Arrogant Devil

by R.S. Grey

  Some aspects of the business came easily: instead of charging a monthly fee, each of her yoga classes will be donation-based. That way there’s no barrier to entry. “Yoga for the people!” as she likes to say.

  Some aspects of the business took a little more thought, especially the name. She kept a journal with hundreds of options. She went back and forth on a few favorites, and then one night, while we were lounging on the couch with Alfred at our feet, she turned to me and asked how Blue Stone Ranch got its name. I couldn’t believe I’d never told her. I also couldn’t believe how perfect the timing was. She needed to know the story, and after being together for three years, I had a question I needed to ask her.

  In the late 1930s, my grandfather immigrated to the United States from England. He was sixteen, on his own, and dirt poor, but he was determined to make something of himself. Work on the railroad brought him to Central Texas. He liked it here, especially after having spent a few winters up north, and the heat never bothered him like the cold did.

  One day, while he was working and laying new tracks, he accidentally dug up a blue topaz. They’re common in this area, but this one was especially large and the color was unique enough that he knew he’d found something special enough to keep. He tucked it in his pocket and forgot about it until he was playing a game of poker later that night with a few guys from the railroad and a few local ranchers. He’d already used up what collateral he had when one rancher decided to up the ante, but he knew he was holding a winning hand. Then he remembered the stone in his pocket. He bet the blue topaz, won the game, and in the end, he walked away with a little bit of cash and a few acres of that rancher’s land. It was hardly worth anything at the time. The soil was rough and infertile, which is why the rancher had bet it in a card game in the first place, but my grandfather saw its potential.

  When it was time for his crew to move on to lay the next section of tracks, he quit working for the railroad and stayed in Central Texas. He had that land, but not much else. For two years, he cultivated it, trying to figure out a crop that could handle the clay-filled earth, eventually moving into raising cattle and acquiring more land. It was during those early years that my grandfather met Edith. She lived in the area with her family and he’d had his eye on her for months before he finally worked up the courage to ask her out on a date. Her parents weren’t impressed by a poor immigrant farmer and made their opinions known, but after only a few weeks of dating, Edith loved him just as fiercely as he loved her.

  Three months after that first date, he still hadn’t worked out how to make the land flourish. He had no money to buy her a ring, but he had that blue topaz, so that’s what he used to ask Edith for her hand in marriage.

  Edith wore that stone on her ring finger every day until she passed it down to me on my one-year anniversary with Meredith. I was ready to marry Meredith then, but I knew she needed more time. So, I gave it to her—two more years. Two more years of us building a life together on the ranch. Two more years of Meredith sinking roots into Cedar Creek. Two more years of that ring burning a hole in my pocket until one night while we lounged on the couch she asked me why Blue Stone Ranch was called Blue Stone Ranch. I told her the story and then I got down on one knee and asked her to marry me.

  Two weeks later, she and I got married at the courthouse downtown. She didn’t want to spend a year planning an extravagant day when all she wanted was to be my wife as soon as possible, so we agreed to elope. We planned on it being a small affair with Edith, Helen, and Brent acting as witnesses, but when we arrived, we were shocked to find that it was standing room only in the courtroom. Every ranch hand and employee from Blue Stone had crammed into the small space. Leanna and a few of the other women from Meredith’s weekly yoga group had decorated the room with flowers. Meredith didn’t walk down the aisle toward me; we walked hand in hand through a crowd of our closest family and friends toward the waiting judge. Meredith stood across from me in an altered version of Edith’s wedding gown and we said I do in the shortest ceremony known to man. Everyone whooped and hollered and demanded a second kiss after the first. I dipped her low and she squealed with excitement.

  Afterward, we celebrated in the park outside. Our friends have never fessed up as to who did what, but there were mismatched tables and chairs, flowers and decorations, and more alcohol and food than necessary. Every restaurant in the town had donated something so in the end we didn’t have one meal, we had half a dozen: barbecue, hamburgers, pasta, sandwiches, and salad. We had three different wedding cakes from three different bakeries and Meredith enjoyed smashing a bit of every single one in my face while our guests applauded a little too loudly.

  Edith tells me Meredith has softened my image, says because she believed I was good and decent, everyone else started coming around to the idea too. Maybe it’s true; I don’t know. We’ve been married seven months and my ranch hands are still pretty scared of me.

  “Can you believe this crowd?” Edith asks as I loop my truck onto Main Street and the Blue Stone Yoga sign comes into view.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to find parking.”

  “Check around back, see if there’s a spot behind the studio.”

  I end up having to block Meredith in, but it shouldn’t matter. She won’t be leaving the yoga studio any time soon anyway. It’s packed when we walk in. Everyone we know is here, even the guys who’ve never attempted yoga a day in their life. Sheriff Pete, Chris, Daniel—they’re all here to support Meredith. She’s turned the grand opening into an all-day event. There’re yoga classes in the back studio, free smoothies and snacks circulate around the lobby, and a bounce-house is set up outside for the kids and kids at heart. Edith bee-lines straight for it.

  “Tell Meredith I’ll be inside later!”

  It takes me too long to make my way back to Meredith. I get pulled in a million different directions, greeting everyone I pass. Finally, finally, I see her chatting with Helen, Dotty, and Leanna behind the front desk.

  They’re all oohing and aahing over her baby bump. I think I was happier than she was when it really became noticeable. Every morning for the last six months, she would turn sideways and ask me point blank, “If you didn’t know me, would you think I look pregnant?” and every day until recently, I would lie and exaggerate. “Oh yeah, definitely—watch where you point that big ol’ belly.”

  She spots me approaching and her face lights up. She excuses herself from the group and meets me halfway, where I press my hand to her stomach and lean down to kiss her.

  “How’s he doing?”

  She beams. “Good. Moving like crazy! If you leave your hand there for a little while, you’ll feel him. I think he’s as excited about today as I am.”

  I smile, and sure enough, a second later, I feel a little thump against my palm.

  “There! He just did it again,” she says, eyes alight with wonder.

  “He was giving his pop a high five.”

  She laughs and tips up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Are you staying for a while?”

  I had some things I needed to do on the ranch earlier, which is why I’m arriving a little late. “Until you leave.”

  She eyes my workout clothes. “Does that mean you’re going to take a class?”

  I nod. Admittedly, yoga wasn’t my thing when Meredith and I first started dating, but she’s convinced me to come around. I still get my down dogs confused with my up dogs, but I’m a hell of a lot closer to touching my toes than I was a year ago.

  “Are you teaching soon?”

  She’s my favorite teacher, and not just because she’s my wife.

  She checks the clock mounted on the wall behind the desk. “I have a pre-natal class in forty-five minutes.”

  “All right, I’ll man the desk for that one.”

  She grins. “Don’t worry, I’m teaching a flow class right after.”

  We’re interrupted soon after that. Everyone wants to say hello and feel her bump and congratulate her on the grand opening
. Cedar Creek has really shown up to support her. Every class is full and Meredith is shocked by the turnout, though she shouldn’t be.

  The next few months are going to be tough for us. She’ll have to take time off when Noah is born, but Edith and Helen have already volunteered to take shifts at the studio helping out as much as possible. On top of that, Meredith has trained a manager and four additional yoga instructors. She’ll be able to tackle a lot of the day-to-day operations from home, and I’m not worried. I’ll be taking time off too, and I can handle baby duty when she needs to come into the studio—I don’t expect her to put her dreams on hold to raise our son. I fully expect that he’ll end up growing up inside this studio. His first steps will probably take place on a mat somewhere in this lobby, and I’m okay with that. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  It feels like we’re right in the middle of the good part of life, the part you usually don’t realize you’re in until it’s over. We have so much to look forward to that I keep wanting to jump ahead. I can’t wait to be a father. I can’t wait to raise Noah with Meredith. I can’t wait to take him down to the creek and teach him how to do a backflip off the rope swing. I can’t wait to see Meredith pregnant with our second child, and possibly a third if I can convince her it’s a good idea. If I brought it up to her now while she’s still pregnant with this first one, she’d probably sock me square in the jaw.

  I’m not worried though. Wherever our path takes us, I know we’ll always have each other. After all, I made that promise to her way back when she first came to the ranch. I told her if she wanted us, if she wanted to make a deal, Edith and I could be her people.

  Even though I’ve been described as a devil by more than a few people, the name does have one redeeming quality: when you make a deal with me, you know I’ll keep my word, forever.

  THE END

  Yeehaw! I hope you enjoyed that little taste of Texas. If you love olympic athletes behaving badly, keep reading for an extended excerpt of my #1 Bestselling Sports Romance THE SUMMER GAMES: SETTLING THE SCORE.

  SYNOPSIS

  As an Olympic rookie, Andie Foster has spent far more time in her cleats than between the sheets. For 21 years, her Friday nights have consisted of blocking shots rather than taking them. But now that she's landed in Rio, she's ready to see for herself if the rumors about the Olympic Village are true:

  • The athletes are all sex-crazed maniacs...

  • The committee passes out condoms like candy...

  • The games continue long after the medals have been handed out...

  As Andie walks the line between rumor and reality, she's forced into the path of Frederick Archibald, a decorated Olympic swimmer and owner of a sexy British accent—too bad he's unavailable in a way that "it's complicated" doesn't even begin to explain.

  In other words: off limits.

  It doesn't matter that he has abs that could bring peace to the Middle East and a smile that makes even the Queen blush; Andie fully intends on keeping her focus on the soccer field. But the Village is small. Suffocating. Everywhere Andie goes, Freddie happens to be there—shirtless, wet from the pool, and determined to show her a whole new meaning of the phrase "international affairs".

  Chapter One

  Andie

  EVERYONE HAS HEARD the rumors about the Olympic village—not the details of the world-class amenities and supercharged meal plans, but the whispers about the trouble athletes get into once they’re off the track and in the sack.

  The committee passes out condoms like candy.

  The athletes are all sex-crazed maniacs.

  The games continue long after the gold medals are handed out.

  In 2000, the IOC officials dished out 70,000 condoms. They must have felt the walls shaking harder than expected, because they reportedly ordered 20,000 more after the first week of competition. For the Sochi and London Games, they upped the ante to over 100,000 prophylactics for the 6,000 competitors in attendance. If you do the math, that’s 16 to 17 love gloves per athlete, for an event that lasts less than a month. So, whispers or not, the message rings loud and clear: when the flame is lit, let the games begin.

  Kinsley Bryant, my mentor on the women’s soccer team, assured me that all the rumors about the village were true. She’d competed in the last summer games and lived to tell the tale, but this was different. Her first games had been in proper London-town. This time around, we were in sunny Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a city well acquainted with debauchery. The moment we stepped off the plane, I could feel the excitement in the air. Tourists and athletes flooded into customs. The crowds were alive, in a rush, and speaking a million different languages all at once.

  Outside the airport, I drew in a heavy breath, trying to make sense of the circus. Street vendors shouted for our attention (“Pretty necklace for a pretty girl!”) and taxi drivers promised low fares (“We take you where you want to go! Cheap! Cheap!”). My first five minutes in the city proved colorful, loud, and intoxicating.

  “This way, ladies!” our team manager said, waving her hand in the air to usher us toward a row of waiting shuttles. I hiked my backpack up on my shoulder and dragged my suitcase behind me. I wanted to take my time and soak it all in, but they were already dividing us into groups and shoving us into the shuttles. We were heading toward the Olympic Village and my body hummed with excitement. What would it be like? Would I even be able to walk outside my room without coming face to face with some German rugby player’s überdong? Would they be shooting condoms at us with a t-shirt cannon like at basketball games, or would there be an attendant in each room with a silver tray full of magnums? “Boa tarde, here’s your room key and some lube.”

  Surely they’d be more discreet than that.

  “If we have to sit for much longer, my legs are going to shrivel up and I won’t be able to compete,” Kinsley said, drawing me out of my obsessive thoughts.

  She turned from her perch in the middle row and assessed the three of us crammed into the back of the shuttle. Nina, another rookie, sat beside me, quietly working away on a Sudoku puzzle. Michelle was on the other side of her, checking her phone. So far, they’d both proved to be bumps on a log. I had tried to get them out of their shell during the long flight from L.A., but it was no use.

  “I agree,” Becca said, turning around and propping her elbows on the back of her seat. Kinsley and Becca were both veterans on the team, but at that moment they looked like two detectives about to interrogate us. “I think we need something to entertain us until we get to the village.”

  Kinsley suggested a round of fuck-marry-kill, but since the other rookies lacked both homicidal and matrimonial tendencies, we ended up just going around the shuttle and choosing which athlete we would have sex with if the opportunity presented itself.

  “What about you?” Kinsley asked me, wiggling her brows for emphasis.

  I smiled. “Sorry, I don’t have a dick-directory going.” I figured there would be enough good-looking guys roaming the grounds that I wouldn’t have to worry about preparing a hit-it-and-quit-it list beforehand. “Old fashioned, I guess.”

  She arched a brow. “Seriously, not one guy comes to mind?”

  I shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find one soon enough.”

  “Boo! You suck,” Becca chimed in. “Who’s next?”

  “Freddie Archibald!” Michelle exclaimed, finally glancing up from her phone.

  “Mmm, Freddie,” Nina agreed, pausing her Sudoku game long enough to stare wistfully out the window.

  I scrunched my nose. “Who’s that?”

  “He swims for Great Britain,” Michelle explained with a look of horror on her face. Apparently I should have already known who he was. “His full name is Frederick Archibald and he’s like British royalty or something. Total package.”

  With a name like that, I pictured a stuffy prince with a royal stick up his ass.

  “Okay then, what about you two? Who would you pick?” I asked, turning the tables on Kinsley and Becca.<
br />
  Kinsley flashed her left hand with the big fat diamond sitting on her ring finger. “Sorry, can’t play if I’ve already won.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. Kinsley was married to Liam Wilder, a soccer god and an assistant coach for our team. They’d met when Liam started coaching her college soccer team before the last Olympic Games. Becca was also married to a soccer player—one of Liam’s old teammates—and between the four of them, they were quite a photogenic bunch. Every time I checked out at the grocery store, there was a sports magazine with at least one of their faces plastered across the cover. When I’d been called up to the Women’s National Team, they’d enthusiastically adopted me into their fearsome foursome. Moving from Vermont to L.A. had been a rocky transition, especially when paired with Olympic training, but Kinsley and Becca had proven to be the older sisters I’d never had but always wanted.

  “So do those rings mean you guys can’t come to a party with me tonight?” I asked with a sly smile.

  Kinsley narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Brazilian swimmers messaged me on Facebook. They’re hosting a themed party and I was planning on going.”

  “Count me out,” Nina said. “Jetlag.”

  Michelle nodded. “Same here.”

  Shocker.

  Becca and Kinsley exchanged a worried glance over my party plans, but that wasn’t surprising. Over the last few months, I’d tried to convince them that I was an adult, but they still saw me as the wide-eyed rookie from Vermont.

  I understood their worry; I didn’t have much experience with partying and I’d only really traveled abroad during the qualifying matches a few months prior. Not to mention, we’d all been fed the same spiel about Rio’s crime rates during a “Safety at the Games” seminar, but it wasn’t like I’d be out walking the streets alone at night.