GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  Ryland’s grip on my hands increases. “I do.”

  I can’t believe he said, “I do.” We’re doing this. Married. I'm marrying Ryland Bates. I’ll have to change my name, get a new license. Images of Ryland together as we travel the world or me cheering him on during a game in a stadium flitter in my thoughts.

  “Marissa, it’s your turn.” He shakes my hands a fraction and flicks his eyes to the podium beside us.

  “Oh.” Turning toward the white robed officiant. “I do.”

  He smiles down at us, the Bible in his hands now resting on his round belly. “That’s it then. I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Ryland doesn’t waste precious time. He drops my hands wrapping his around my back and pulling me the few spaces between us closer. I step up on tiptoes to meet him half way as he leans down and our lips meet. It’s not our first kiss, but as the seconds tick away it becomes the first kiss in a lifetime of kisses to come.

  A cheer comes up from the pews as Ryland and I break apart. “That’s some kind of kiss.” Rhea Lynn stands in her row clapping as I blush and Ryland leads me down the aisle.

  There are papers to sign and witnesses to thank, but we did it. Ryland and I got married. There’s no turning back from this. Now I just have to go home and tell Aspen. It’s time to face my soon-to-be-livid best friend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I miscalculated when I thought Aspen would be upset about my good news. Irate’s a better word to describe the ire from my best friend.

  “How could you do this to me, Marissa?” Aspen whines from my couch while Simone sends me sympathy looks from the chair.

  I pour more wine in her glass hoping another top off will calm her down. Ryland and I arrived home early this morning and caught a few hours of sleep until Aspen and Simone starting banging so loudly on my door it woke us up at Ryland’s place. I started with wine. She started with hand flailing.

  Aspen came dressed in her typical work outfit—a pair of black pants and a yellow blouse once she took off the thick winter jacket she still wears around even in April. Simone gets away with a more laid back look now that she works at Raven Digital Arts, but she still makes an effort, even if I suspect it’s for Trey’s benefit more than a need to dress up every day. She’s paired a dark wash jean with a baby blue button up shirt tucked in with a brown belt and matching brown leather boots to her knees. Simone spends more on shoes than the rest of us spend on food in a given month, but I’d love for her to be my personal stylist.

  “Aspen, it’s not a big deal,” I say.

  She reaches for her glass but then stops throwing her hands in the air instead. “Not a big deal? Marissa, you are married! I didn’t get to see it. Simone and I didn’t get to wear horrible bridesmaid dresses. When am I going to get the chance to be a bridesmaid now?”

  I cast a glance to an unsuspecting Simone and almost feel bad about the bus I’m going to throw her under, but not enough to not do it. “Simone and Trey will get married and then we’ll both be in their wedding.” I hope Simone planned for a lot of bridesmaids.

  Simone’s eyes widen in shock. “Me? Married? I don’t think …”

  “Is this true, Simone? Will you make me a bridesmaid?” Aspen puts her hands down and tilts her head at Simone, cutting off her protest.

  Simone, smarter than I thought, nods her head. “Sure, maid of honor even.”

  Aspen jerks her head in agreement and I think she’s satisfied until she brings her attention back to me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t think this gets you off the hook. I had to read about my best friend’s marriage in the paper. The paper, Marissa. You know how I feel about the paper.” She finally takes a breath and reaches for the full glass of red wine.

  A small bundle of guilt builds in my gut. Aspen does hate the papers. Last year they outed her boyfriend, Finn, as a billionaire before he had the chance to tell her. Don’t judge, it’s not exactly polite dinner conversation. Then a few months ago a local paper ran a scandalous and false report on Finn’s best friend, company CEO, and Simone’s boyfriend. The media hype’s slowed down in the last few months, but things were sketchy for a while. Thankfully the paper recanted most of the story and Trey’s ex-whatever-she-was left the country, but most people read the attention catching headline and that’s what they remember not the teeny tiny correction twenty-three days later. Even if a reporter and editor were fired over it.

  Although as I sit in my guilt, there’s a piece of her story that doesn’t set right. Ryland and I were married a few minutes after midnight this morning. How would any paper have time to make the changes to their print edition? And why didn't she bring me proof of this story. That’s very unAspen like.

  I raise an eyebrow at her and catch a spark in her eye. She knows she’s been caught. “It’s in the paper, already? How?"

  She sighs and adjusts her yellow work blouse. “No. Fine, it wasn’t a paper, but it was a gossip blog and that’s worse."

  I’m not sure how they’re worse or for that matter why Aspen is even on a gossip blog. She’s never one for staying up to date on those kinds of stories.

  “What were you doing on a gossip blog?” I ask her looking to Simone who shrugs.

  “This is on Aspen. She sent me the link at lunch and then she and Jake picked me up from work and dropped me off here.” Simone widens her eyes and gives a gentle shake of her head. All she’s missing is the spiraling finger around her ear calling Aspen crazy. “I’m happy for you, Marissa. You and Ryland are great together.”

  Simone hit the problem on the head. “Simone’s happy for me, Aspen. My family’s happy for me.” At least they faked it an appropriate amount when I called from Vegas. “Why can’t my best friend be happy for me?”

  “I’m happy for you. I never said I wasn’t happy. Who’s not happy? I just don’t understand why I couldn’t get a phone call. A text message.” Her words are filled with hurt making my guilt bubble up again.

  “I told you we were going to Vegas for the weekend.”

  “Yes, but you left off the ‘to get married’ part. That’s the important part, Marissa.”

  “Let’s get back on task. Why are you visiting gossip blogs?”

  She sighs. “Amanda said she heard a rumor that Edward Norton announced his divorce over the weekend.”

  My laughter bubbles up until I have a hard time breathing and end up gasping for air. Simone’s eyes pass between me having a fit and Aspen blushing from her side of the couch trying to pass the whole thing off as no big deal. Aspen’s had a "thing” for the actor since she watched Fight Club back in high school. It’s a slight obsession, but one I refuse to stop laughing at her about.

  “Anyway.” She takes the last swig of her drink. “I am happy for you, Marissa. It was fast, but you and Ryland are adorable together. I knew he planned to ask, but I didn't expect a wedding this quickly.”

  “Yeah, we’re going to talk about you knowing and not telling me Ryland had a ring.” I look to both girls with a side eye.

  “Simone knew too.” Aspen points a finger at poor Simone and I laugh. “Come on. You missed brunch yesterday and got married. Let's go to dinner to celebrate.” Aspen stands and motions for Simone to as well.

  Simone resists. She’s still learning how we work around here. “Don’t you think we should give Ryland and Marissa their first night together?"

  Aspen’s response is rapid. “No, he gets her the rest of her life. We get her tonight. Amanda should be almost ready to leave work. I’ll call her. Let's go.”

  She heads to the door and I shrug at Simone and stand. “Let me at least go tell Ryland I’ll be back. We can take the elevator.”

  “Fine.” She opens the door and waits for us on the other side. “This poor apartment. No one ever stays long. What will you do with it now?"

  The question stops me halfway to the door. What will we do with the apartment? I hadn’t thought about living arrangements because Ryland and I spent the last few mont
hs passing between places like it’s one large space. I haven’t used a key in weeks. It’s probably been eaten by my purse.

  “You could turn it into an extra bedroom for when you have kids.” Simone offers advice as she steps past me. I’m sure she thought it useful, but kids are the last thing I need to think about. I’ve been married less than twenty-four hours.

  I meet them in the hallway. “We won’t live here. It depends on which team picks up Ryland.”

  “You’ll figure it out. Maybe Amanda will want it if you decide to rent it out again,” Aspen suggests.

  “I like that idea. Do you think she would?” I ask. If Ryland and I leave the country, she’d have the floor to herself.

  Simone hits me on the arm in excitement. “We should ask at dinner. Everyone who lives here meets someone. Maybe Amanda will end up with Grant.”

  I cringe, not as excited about the prospect of Amanda and Grant getting together. Especially if he and Clare did hook up Friday night. So much happened since then. I forgot about Grant’s latest dalliance.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Aspen says. “Amanda thinks Grant's a playboy, and since she isn’t far off, the odds are slim.”

  “Grant’s the perpetual bachelor of our little group.” I knock on Ryland’s door three times as hard as possible before I twist the handle.

  “I don’t think you need to knock on his door anymore, babe.” Simone laughs at me.

  She doesn’t realize I haven’t knocked on his door since… well maybe never. This is purely for them in case Ryland’s decided to walk around the condo naked. I shudder. Or worse naked kayak paddling. I don’t put anything past the man. I keep the door open only a crack and do a quick scan of the main living area. When I’ve confirmed there’s no naked Rylands running around, I open the door the rest of the way.

  “Okay, I’ll find Ryland and be right back.” I head to the master bedroom, the only place he could be since the other bedrooms are mostly empty. A few random boxes are in a corner of one.

  As suspected he’s there, but surprisingly he’s curled up in the blankets sound asleep. Do I wake him up or let him rest? His bare chest moves up and down with his slow breathing. I decide he looks too peaceful to disturb and I leave him there.

  I scribble out a quick note to Ryland and leave it on the counter.

  “You did not just write a note saying I freaked out and you need to stuff me with food to shut me up.” Aspen leans over to finish reading as I stick an empty glass on the page so it doesn’t blow away.

  I push her toward the elevator while I grab my wallet from the counter where I tossed it with our luggage this morning. Or afternoon. Whenever we made it back.

  “Of course not.” I lie. “You read it wrong.”

  I push the button for the elevator and the doors open immediately, still on this floor from when Ryland and I returned today. Aspen walks in first and stands in the middle, but Simone takes a spot on her side, her hand resting on the railing.

  The exact spot on the railing Ryland handcuffed me to. I try to let it go even biting my lip to stop myself from making a comment, but the tips curl up. The laughter starts small and under my breath, but when Aspen raises her head with both eyebrows halfway to her hairline I lose it.

  With a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter, I hit the floor button and watch the elevator doors close. There’s no way I can look at Simone and her sweet confused expression.

  “What’s up?” Simone asks. “It wasn't that funny of a note, Marissa.”

  Aspen quickly scans me from head to toe and turns back to Simone. “She and Ry did dirty things in the elevator.”

  “Ewww, Marissa.” Simone crinkles up her face in disgust but doesn’t move her hand.

  The elevator leaves us on the first floor, but I can’t stop laughing enough to make my feet move. I brace a hand on the elevator wall trying to get a grip and start breathing again.

  Simone practically runs out of the elevator, but Aspen lingers back shaking her head. “I hope you sanitized.”

  I slide down the wall a fraction, lost in my fit of laughter while Aspen holds the elevator doors open for me still shaking her head the entire time, as only a best friend can do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Fresh pasta and cheese smells waft their way from the counter where Ryland piles food on our plates. The red and white striped banners in front of Tony’s Pasta Palace are so close, less than a fifteen-minute walk from our building, but we do not eat there enough.

  He’s in jeans today and has been since we went to Vegas. His ass looks nice in the fitted dark wash denim, better than the loose workout pants or basketball shorts he wears the most. A simple grey long sleeve t-shirt stretches at his shoulders. Ryland’s back side is a great view to have.

  “What’s the Internet saying about us today?” Ryland slides a plate across the countertop to where I sit, waiting to be fed.

  I push the side button turning my phone screen black and tuck it back in my pocket. “Nothing.” His fork stops midway to his mouth. Busted. With a sigh I answer, “I'm still a gold digger you married in a drunken night in Vegas. Your latest stunt in a career of mistakes fed by wild nights and alcohol.”

  He flinches. Maybe I should have left out the “wild nights” stuff.

  “Seriously, don’t read anymore. It will get worse when I join a new team, and you’ll get to a point you don’t want to get up in the morning.”

  Little does he know it can’t be worse than a coworker from the fourth floor breaking out into tears as we rode the elevator together this morning. She yelled at me for stealing the sports industry’s most eligible bachelor from all the acceptable women in the world. Leaving the area sounds better each day.

  I blow across my forkful of pasta and twirl it around to wrap up the cheese. “Have you heard from any teams?” Ryland’s been quiet the last few days when it comes to talking about playing.

  “No. My agent says he’s talked with a few big named people, but most are still deciding on budgets and finishing their current season.” He chews a bite and sighs. "I’m still not sure I want to go back. I thought I did, but being reminded of the whole media circus has me questioning it again.”

  If me reading gossip blogs will keep him from a sport he loves, I’ll never check another one again. “I won’t check the sites anymore, Ryland, but I don't see the difference. You check sports stuff all the time.”

  “Those are game stats and industry stuff. Totally different.”

  Another fork twirl, this one more condescending to match my words. “Uh-huh. That guy from Brazil getting the Nike deal was game stats?”

  “No, that was industry related.” I chuckle at him until he finally drops the act and smiles. “Eat your pasta, Marissa."

  So flippin’ bossy. Does he not realize it’s a fast track way to see my irritated side? “Ryland Bates, don’t make me stab you with my fork.” I point my empty fork at him and tap it in the air toward the table top.

  It doesn’t have the effect I hope for. Rather than cower in fear, he laughs and shakes his head. “So violent.”

  “Speaking of violence. Do you want to play Dragons Reborn tonight? We could finish up the quest from yesterday.”

  We’ve been married a full four days now and life with Ryland feels much the same as before our impromptu trip to Vegas. Dinner with him, playing DR with him, rides to and from work with him. It’s a lot of Ryland. I love it.

  It won’t last forever. Eventually he’ll go back to soccer and we’ll leave the area starting up a new routine for both of us. I've been warned practice days are busy and he won’t see me much, but evenings are mine. Fingers crossed it’s similar but switched from the routine we have now. Rather than Ryland driving me around and then waiting at home for me all day, I’ll be the one dropping him off at the field to come home and spend my days video chatting with Aspen and playing video games. On second thought, I might be the one who needs to find a hobby now.

  “We can as long as you promi
se if the boys get online you won’t kill Grant for sleeping with Clare.”

  “It was an honest mistake. My sword slipped.”

  “Six times?” He raises an eyebrow with his question and his blue eyes tell me he doesn’t buy it.

  In his defense it’d be more believable if I hadn’t been laughing manically as I slashed at Grant last night.

  I finish my last bite scraping the remaining alfredo sauce from my plate to make sure I get it all.

  “I am going to miss the food,” Ryland muses more to himself than me.

  “Tony’s is the bomb.” I need to make sure we eat it at least one more time… this week.

  He picks up my empty plate with his, turning to the dishwasher. “No, the food in general. This is not exactly what you eat when you’re in training.”

  “You can’t eat Tony’s?” That sounds criminal.

  He laughs and closes the dishwasher door, pushing a button to start a load. My man is great. “No, I’m pretty sure tonight we ate enough carbs to last me a month. Even with all the running.”

  I roll my eyes at him, but his back’s still turned and he doesn’t see. “You need carbs for energy.”

  He laughs again but not as heavily this time, more of a depressed laugh. “I’ll make sure and tell the team dietitian my wife says I need carbs for energy.”

  “There’s a whole drawer of forks over there, Ryland. Don’t tempt me.” I point to the drawer in question as I walk to the couch ready to spend a night playing video games. My attitude doesn’t show it, but every time Ryland calls me his wife, I gush a little.

  I turn on the television, but Ryland’s phone rings and I mute the background music of the Dragons Reborn entry screen.

  “Hey, James.” Ryland answers the phone call from his agent and sits beside me on the couch. It’s silent for a few minutes on his end, but his face carries an array of emotions.