. “Shhh don’t say my name out loud.”

  “No one in America watches soccer, Tiger.”

  His face tightens and he gives me a look full of disbelief. “I’m more worried about the underwear ads.”

  Now it’s my turn to be perplexed. “I’ve never seen any of your underwear ads.” I’d remember a face like his. Also I spent a piece of last weekend scouring the different magazines I made the girls bring to brunch. Seeing Ryland’s underwear image online isn’t the same as the glossy print version.

  He tilts his head to whisper in my ear. “Yes, but you’re not sixteen with a subscription to Vogue.”

  “I can see you in underwear if I buy a Vogue magazine?”