by M. L. Broome
With Greg, I’m his buddy, Ryder. Not Ryder Gray, the international racing superstar that graces the covers of magazines. There’s peace in that knowledge. His friendship is genuine, and even though he knows how much money I make, he’s never asked for a dime. Not one loan, not one favor.
Okay, maybe one.
He called a few weeks ago, asking me to be the best man at his wedding. True to form, Greg bucked tradition, opting for a wedding in Vegas. To quote him, a weekend of drunken debauchery in Sin City.
I declined, even though I know it hurt Greg. It’s not that I don’t love my friend, but I couldn’t show up and have Greer walk in, her husband and children in tow.
It’s safer to exist in my sphere of denial.
Not that I don’t think of my Gigi, wondering how her life turned out.
Wishing for one more chance with her. This time, I’d never let her go. No matter what. Hell, I scoff at the idea of marriage, but I’d march Greer’s ass down the aisle so fast her head would spin.
But it doesn’t matter.
Some wishes don’t come true.
To be fair, my current girlfriend is no slouch. She’s literally the former Ms. America. Not too damn shabby. But aside from looking good on my arm, there’s nothing there.
Mandi and I have an agreement. Love is secondary when you’re a celebrity; a sad but true fact. The world doesn’t care if you have a happy life, so long as it looks fabulous.
Mandi and I look fabulous together, and it was fun for the first few months. Until she started hinting around about a ring, and I know that is one plank I’m not walking. I often wonder how much longer I can delay the inevitable breakup because the glitter wore off months ago.
A little boy tugs my sleeve, jogging me back to the present. “Can I have your autograph?” He hands me a piece of paper and I sign it with a smile. Kids always make me smile, especially since I remember being that boy with stars in his eyes.
Now, I’m the star.
“It’s a trip, isn’t it?” Colton questions, busy signing his own share of autographs. The man is a racing legend, even if he hasn’t competed in years. He’s also my mentor and the big brother I never had. Without his help, I doubt I would have made it this far.
Colton moved from the driver’s seat to team ownership a few years ago—a far safer position physically but a hell of a gamble financially. Lucky for him, his racing tenure earned him connections. Connections with bottomless pockets. Those pockets helped him finance an F1 team.
That is a monstrous feat, and although we lack the funding of Mercedes or Ferrari, we have something else. Me. When I’m behind the wheel, I can’t lose, and I’ve proven it time and again, claiming title after title.
When Colton first approached me about joining him, I was flabbergasted and immediately on board. It was a challenge, and let’s be honest, I thrive under pressure.
“Mr. Gray, do you ever get scared?” The little boy’s eyes widen as I return the signed piece of paper.
Ruffling his hair, I shake my head. “Not when I’m racing.”
It’s the truth. It’s an exhilarating idea that anything can happen when I slide behind the wheel. One wrong move, and it’s all over. I know that, and yet I continue to slide behind the wheel, laughing in the face of danger.
Fear never gets a seat.
Not in my car.
Fear is a four-letter word in the world of racing.
“No fear. No consequences. All flow.” It’s my motto, one I’ve repeated countless times. But it’s more than that. It’s a mantra, reminding me the track is home and the only thing to which I owe any explanations.
After a few more minutes of conversing with fans, Colton and I stroll to the parking lot. I don’t mind chatting with them, and I’m lucky Charlotte is a cosmopolitan enough city that I blend into the fray most days. Usually, I go about my business without interruption. But it’s almost racing season, and Charlotte is a racing city.
Despite a storied history of racing, Charlotte lacked an F1 team, but Colton changed all that, bringing an entirely new level of speed to the birthplace of NASCAR.
“Does Mandi know you got home early?” Colton tries to maintain a straight face, but I see the grimace crawl across his features. He’s not a fan of my girlfriend, and I’m sure his wife, Rylee, has much to do with that opinion.
Rylee is my unofficial big sister, and she desperately wants me to fall in love and settle down. She knows that won’t happen with Mandi.
She’s 100% correct there.
Not happening.
Definitely not with Mandi.
I shake my head, pursing my lips. “If I had, she would be up my ass wanting to go to dinner and a club. I’m so not up for that.”
“Sounds like you’re not up for her, anymore.”
I nod, chewing the inside of my lip. He’s right. She’s hot and a decent lay, but I’ve been over this relationship for months now. Apparently, so has Mandi. Why else would she have cheated on me earlier this year?
At this point, the relationship is built more on logistics than love. Not that it was ever built on love. Lust? Sure. Love? Not even close.
“You’re right, Colton, but it’s tricky since we live together.”
Colton claps me around the shoulder, a knowing smile on his mouth. “No, it isn’t. It’s your house. If you don’t want her there, tell her to leave. See? Problem solved.”
“If only it were that easy.” I wave him off before sliding behind the wheel of my ride, a noisy exhalation flowing from my mouth.
Time to go home.
I note the strange sedan parked in my driveway as I pull into my garage. Who the hell drives a beat-up Honda? Knowing Mandi, it’s some member of her beauty squad, called in to primp her to perfection.
I get it. Mandi bases her reputation on beauty and glamour. I just wish there was something beyond the stunning facade. Something deeper that would last once the beauty fades.
To be honest, it’s all a sham. Mandi still lives in my house, but it’s partly for show and partly because I lack the motivation to kick her out. Evicting her will no doubt result in a long and drawn-out argument, complete with tears and whining. I should have forced her to leave when those photos of her with another man surfaced in the tabloids, especially after she admitted to the tryst.
Her excuse for knocking boots with someone else? I’m emotionally distant and won’t discuss a future together.
If she thinks fucking another guy is going to force me into a long-term commitment, she’s dumber than I thought.
If only I had an irrefutable excuse to get her out of my life, before I lose the last vestiges of my sanity.
What was I thinking, letting this woman I barely knew move into my home? Her reasoning made sense at the time—how do we build a relationship when she’s in California and I’m in North Carolina?
The truth was I thought we were having fun together. Casual fun that didn’t involve any commitment. But she was insistent, and I figured, what the hell, let’s give it a shot.
So, we started playing house, which has now morphed into a macabre version of its former self—pretty coats of paint to cover the crumbling walls of our relationship.
And my digs are far fancier than her Los Angeles apartment. It is a beautiful house, but it never felt like home. A home is filled with more than upscale furnishings and top-of-the-line electronics. It oozes love and laughter and warmth.
My house has none of those things, although I pray one day it will. One day I’ll meet a woman who makes me feel like Greer Hammond did that New Year’s Eve. I was a fucking king. I was her king.
The shortest reign in history.
Pausing by my gate, I let my gaze linger over the lagoon-style pool. Once again, my thoughts flit to Greer. She loved basking by her parent’s pool and I could spend hours watching her. Her body was beautiful at eighteen. At thirty, she was superb. Her curves had blossomed, and the feel of them under my hands as I kissed her was my definition of perfection.
>
Greer Hammond will always hold a piece of my heart. But she’s gone, slipped through my grasp, and married to some doctor on Long Island… or wherever she’s living now.
Greer, I would marry in a heartbeat. Everyone else can sit down and shut up.
It doesn’t do me any good to live in the past, even if those hours with her still make my mouth water. The way she kissed, the way she tasted. No one else has ever come close.
With a grunt, I step inside, forcing all thoughts of Greer to the back of my mind. There’s an eerie silence inside my house, odd considering Mandi’s teacup poodle is usually yapping at my feet by now.
I know she’s here. Her car—rather, my car, is in the garage, along with that strange vehicle in the driveway. Who knows?
I stroll to the fridge but pause with the door open as I hear an all too familiar sound emanating from upstairs.
The grunting and low moans indicate one thing, and I’m pretty damn sure it isn’t a porno party.
I wait for the anger to sweep over me, but all I feel is an immense relief. Mandi has inadvertently handed me my ticket to freedom. Now I can hand her walking papers, ending this facade of a relationship.
I climb the steps toward the guest suite, pushing the door open with my foot. “Nice of you to use the guest room.”
There’s a feeling of power when you slide behind the wheel of a race car, but it pales compared to the thrill I feel as Mandi and her boy toy leap apart.
Hey, they stacked the wood. I simply lit the match on the tinderbox.
Time to watch it burn.
“Ryder. You’re home early.” Mandi’s face pales with shock, her eyes darting to all corners of the room.
“Why does everyone say that when they’re caught cheating? Is that the best you can do? Honestly, I deserve something a bit more original.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stifle a laugh as they scamper about, grabbing their clothes. The guy can’t be a day over twenty and looks like he’s seen a ghost as he runs past me, his hands covering his dick.
Seconds later, the front door slams. Easy come and easy go.
Now it’s time to deal with the real problem. Pulling out my phone, I dial my travel agent. “I want a one-way ticket to Los Angeles, please. Tonight, if possible.”
Mandi’s eyes widen, but I ignore her non-verbal cues until I finish purchasing the ticket. With a final click, her fate is sealed.
“What are you doing, Ryder?”
“Putting you on a plane. You’re going home tonight. You can thank me later for sending you first class.”
“I live here.”
“Correction. You lived here. Now, you’re homeless. Better call your Mom because that friend of yours doesn’t look like he can afford a mailbox, much less an apartment.”
Mandi moves toward me, but I hold up my hands, stopping her mid-step. “We need to talk about this. I know how it looks—”
I bark out a laugh. “It looks like you were fucking someone else. Do you know why? Because you were fucking someone else.”
Tears fill her light blue eyes, but she must be insane if she thinks I’m going to pity her predicament. “Please—”
“Mandi, we’ve been unhappy for months. Miserable, in fact, as made obvious by your extracurricular activities. I’m tired of pretending we mean anything to one another.”
“You mean something to me.”
“No, I don’t, and that’s fine.” Glancing at the time, I hold out my phone in Mandi’s direction. “Better get packing. Your ride to the airport will be here in an hour. Don’t worry, I’ll have someone send you the rest of your things.”
A single tear slips down her cheek. But I feel nothing.
Okay, that’s a lie. I feel like an enormous weight has been lifted, along with the overwhelming urge to party it up for the next few days.
I have the perfect solution.
“One hour,” I reiterate, as I turn on my heel, marching to the master suite. A small whine sounds from the bed, and I plop down next to the dog, scratching his ears. “So, that’s where she hid you. I know, you would have warned me. Guys have to stick together.”
With a sigh, I open the door, letting him scamper back to his mistress. He adores Mandi. No accounting for taste.
Time for me to finalize my new plans for the weekend. My childhood friend is getting married, and the idea of Vegas heat and Vegas strippers sounds like an excellent idea.
Fuck love. In all its forms.
And fuck Greer, too. All the love and unrequited feelings I’ve been carrying around for two decades can shove off. So what if she’s happily married? By the time she arrives in Vegas with her husband, I’ll have a woman under each arm… and a few more waiting in my bed.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Greg lets loose with a loud guffaw when he answers the phone. “Holy shit. Ryder Gray, as I live and breathe. How have you been, buddy?”
“It’s been an interesting week. Change of plans. I’m going to make your wedding if I’m still invited.”
“Absolutely. I don’t know if there are any more rooms available, but you can bunk with Jillian and me. The hotel isn’t anything fancy, but it’s the company that counts. I’d love for you to be there.”
See? This is why I love Greg. “Give me five minutes.”
Good to my word, I call him back with the surprise.
“Did you change your mind?”
“No, but you are changing venues. I booked a floor of suites at The Cosmopolitan. You’ve been my friend forever. It’s the least I can do.”
“Holy shit, Ryder. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Consider it a wedding gift. Let me send you out in style.”
“Wow.” I can tell by Greg’s voice he’s truly touched by my gift. Since he was ten, his life has been focused on survival. It’s time he got a bit of luxury thrown in there. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. This is what friends do.”
“Can you do something else for me?”
Okay, apparently shelling out twenty grand wasn’t enough for Greg. “Sure.”
“Will you stand up with me? Be my best man? Right now, Jillian’s brother is filling in, and to be honest, I hate the douchebag.”
I relax onto the mattress with a chuckle. “Come on, now I have to wear a tux? Fine, so long as I have time to find some beautiful women beforehand.”
“You had no issue before. Wait, aren’t you dating someone?”
“Was. She’s moving out, as we speak.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I snicker. “I’m thrilled. It’s been hell for months.”
“Hey, I’ve got an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“You can be Greer’s plus one.”
I sit up with a start at his words, gripping the phone like a vise. “What?”
“My sister, Greer.”
“I know who your sister is, Greg.” Does he seriously think I’ve forgotten Gigi?
“You used to have the hots for her, remember? I get it, because she’s beautiful, even if she’s still a pain in the ass.”
I damn near choke as I spit out the next question. “What about her husband and kids?”
Greg snorts into the phone. “She’s never been married. No kids.”
“She was dating that doctor.”
“Was. He screwed her over pretty bad, but that was years ago. She’s totally over it, now.”
My mind reels at Greg’s words. Gigi is single. I’m single.
Despite the events of the last thirty minutes, a giant grin crosses my face. “Gigi is single.” I don’t mean to say the words aloud, but Greg chuckles when he hears them.
“Don’t tell me you still have a thing for my sister.”
“No,” I lie, forcing a laugh. “Not at all.”
“Fucking liar. I can’t wait to see you.”
“You, too. It’s been too long. I have something I want to talk to you
about in Vegas. A job, if you’re interested.”
“Always up for hearing about new opportunities. I’ll see you soon.”
Clicking off the call, I fall back on the mattress, running a hand over my beard. Greer Hammond is single.
Not for long.
The thought pops into my brain, my smile widening at the idea.
This time, I won’t let her get away.
This time, Greer Hammond is mine.
A thud reverberates from down the hall. Time to check on Mandi’s progress with packing. If the banging outside the door is anything to go on, she’s none too happy with the turn of events.
Too damn bad, Mandi. Too damn bad.
Chapter 3
Greer
I stare at the half-empty suitcase, seriously questioning my brother’s decision to marry in Vegas. How the hell does one even pack for this type of event? Bridesmaid dress, bikini, crotchless panties?
Okay, I don’t own any of the latter, but that doesn’t make this task any easier. With a groan, I toss in another bathing suit. Who doesn’t bring a load of swimwear to the middle of the desert?
“Greg, I could kill you for this,” I grumble to my empty apartment.
It’s not that I don’t love my brother. In fact, I adore the man. But his destination wedding is costing me money I don’t have, and I seriously doubt I can work any more hours without falling flat on my face.
Isn’t being broke grand? I’ll be out of debt eventually… if I live that long.
So, despite this being Greg’s wedding weekend, I tried to finagle my way out of attending, claiming the clinic was busy and understaffed. Figures Greg knew someone in the unit to negate my claim.
Damn that man. He’s like the mayor of our small town.
If only Greg could rein in his drinking, he likely could run for public office. He’s more than personable, although he abandoned any lofty career ambitions years ago when he had to give up racing. I still bear a grudge against my father for stripping away my brother’s happiness.
Have you ever seen the look on a child’s face when you tell them the only thing that matters to them is no longer an option? It’s the definition of heartbreak.
