by Kaylee, Katy
Ugh. I let out a frustrated growl. I wanted that promotion and I couldn’t deny liking the challenge of turning attitudes about Ryder Malloy around. God if I could do that, I’d be the most sought-after publicist in the country. I just hoped my brother would forgive me.
Getting my head in the right place, I went to work. The obvious choice was to work to improve his image enough that he could get a booze endorsement since he was a party guy. But my bet with Alan was for something outside the playboy realm. That meant I needed to consider companies that sold sportswear and gear or maybe some sort of beverage. He was interested in securing his financial future, so maybe an investment firm would take him on. I shook my head at that idea. Maybe a clothing brand would want him. He was handsome and had the body to sell expensive suits or men’s briefs.
Although it was early to think about specific endorsements, knowing what brands he could approach could help me design a plan to improve his image in a way that would attract them. Of course, all of them would want someone who didn’t use women or get in brawls.
I did a search of his name on the Internet and discovered the last bit of bad press was a week before the championship game. He’d gotten in a scuffle in a bar in Chicago. But since then, there had been no coverage other than for his injury that made him unable to play in the championship game. Sports sites had a few lines indicating that he would return this fall. I supposed that was a good thing. He could behave when he wanted to. I only hoped he’d continue to do so.
Besides bad press, what he had working against him was the lack of public appearances. He’d done a few with the team but didn’t have any he’d done on his own. No visits to fans in hospitals or fulfilling a child’s dying wish to meet him. Was he such an asshole that he didn’t care?
He’d been cocky in high school, but not a jerk. I remembered Danny once saying that Ryder was suspended from a high school football game for missing practice, but it turned out he missed it because he was helping a middle school kid who had an asshole father like he did. Another time, people were making fun of a girl who had Down's syndrome, and Ryder first kicked the bullies’ asses, and then befriended the girl, knowing that people wouldn’t pick on her if he was looking out for her. He’d recruited Danny and a couple of other guys on the team to befriend her too. What happened to that guy?
After working on Ryder’s case, I put in time with my other clients until the end of the day and then headed home to my little condo. I spent my evening as I spent most of them; having dinner and binge watching something on TV.
The next day, I woke irritated because Ryder infiltrated my dreams. He was naked, showing off all that sexy beefcake. I’d wanted to make him leave, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he did glorious things to my body, starting by sucking my clit and it ended with him sending me to oblivion with his massive dick. I woke to my pussy convulsing in orgasm. Damn him!
I took a cold shower and dressed to meet him for lunch later. After I put in a couple of hours at work, I drove nearly two hours to the little restaurant on the beach in La Jolla. Today I wore another skirt and jacket combo, but put my hair up. I wanted to make sure Ryder wouldn’t get any ideas that we’d have a repeat of four years ago. Not that he’d given off any vibe yesterday that he was interested. I was probably an idiot to think he might be.
I walked into the restaurant and scanned the eating area.
“You here for Ry?” The man behind the bar asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“He’s out on the deck.” The bartender nodded toward the back of the restaurant. I followed his gaze, looking out the windows that filled the back of the restaurant overlooking the water. Ryder was sitting at a table, his gaze fixed on the water, a beer bottle in his hand.
“Thank you.” I wove my way through the restaurant and out the back. Had things been different, I’d have given him a hug when I saw him. Now, I gave him a tight hello and nod.
He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him, not bothering to stand. He had forgotten all those manners my mama taught him about standing and pulling out the chair. Or maybe he was just being contrary.
“Do you want food or just drinks?” he asked.
“I think drinks will be enough.” When the waitress arrived, I ordered an iced tea, while Ryder ordered a sandwich.
“So, what hopes do I have to jump through to improve my image?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “If you have such disdain for PR, why are you doing this?”
He shrugged. “Turns out I’m mortal. If I’m lucky, I’ll have ten more years of play.”
That would be lucky. Only a handful of quarterbacks still started in their late thirties and early forties.
“But you never know. I could get hit and have a career-ending injury the first game of the season. I like my house and my lifestyle. I’d like to keep them, which means I need endorsements.”
I worked to not roll my eyes at him wanting to keep his lifestyle. “Have you considered improving your attitude to attract women instead of using your money?”
He jerked back as if surprised by my comment. For a moment, I regretted it. Not because it may have hurt him, but because it was petty, and I liked to think I was better than that.
After a moment, he gave a sly grin. “It’s not the money they like, honey.” He waggled his brows.
I supposed I walked into that one. “Perhaps we should start with what companies you would you like to work with.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“There isn’t any brand you like?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
I blew out a breath. “How about hobbies? What do you do when you’re not playing football?”
He gave me that wicked grin again.
I rested my forearms on the table and looked him the eyes. “You’re not doing that now. So how will you fill your time?”
He smirked and drank his beer. “I like to drink whiskey when I’m not in training. I run. I work out. I hang out here.”
I looked around the restaurant, but it wasn’t the type of place that could afford a multimillion-dollar ad deal. And based on the number of people filing in for lunch, it didn’t need the publicity.
“Since we need to improve your image first before you can get an endorsement, perhaps we should start with things you could do to make people like you.”
He frowned. “Plenty of people like me.”
“Besides skinny women with big boobs and Orca fans.”
He laughed. “What more is there?”
“There’s getting out and showing you care about people. Why don’t you make any goodwill appearances?”
“I don’t like being paraded around like a freak show.”
I snorted. “You don’t think your playboy antics are a type of freak show?”
He shrugged like he was indifferent, but I saw the annoyance tighten his features.
“Don’t you like helping kids?”
“I like helping kids just fine. What I don’t like is making a spectacle out it. It feels fake.”
“Since when do you care about fake?” I leaned forward. “Have you ever been with a woman who didn’t have fake breasts?”
He leaned toward me, his eyes holding a predatory gleam. “I’ve been with you, sweetheart. I know yours aren’t fake.”
Four years ago, talk like this would have shocked me. Now after my years living in L.A. and working with jocks, it barely registered. Well, that wasn’t true. My nipples tightened as the memory of the way Ryder had touched and sucked them came on full force. But since I didn’t want to acknowledge how fantastic it had been, I pushed it away.
Instead, I reached for anger. “Really Ryder? You’re just an arrogant asshole that doesn’t care about anyone or anything.”
His jaw clenched. “Why bother?”
“You really are a fucking asshole,” I repeated my brother’s word.
He jerked again as if I’d slapped him.
“It was bad
enough that you took my virginity and led me on—”
“What?” The beer bottle stalled at his lips as he’d been about to take a drink.
“But sleeping with Phoebe? Your best friend’s fiancé? And then totally destroying his dream by taking away financing for the business? What is wrong with you?”
His beer came down with a loud clunk on the table. He stood, knocking his chair back. “You don’t know shit, Katie.” He shook his head in disgust at me and then strode off.
Ryder
This was a big mistake, I thought as I got in my car. I was fooling myself to think she’d be able to help me. She didn’t like me. She didn’t respect me. If she did, she might have considered, even for a second, that I hadn’t slept with Phoebe. The fact that she believed that meant she not only believed Danny but whatever Phoebe had said, too.
I was a playboy but Phoebe was a conniving bitch only out for herself. I blamed her as much as I blamed the rest. She’d set me up, and for some reason, I was the asshole, while they forgave her for confessing to something that never even happened. I hoped she and Danny were living in marital hell.
I was also a jerk for not giving him my money. Why would I invest in a business venture when my partner didn’t believe me? If he couldn’t trust that I didn’t sleep with his fiancé, then I sure as shit would not trust him with my money.
And what the hell did she say about my taking her virginity?
Fuck! I banged my hand on the steering wheel of my car. They could all rot in hell for all I cared.
I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, making my way east toward Interstate 5, the main freeway running north through California up to Canada. I headed south toward San Diego.
I used the drive to calm my nerves. I was probably the only man in the world who didn’t care about cars, which didn’t mean mine wasn’t nice. But it was chosen for comfort to fit my large frame, a quality radio, and a sunroof which was now opened letting the warm air blow through the car. I didn’t care so much about performance, sleek design, or make and model. I supposed that meant I’d never endorse a car brand.
I knew Katie didn’t think I gave a shit about anything, and I was surly enough to resist changing her mind. The truth was, I did have a few interests. Since my injury, I’d become much more knowledgeable about healthy living. I still drank my whiskey, but I ate organic, tried to meditate each morning, and even did yoga to keep my shoulders strong and flexible. Being in California, with its diverse and beautiful land, made me more aware of environmental issues. I drove an electric car, and I upgraded many features of my home to be earth-friendly, such as adding solar power.
One thing I cared a lot about was my uncle George and other vets who lived in the community he did outside of San Diego. When my life was shit, like it was this moment, that’s where I went to remind myself that so many others had it worse.
I parked my car in front of the clubhouse in the vet community knowing my uncle was probably at the pool with his cronies.
“Hey Ryder.” A sixty-ish woman wearing a visor and tennis skirt called to me as I made my way through the lobby.
“Mrs. Clemment, how are you?” I walked over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. The thing I liked the most about this community is that my shine wore off long ago. I wasn’t the big football star anymore. Instead, I was simply Ryder, George’s nephew.
“I’m about to beat the pants of Gladys Shuman in pickleball.”
I laughed. “Good for you.”
“You here to see George?”
I nodded. “And maybe play some catch with the kids.” Along with older retired vets, the community offered housing and resources to injured vets and those with families who were at risk of homelessness and other challenges that came from the perils of serving.
“You’re a good boy, Ryder. How come no one knows that?”
“I have an image to protect.” I winked at her. The truth was, no one cared about the real Ryder. Not really.
“Tell George he owes me five bucks from when I beat him in cribbage.”
“You know, Mrs. Clemment, no one will want to play with you if you always end up taking their money.”
She laughed. “I need to add to my retirement every way I can.”
I headed out back to the pool. My uncle George was actually a great-uncle. He’d been my grandfather’s brother. He served in the navy and retired to California years ago. He reached out to me when I was first traded to San Diego. Initially, I’d been apprehensive about meeting him. My family history so far had been the shits. My mother left the minute she put me on the bus for my first day of kindergarten, and my father was drunk most of the time and solved parenting issues with his fists. I supposed Katie wasn’t far off about me ending up like my father, although I’d never hit a kid or a woman. Just other drunk assholes.
It had worried me that George wanted money or something else when he contacted me, but he never asked for anything. Not money. Not favors. Nothing. He never married or had kids, and when we’d both learned about each other’s histories, we became each other’s family. He was the father or grandfather, I never had.
“There’s my boy.” George sat at a table with his buddies. His shirt was off showing his tanned skin and gray chest hair. He was in his 70s and still looked good, with a full head of gray hair, and bright blue eyes. In some ways, his life wasn’t much different than mine. Uncle George got along well with the ladies here in the community.
He stood, and we hugged. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve got troubles?”
“I don’t believe it,” his friend Clyde said. “I haven’t seen a single new adventure of Ryder Malloy in the paper for weeks.”
“I’m turning over a new leaf.” I sat at the table with them, along with another friend, Joe.
“Ah no,” Clyde said. “Not so young. Sow your oats boy, while the oats still work.”
“Speak for yourself,” George said.
“It must run in the genes,” Joe said with a head shake. “Even studs get old. Probably a smart thing to rein in the action and focus on your future.”
I nodded. “After my injury, I realized I need to make plans for my future. No brand wants to touch me right now.”
“Not even condoms?” Clyde asked.
Joe snorted.
I felt my cheeks heat. “I don’t know about that.”
“The problem with you, Ryder, is that all people see are the women and brawls,” George said.
“There isn’t anything else to me.”
“Bullshit.” George said it with such vehemence that it had all of us jerking to attention. He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t you go thinking that because of what your mama did and how your daddy treated you that you’re not worthy. You’re a great man, and I’m not talking about your ability to throw a football.”
A part of me felt good when he said that, yet another part of me felt he was wrong. If I was a man with worth beyond throwing a football, my mother wouldn’t have abandoned me and my father wouldn’t have used me as a punching bag. And Danny and the Lawton family would have believed me over Phoebe.
I shook my head at my woes.
“He’s right,” Joe said. “Look what you do here, and no one but us knows about it.”
“I don’t come here for accolades. To tell you the truth, I come here because I need to be around you.”
“Still, it’s a nice thing you do for all of us.” Joe lifted his glass of lemonade, that was probably spiked with vodka, at me.
“Hey, Ryder, Ryder,” Michael Alden rushed up to me with his pack of friends. The group ranged from eight to ten-year-olds. “Will you come play with us?” Michael held out his football.
“Well, gentlemen,” I said standing. “That’s my cue to go.”
“Don’t let them take advantage of you,” Clyde said.
I trotted with the kids out to a large grassy area.
“I want to be a quarterback just like you when I grow up,” Michael said.
�
�Me too,” a little girl named Jessica chimed in.
“Girls can’t be quarterbacks.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know. By the time you’re big enough, maybe there will be girls in football.”
Jessica grinned.
“Show ’em what you’ve got, Jess.” I handed her the ball. She cranked her arm back and threw the ball. It wobbled but sailed quite a ways. I caught it and did a victory dance.
The kids and I scrimmaged for a while before I told them they’d worn me out and I needed to rest.
“You’re out of shape,” one of the other kids said.
I nodded. “I need to work on that.” As I headed back toward the pool, several residents called me over to them.
They enjoyed hearing my stories about playing football, but the truth was, they were the ones who deserved to be idolized. These men and woman had sacrificed their bodies and often their sanity to defend our country. All I did was get paid an obscene amount of money to throw a football a few days a week. There was something wrong about that.
“Hey Ryder, come meet Pete here.” I walked over to where another vet, Vic, who was blind in one eye after getting hit with shrapnel in Desert Storm.
I walked over and extended my hand to the man Vic indicated. “Hi, Pete. Ryder Malloy.”
Pete gaped up at me from his wheelchair. He was probably in his forties and was missing his legs from the knees down.
“Ryder Malloy. I don’t believe it.” There was a twang to his voice that suggested he came from the south.
I sat in a chair next to him.
“Pete is new here. He’s from Tennessee,” Vic said by way of introduction.
“I was a Copperhead fan back when,” Pete said.
I laughed. “I didn’t get much play time with them.”
“They should have kept you, made you the starter and let Roberts go. Maybe then they’d be heading to the Super Bowl this year instead of the Orcas,” Pete said.
“From your mouth to God’s ears.”