GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  Still close to my ear, he continues our whispered conversation. “You’ve seen me naked, Marissa.”

  I stretch my eyes as far open as they’ll go. “Yeah, but, Ryland, it’s an underwear ad.”

  “I’ll pose for you tonight.” He leans back in his chair apparently done even though I’m not.

  “Can I take pictures?”

  In a slow dramatic fashion, he turns back to me not moving the lower half of his body. “No.”

  “You never let me have any fun.” I pout for effect.

  “Watch your girly movie and eat your defiled popcorn, woman.” He shakes his head and the lights dim. The rotating line of commercials flicker off the screen to begin the movie.

  The credits roll on the screen while a nice montage of movie scenes plays behind them. I grab for the last napkin to wipe the tears from my eyes, but it’s no longer on the armrest between Ryland and me. I check the sticky floor around us. Not that I’d use if off the floor, but it isn't there either.

  From the corner of my eye, Ryland hands over the large light brown square of paper. “Here.”

  “Ryland Bates—” I pause at his irritated expression for using his full name. “I mean Tiger. Did you cry when the dog died?"

  “No.” He tries to act affronted.

  “You did. Don’t you know the golden rule? When the dog makes the movie poster it isn’t going to live through it.”

  He pushes the napkin into my hand so I’m forced to take it. The pad of my thumb touches a wet corner and I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Fine, it was one tear. Like half a tear. Probably dust in my eye. Are you happy?”

  Using the napkin to clear under my own eyes without messing up my mascara, I laugh. “Much. Thank you. Tonight was a great make-up.”

  “Oh, Kitten, the night’s still young. We’ve just gotten started.” He sits our two drinks in the empty popcorn container and takes my hand, leading me out of the theater and back to his car full of excitement over what he has planned next.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The grey haired doctor pulls down the leg of my jeans and lowers my foot patting my ankle twice. “Everything looks great Ms. Melrose. You’re clear to go.”

  “Thanks.” I jump off the little office bed glad to be cleared so Ryland can stop lecturing me every time he feels I put too much weight on my foot. I’ve been fine the past week, but he refused to let me use the stairs. It’s four flights or a short elevator ride. I didn’t put up too much of a fight.

  “Good luck.” He shakes my hand and turns to Ryland. “And to you too, Mr. Bates. I hope you find a new team quickly.”

  Ryland pulls on the brim of the same black Giants baseball cap he wore to the movies yesterday, but shakes his hand. “Thanks, I’m hopeful for the same.” He flashes him a smile I’ve never seen him use. It’s practiced and forced.

  “Well of course, now I understand why you’re in no rush to get back on a team after meeting this lovely lady.” He scribbles on a small sheet of paper handing it to me. "For your check out.”

  “Um…thanks.” I grab the paper and keep my eyes to the floor not wanting to see how Ryland feels about this random doctor thinking I'm the reason he hasn’t signed with a new team. I’m not, am I? What about those conversations with his dad?

  I bend over to put on the shoe I took off for the doctor and address Ryland when I’m not required to look at him. “You didn’t need to come with me."

  “What if you needed a second opinion? I have experience with injuries.”

  “Well you didn’t need to come into the room with me.” We walk out the door together, me leading the way to the checkout desk.

  He waits to speak until I’ve handed over the half sheet of paper and we’ve started toward the main door. “Marissa, don't do this.”

  “Do what?” I ask.

  “Get pissy with me because someone mentioned soccer.”

  “I’m not pissy.” I stop and scowl at him when the words come off harsh. “What team will you pick Ryland?” I don’t have the right to demand an answer from him, but I want one anyway. I can’t handle the anxiety of this huge unknown between us any longer. I keep asking the same question expecting a different answer than what I’ve been given in the past. What does that say about me?

  He doesn’t answer until we’re both in the car. “Well right now I’m going to buy you a celebration dinner for a healthy ankle.”

  “Ryland…”

  “I prefer Tiger if I get to pick.” He sighs when his joke isn’t met with a laugh. “I don’t know, Marissa. It’s up in the air right now. I don’t have all the answers.”

  We ride in silence for a few minutes both of us lost in thought. Well, I’m lost in thought. He could be singing Beyoncé in his head for all I know.

  By the time he’s parked the car a few blocks away, I have to ask the second question that’s been clawing at me. My stomach’s twisted and tight in fear I won't like his answer. “You’ll tell me right? Before you go, I mean… you'll tell me before you leave.”

  He stops in front of the car’s hood and takes my hand, spiking my anxiety. “Of course I would. I’m not going to sneak out in the middle of the night." In front of a brick building with Jimmy’s Pizzeria written in cursive font across the large business window, he draws me into his arms. When our eyes connect I envision a whole span of possible futures with Ryland. “I don't know what I’m going to do, but I promise I won’t up and leave. We’ll figure it out."

  I still have more questions than answers, but for now I decide this is enough. The topic ends as we order from the large menu boards behind the front counter. Exposed brick is on the wall to my left, and pictures of famous people who’ve eaten here line the walls in a haphazard fashion. In the far right corner, closer to the register than where I stand, there's a picture with four guys I’ve seen before. Ryland, Finn, Trey, and Grant stand in a line, a short beer bellied older man in the middle of the group. The photo was taken right in front of the counter we’re at now, but the prices in the picture are lower than they are now.

  I elbow Ryland in the stomach and use my head to point toward the frame. When he figures out what I’m excited about, he shakes his head at me to stay quiet and lowers the brim of his ball cap again. It’s a minimal disguise, but it's done the trick the last two nights so at least it’s effective.

  Ryland pays and leads me to an area far away from the large picture window at the front of the restaurant. Instead we settle into a back booth, the dark green olive seat covers ripped in one area on the side I sit on.

  Two bites in, Ryland puts down his piece of pizza using free hand to grab on to the edge of the worn wooden table. “Would you come with me?”

  “Where? To England?”

  “Wherever I end up. Mexico, Brazil, Portugal, France… maybe, Italy.” He ticks off fingers with each country.

  “They play soccer in Italy?”

  He rolls his eyes and sends up a silent prayer to the ceiling. “They play soccer pretty much everywhere, Marissa, but I’d prefer to go to a higher paying country.

  Man, when did this conversation get serious? I almost follow my gut reaction and say no, but then Simone’s whole embrace life speech comes to mind and I glance up. Emotions are plastered over his face, but in his eyes I find vulnerability, desire, and hope. My answer holds important meaning to him, maybe more than I realize. It makes my reply a simple one. "Yeah I’d come with you, but if it’s Italy I need to buy lots of leather.”

  He’s quick to follow it up. “And if I decide not to go back to soccer, you’ll help me find a place to kayak?”

  I laugh at his reference and the serious mood lightens, but I can’t help feeling as if a huge moment took place between us.

  The air outside Jimmy’s Pizzeria smells like pizza sauce and cheese as we walk down the street back to where Ryland parked.

  “Okay so it’s leather in Italy and jewelry in Mexico. What about France?” he asks, our hands twined together reminiscent of a real coupl
e. One of those cute ones who dress together for Halloween or some shit. Ones I used to find nauseating.

  “Baguettes.” I laugh as his nose crinkles up with my answer. “Oh come on. You must eat bread in France. It’s a rule.”

  He tugs on my arm bringing me closer to his chest. “A rule, huh?”

  “Yes, and I know how you love rules.”

  “Marissa?” Behind us, a voice I recognize calls my attention and I turn taking Ryland in a half spin with me.

  Dressed in one of his typical grey suits with the black buttoned pea coat I helped him pick out, Cody walks beside a blonde haired woman in black pants and a matching blazer. They walk a few inches apart, but stand close enough when they stop I imagine they’re a couple. Or at least on a date. Cody was never a big hand holder, preferring to keep his in a pocket or wrapped around his phone.

  “Cody.” I try to take a step toward him but am stopped by Ryland’s arm when he doesn’t move.

  “Wow, you look really good.” I’m shocked by his surprise and open comment. I’ve gained at least five pounds from the ice cream I ate the months after our breakup and Cody wasn’t one to hand out compliments when we were dating.

  The woman puts herself a step in front of Cody reaching a hand out to me. “Hi, I’m Emily.” I have to give up my hold on Ryland to shake it. "Do you two work together?”

  I snicker under my breath. “Um, no we…” My words fall off. She isn’t the woman Cody cheated on me with — I’d recognize that bitch from the pictures she sent me of them together — but he obviously hasn’t told Emily about me or our history and the spiteful part of me wants to, but it isn’t worth it any longer.

  Two months ago there’s a high possibility I’d have spit on Cody had I seen him on the street with another woman. Now with Ryland by my side talking about Italian leather and French baguettes it doesn’t seem important. Wow, is this what growing up and being an adult is about? Scary.

  The silence trickles on without an answer from Cody or me until Ryland jumps in saving the day. “I’m Ryland, Marissa’s boyfriend."

  My eyes flash wide at his declaration and I cast them downward to hide the stupid grin from my excitement.

  The moment passes quickly as Cody’s friend makes a high shrieking sound. “Ryland Bates? From United? What they did to you was absolute crap. One little bar fight? I’m sure Obreski had it coming. Everyone knows he’s an asshole on and off the field. Do you think you’ll go back to an England team or take the offer from Mexico?”

  She finally stops for breath and I roll my eyes. Does everyone watch soccer but me? And what offer from Mexico?

  Ryland grabs my hand again, his grip tight between my fingers. “There haven’t been any offers as of right now, but I’ll consider them all." He looks to me with a smirk—a warning he’ll be up to no good soon. “Marissa says if we go to Italy I have to buy her lots of leather.”

  My body tightens at his brazen comment. Poor Cody turns a shade of green not helped by the faint glow from the street lights.

  “Italy?” he asks in a pitch higher than his normal voice.

  Emily wraps her arm through Cody’s. “Oh Italy would be great. They have a real chance at the Cup this year.”

  With a face full of shock, Cody pulls his arm from hers and checks the watch I bought him for our three-year anniversary. “We’re going to miss our reservation.”

  I almost chime in with a reminder of how Cody hates to be late, but I bite my tongue. She’ll have to learn that one the hard way, like I did. With one last glance at Cody’s prim and proper self, I lean a little more into Ryland's side.

  He picks up on my cue and we start to turn in the direction we parked. “Have a nice dinner, you two.” I give them a fast wave and say good-bye to my past, a hopeful future on my side.

  “Bye, Marissa… I’ll call you sometime.” Cody calls behind him, but I’m already getting in Ryland’s car as he holds the door open for me and I don’t respond.

  Ryland’s buckled and weaving the car into traffic before he comments. “If that guy calls, you tell me.”

  I release a deep breath hopeful we’d never have to address this. “That was…” Shit how do I explain the whole "I almost got married” mess?

  “I know who Cody is.” Ryland stares out the front window with the concentration of a NASCAR driver even though we’re barely going twenty-fives miles an hour with this after dinner traffic.

  “You do?”

  He laughs and checks his rearview mirror making a turn onto our street. “Yeah. Grant gossips like a ninety-year-old grandmother.”

  “Grant gossiped about me? I let him eat my crust.”

  He laughs at my outrage. “He’s useful at times.” Ryland pulls into the underground parking lot of our building but locks the doors so I can't jump out. He’s learning my habits so well it’s freaky. “I don’t care about Cody. Everyone has a past. Only this right here is important now.” His finger points back and forth to each of us.

  I lean over the divider between the seats ready to kiss the shit out of him for his comment, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “I get it too. You’re worried about the lifestyle and cheating, but know what Cody did was stupid because he’s a dumb fuck and didn't appreciate the package he had right in front of him. I’m not stupid.”

  Holy shit could Ryland get any more amazing? I’d have this man’s babies… or buy a puppy with him. Both options I find equally terrifying.

  His mouth opens like there’s a chance he has more to add, but I’m ready to move on. “Shut up,” I say and climb over the space sitting on his lap in the driver’s seat.

  The seat moves back giving me more room between him and the steering wheel. It’s barely enough. Ryland’s still taller than any normal human being, so I lean back to stare up into his eyes and wait for him to kiss me. He doesn’t take long.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The TLC Song, “No Scrubs,” wakes me from the groggy sleep I’d been pulling myself from at a slow pace. There’s no point in waking up early on a Saturday morning. My phone rests on the towel I threw on the floor after last night’s shower.

  “Hello?” My thick voice cracks from sleep.

  Cody laughs on the other end. “Still like those Saturday sleep ins? Are you going to make it to lunch?”

  “Of course, Cody. It’s steps from my apartment.” Isn’t it funny how quirks you found cute while dating become fucking annoying when you aren’t? Like Cody’s constant need to check in and make sure I’m running on time. I used to think it sweet he looked out for me, now I recognize it as the patronizing behavior it is.

  “Okay, I’ll see you at twelve o’clock.”

  “Got it.” We hang up and I throw back the covers not ready to face the world, but I need to get this done and over with.

  When Cody texted me last night after running into him and asked me to lunch, I didn’t see the harm in agreeing. Now I’m not so sure it’s a great idea. I'll have to tell Ryland one day. If I’m not over to his place by our unspoken agreed time — noon — he'll come looking for me.

  There isn’t a reason for me to worry. It’s a quick coffee with Cody to hear out what he wants to say and then right back up here to continue on with whatever Ryland and I have started. It’s not even a detour, more like a mid-morning pit stop, but my gut warns me Ryland won’t see it the same way.

  Rather than face him, I’ll send a text because really for all I know he’s still out for his morning run. If I’m lucky he won't even read it until I’m already back and the whole issue will be moot.

  I wait until I’m dressed in a pair of jeans, sweater and a black fleece jacket with a cute little Golden Gate Bridge embroidered in the left corner before I text Ryland.

  Me: Going to be late today. I’m meeting someone for a coffee at the shop on the street.

  His rapid reply dings my phone before I’ve finished applying powder. Not on a run then. I skip the mascara to try and leave faster, but a girl can’t leave the
house without a little cover up.

  Ryland: Who?

  He would ask who. Why did I think I’d get away with not telling him who? Oh right. The running thing. Why couldn’t he be running?

  Me: Cody. He wanted to grab a coffee and talk. I won’t be long.

  A door closes nearby and I wait for Ryland to barge into my apartment, but it doesn’t happen.

  Ryland: What’s he want to talk about?

  Me: I don’t know. That’s why I’m meeting him. I’ll tell you when I get back. Love you.

  I hurry to delete the declaration of love and hit send. What the hell is wrong with me? You don’t use those words in a text. I don’t say them at all. Not first anyway.

  With the text sent, I rush out of the apartment expecting Ryland in the hallway waiting for me, but it’s empty. I bound down the four flights of stairs ready to get this meeting over with and get back to my life.

  The book-café store combo is directly to the right of the main lobby entrance making my trip take a mere three minutes or less. The large heavy wooden door pulls open and a little bell dings when I walk in. Similar to many businesses in San Francisco, the walls are exposed brick. Menu boards and other displays are hung throughout. It’s the type of place you sit and pass a quiet Sunday morning.

  Cody waves from a corner where he’s placed himself at a round table with two matching rounded bottom wooden seats. On the table two thick steaming ceramic mugs wait.

  I reach the table and slide on to the seat not bothering to move it back at all. “Hey.”

  Cody startles in his seat a few inches. In the past I always tried to maintain a certain decorum around him. He had an image to uphold and all that jazz. I wanted to be perfect for him. Now I realize perfect only looks nice on the outside. On the inside your fiancé is too busy to taste cake samples with you, but finds time to sleep with a coworker. Not that I’m not randomly bitter or anything.

  “Hey I picked you up a coffee, one sugar. Exactly how you take it.” Cody grins at me like he should get a freaking medal because he remembered the drink his girlfriend of four years preferred. It’s coffee and a single sugar packet, not complicated.