by A. S. Teague
I wave back, my stomach doing flips, and squint to get a peek at his passenger. I saw Ryker’s grandmother at some of the fights, but I never had the chance to meet her. The guys all loved her, and she had a reputation as being a spitfire who would put you in your place while making you a batch of cookies.
My stomach flutters as I make my way down the steps. I’m halfway to the car when the passenger door opens, and she steps out. She’s wearing a dress patterned with small flowers and a white, wide-brimmed hat atop her gray, perfectly styled hair. Small and well put together, she looks much the same as she always did and every bit the Southern debutant that I have no doubt she probably was.
My anxiety suddenly shoots through the roof, and I stumble. Quickly, I right myself and continue to the car before stopping right in front of Gram.
I extend my hand out to her. “Good afternoon. I’m Rebecca. It’s so nice to meet you.”
She looks down at my hand and then back to my face before grasping my outstretched hand in both of hers. They’re soft and warm, and when she smiles at me, my panic begins to subside.
“Well, Rebecca, aren’t you a beauty. I’m Eleanor, but you can just call me Gram,” she says, her eyes sparkling. Looking back over her shoulder, she calls to Ryker, “You didn’t tell me she was this pretty.”
Her compliment makes my chest constrict, and the last of my anxiety melts away.
Ryker’s grin grows, and he replies, “You didn’t ask, Gram.” He looks to me and winks. “Now, why don’t you let go of her hand and let’s go eat? We gotta hurry if we wanna beat the Baptists to the fried chicken!”
Gram gives my hand one last squeeze and then steps aside so that I can climb into the tiny backseat of Ryker’s sports car. Once she’s settled back in the passenger seat, Ryker puts the car in gear, and we take off.
The conversation on the way to the restaurant is light and comfortable, and I quickly see why so many fighters loved Gram. She’s cracking jokes that are borderline inappropriate, her heavy Southern accent only serving to make them funnier.
We pull into the parking lot of the K&W Cafeteria, and Gram stays in her seat until Ryker comes around and opens the door for her.
“A gentleman always opens the door for a lady, Rebecca. Always,” she says over her shoulder as Ryker pulls her door open.
He reaches in and helps her out of the car before doing the same for me.
She pats Ryker’s arm. “And I raised my Barney to be a gentleman.”
Ryker’s face immediately flushes, and I wrinkle my brow.
“Uh, Barney?” I ask.
Ryker closes his eyes as though he’s in pain and breathes, “Jesus.”
Gram is looking back and forth between us, a sly grin on her face. “Oh, that’s right. I forget that you go by that silly name now.” She dismissively waves her hands. “I never did understand that, but then again, there are a lot of things you do I don’t understand.”
I’m choking a laugh back when I ask, “Your name’s Barney?”
Ryker’s eyes pop open, and he narrows them on Gram. “Thanks a lot.”
She feigns ignorance and says, “For what, Barney?” before chuckling to herself and shuffling away.
Ryker turns to follow her, but I grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks.
He growls, “Don’t.”
After holding it in for as long as possible, laughter erupts from my throat, and I double over at the waist in an attempt to catch my breath.
“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” he deadpans.
Tears roll down my cheeks, and while looking at him through watery eyes, I see that, despite his gruff tone, a small smile is playing on his face.
Standing in the parking lot of the K&W Cafeteria, I howl with laughter for so long that my sides begin to ache. When I’ve finally managed to contain my amusement, I ask, “So, your real name’s Barney, huh?”
He shakes his head and mumbles, “No, it’s worse than that.”
My eyes widen. “Worse? Than Barney? There’s something worse than being named after a purple dinosaur?”
Ryker slings his arm around my shoulders and guides me inside. “Hey, Barney was named after me,” he quips. “And yeah, so much worse. But that’s more like date-three information.”
Lunch is great. We laugh and chat. Surprisingly enough, I get along with Gram like we are long-lost girlfriends. Ryker spends most of the meal cringing and flinching as Gram details exactly what ol’ Barney was like as a boy, but he does it with his hand resting on my thigh under the table.
I hate to admit it, but being with Ryker and his grandmother feels good. It feels right. And that scares me.
As we finish lunch, Gram spots a couple of ladies from her water aerobics class and excuses herself to speak to them. A few minutes later, she informs us that she’s going shopping and will get a ride home.
After a short exchange with Ryker, Gram puts her foot down and we say our goodbyes. After I promise Gram that I’ll come visit soon, we’re on our way home. My stomach begins to flutter with nerves again. This time, I’m apprehensive about what Ryker expects when he drops me off. After yesterday’s visit, I know what’s on his mind. And, while I did, in fact, wear the jeans and little black heels he requested, I’m not sure how I feel about them “digging into his back,” as he so eloquently stated.
I thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon, getting to know Ryker’s grandmother. And, much to my dismay, spending time with Ryker was not only bearable, but also enjoyable. It seems like the more time I spend with him, the more I am falling for his charm. Throughout our lunch, when he’d say something funny or smile in my direction, I’d find my stomach flipping. Then he’d look at his grandmother with such adoration in his eyes that I couldn’t help but swoon.
By the end of our meal, I almost completely forgot that I am supposed to hate him. When he pulled my hand into his as we were walking to the car, I didn’t snatch it away from him. My fingers had a mind of their own, and they squeezed his hand in response.
Once we are on our way home, I turn the radio on and tune it to my favorite classic rock station. Settling back in my seat, I close my eyes and let Rod Stewart’s voice wash over me.
I’m still analyzing our lunch when the chorus of the song hits, and the sound of a dying cat jolts me out of my thoughts.
My eyes fly open, and I whip my head to the left. Ryker’s mouth is wide open as he sings the lyrics to “If You Think I’m Sexy.”
He looks over while drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel and grins as he finishes butchering one of my favorite songs.
I turn the volume down. “That. Was. Terrible.”
He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Come on. You know you liked it.”
I shake my head and giggle as he pulls into the parking lot. “If you say so.”
I wrap my fingers around the handle of the door, and Ryker grunts at me.
“Unh uh. What did Gram tell you earlier?” he scolds. Then he folds his large body out of the car and saunters around to my door.
When he takes my hand to help me out, my fingers tingle. I bite my lip and pretend his proximity doesn’t send a tingle somewhere else.
“You good?” he asks, tugging on my hand as we walk up to my front door.
“Yeah. Great,” I reply, shaking my stupor off. “Thanks for lunch. Your gram is awesome.”
Ryker brushes the hair from my shoulder, and the contact causes sparks to shoot through me.
“She’s something, all right. Thanks for coming. I know she enjoyed having someone besides me to talk to.”
He leans in toward me, and panic strikes again. I put my hand on his large chest, stopping him—or groping him. I’m not completely sure. My mind is a mess when it comes to him.
“What are you doing?” I whisper in an attempt to buy time.
“Kissin’ you,” he states, his lips tipped up in a sexy smirk.
Shit. What do I do? “You can’t kiss me.”
His eyebrows wrinkle together. “Why the
hell not?”
“Because!”
Taking a step closer, he growls, “Because is not an answer, Rebecca. But you know what is?” His smirk becomes an arrogant smile. “Letting me kiss you.”
I step back to put some distance between us, but I’m stopped short by the door.
Following me, he continues in a low voice. “In case you forgot what I said yesterday, we’ve got something going on. You’ve been sending mixed signals, but it’s a fuckin’ act, ’cause I know you feel it, too. So stop tellin’ yourself there’s nothin’ going on between us.” He gestures a hand in the narrow space between us, his fingertips lightly brushing my chest. “So, now that we’ve got that straight, tell me why it is that I can’t kiss you.” His face is dangerously close to mine, and I’m afraid that, if I speak, my lips may accidentally brush his.
“I––I can’t think with you this close,” I confess softly.
“You don’t need to think,” he whispers back, his face coming even closer to mine until our noses are practically touching.
“Ye––yes, I do!” I whisper-shout, tripping over my words.
His grin reappears as he shakes his head at me. “No. You. Don’t.”
“Ryker…”
With a frustrated growl, he crashes his lips to mine, silencing my feeble attempt at a protest.
My mind screams at me to push him away, but my body responds to his mouth moving over mine, and instead of ending the kiss, I fist his shirt and pull him closer. Cupping the side of my head, he uses his free hand to pull my hips flush with his.
I moan against his mouth.
His tongue licks across my lips, seeking permission to enter, and they instantly obey.
As our tongues glide together, I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders and sift my fingers through his hair. A voice in the back of my mind reminds me that I shouldn’t be kissing him, but I quickly silence it, my entire body becoming electric as Ryker continues to kiss me against my front door.
Abruptly, he stops ravishing my mouth, and I whimper, the loss of his lips more disappointing than I care to admit.
He takes two steps back and turns away, thrusting his hands in his hair. His chest heaves, matching mine as I try to catch my breath.
He begins to pace, still gripping his hair.
Unsure of what the hell just happened, I call, “Uh, Ryker?”
“Tell me,” I demand gruffly.
She runs her fingers across her swollen lips, and I fight the urge to replace her fingers with my lips.
I didn’t want to stop kissing her, maybe ever, but I needed to know why she was fighting her attraction so hard. And I needed to know now.
“Tell you what?”
“Why do you hate me?”
“Ryker,” she breathes.
“Now, Rebecca. I need to know what the fuck I could have possibly done to you in the past to make you hate me when we have chemistry”—I shove a finger toward her door—“like that.”
Shaking her head, she whispers, “You called me a cunt. And a bitch.”
Afraid she’ll clam up, I soften my voice and ask, “When?” I take a step back to give her space even though every cell in my body is screaming at me to scoop her into my arms and drag her inside like we’re back in the dark ages.
I wanted to feel Rebecca’s lips on mine the moment I walked into Team Undisputed and saw her sitting behind the desk. When she gave me shit, I damn near embarrassed myself. And then she unintentionally straddled me a few nights ago and it took every ounce of restraint I possess not to take her right then and there. Despite her comments to the contrary, she is attracted to me. I know it, and she knows it.
She shrugs, crossing her arms across her chest. “Before your fight with Breccan.”
My gaze drifts down to her cleavage as I ask, “What the hell are you talking about?”
She lets out a frustrated sigh. “At the weigh-ins. Well, after the weigh-ins.”
She doesn’t elaborate, so I tear my gaze away from her breasts and prompt her. “You’re gonna have to jog my memory, doll.”
She huffs. “It was after the weigh-in. You and Breccan had gotten in each other’s faces.”
I nod at her. “Yeah, I remember that part. Get to the part where I called you a cunt and a bitch.”
Squaring her shoulders, she glares at me. “After the press conference, Breccan, Tripp, and I were outside his room, discussing if we were going out to celebrate after the fights the next night. You came down the hall, and Breccan called you a douche. Y’all exchanged words and got in each other’s faces again. Tripp stepped in between you two, and you shoved him. So then I stepped in. Because, well, you pushed my brother! Security pulled you two apart, and Breccan said you were a pathetic pussy. Then you said, and I quote, ‘You and your two bitches are cunts,’ and pointed at Tripp and me. Then your trainers dragged you away while you continued to call us names.”
As she explains, the events of that night come rushing back.
I remember the heated weigh-ins and the ridiculous insults Breccan whispered when no one else could hear. He crossed the line with some of the things he said, and I had to fight to keep from knocking him out during the stare-down. I knew that it was all part of the game, but it was still hard as fuck to just ignore.
When I ran into him in the hallway, I was only reacting to the shit he’d hurled earlier, all the while putting on the show that I thought the numerous cameras trained on us would want. I barely remember Rebecca and Tripp being there, but I remember the incident with Breccan, so I know she’s telling the truth.
Dumbfounded that she’s been carrying that around with her for years, I can’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous it all is.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” she snaps, her eyes narrowed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Testily, she replies, “No, I’m not fucking kidding you.”
I move toward her, and she puts her hands on her hips.
“Don’t. I need space,” she seethes through clenched teeth.
Any humor I saw in the situation vanishes, and I take another step toward her, not giving a damn about her personal space. “You think I was calling you a bitch and a cunt?”
She shakes her head, her voice rising, “I don’t have to think. I know. You said it.”
I move even closer to her, once again pinning her to the front door. “And even now, after the last few weeks, you’re still carrying that shit around with you as a reason to hate me?” I stare into her face, probing her eyes with my own, trying to get a read on her.
Stumbling over her words, she shrieks, “You-you were an asshole! You called me a cunt! You don’t ever call a woman a cunt.”
I arch an eyebrow and remain calm. “Have I done anything since I started working with you that would indicate I thought you were a cunt?”
“Well, no. But––” Her gaze cuts away from mine.
“Even jokin’, I ever call you a bitch?”
She still refuses to meet my eyes. “No, you haven’t. But that––”
Grasping her chin with my thumb and forefinger, I tilt her head back, forcing her to look at me. “Shut up, doll.”
“You did not,” she whispers.
“Please.” I amend.
I can see the hesitation in her face, but eventually, she gives in and clamps her mouth closed.
Satisfied that she’ll keep her sexy mouth closed so I can explain, I let my hand fall away from her face, but I refuse to give her the space she claims to need.
“That Ryker. That guy who called you a bitch and a cunt. Who called Breccan a pussy. That’s. Not. Me,” I say, emphasizing each word and jabbing a finger against my chest.
When she opens her mouth yet again, I put a finger to her lips, silencing her.
“Quiet and let me finish,” I growl.
She needs to hear what I’m about to tell her, and if she’s arguing with me, she won’t hear me.
“That’s a character I play. A show I put o
n.”
She tries to turn her head away, but I palm either side of her face and make her hold my gaze.
“You’ve been in the business. You know what it’s like. You gotta put on a show for the fans. Tensions run high before fights.” Tapping a finger to my temple, I tell her, “Think about it. You’re about to go beat the shit out of someone. You don’t wanna be singing ‘Kumbaya’ with your opponent the night before the fight. You wanna be vilifying them, making them out to be the lowest of the low in your mind. You need a reason to want to punch them in the face. So yeah, I did call him a pussy. And maybe I did say you were his bitch. But that was all a part of the game.” I stop to catch my breath and finish with, “That game we have to play as fighters? That’s not who I am.”
“Well, I still didn’t appreciate it.” she says testily.
I cup her cheek and run my thumb back and forth, causing her to shiver. With a smirk, I tell her, “I can tell, considering you have been holding on to that grudge for over three years.”
“Don’t think you can be all sweet and rub my face and all will be forgiven. The things you said were disrespectful, even if it was part of a game.” She looks me in the eye and crosses her arms across her chest.
Unable to help myself, I glance at her cleavage. She clears her throat, so I look back up.
Searching her face, I tell her, “I’ve never called a woman a cunt in my life. I’ve never disrespected anyone that way. And I damn sure would never, ever do that to you.”
“Right,” she whispers, unconvinced.
I lift my lips to her forehead and brush them across before telling her, “You’re a lot of things, Rebecca.” I place my lips on her cheek. “You’re funny.” Moving my lips to her other cheek, I say, “You’re smart.” I kiss the tip of her nose and smile. “You’re crazy as hell.” Holding her head in place with both hands, I brush my lips across her lips. “You’re breathtakingly, unbelievably beautiful. But what you are not is a bitch or a cunt.” I sweep my lips over hers.
