Chapter 22
COLE
I rest my hand gently on her lower back, sticking close as we move into the crowd and the rapidly flashing cameras. There’s a cut-out in the back of Ryder’s dress, and I’m careful not to make contact with her bare skin as we wait our turn.
She was a different woman when she stepped into the kitchen this evening.
She stood nervously before me in a black dress that took my breath away.
I’d always heard that expression and thought it was ridiculous, but evidently, I was naive.
It’s short, tight, and shows off her body in a way that makes her squirm.
I watched her in the car, fiddling with the material as if stretching it would cover more of her up.
Keeping my eyes on the road instead of her toned, bare thighs took the kind of willpower I didn’t know I possessed.
It was a torture no man should have to face, but I did.
I would never do anything that would make her more uncomfortable than she already is.
The confident, no-nonsense woman I’m beginning to know has been hurt. Badly. I’d suspected it, but admitting she doesn’t like to be touched was proof.
We wait in line, and she twists into me. The strong, capable, kick-ass woman has returned. Her shoulders are back, her gaze is roaming, and she’s on high alert.
“Tell me everything. Who these people are, how they know you, and what you know about them.”
“It’s like playing spy for the evening,” I whisper.
Her head falls to the side an inch. “Matthews, you’d be a terrible spy. . .or singer.”
When it’s our turn in front of the cameras, I slip my hand around her waist, careful to keep the pressure light. Surprisingly, she turns into me, her arm draping around my back as if it’s the most natural thing. Instead of looking at the camera, her face tips up to mine.
“Although you could be a dancer. Who knew the superstar quarterback could move?”
She bites her lip, hiding a smirk, but there’s a beautiful smile behind it. She doesn’t let it appear with just anyone. It has to be earned.
Something about having her arm around me, her body barely pressing into mine, and giving me shit in return, makes me pull her a little closer. The good news is, she lets me.
We do that several times more, and I talk to her through the whole thing, telling her who I know and what I know about them, hoping to make it tolerable. When we make it through the sea of lenses and into the open, the party is alive.
The lights are dim, music is playing in the background, and people are scattered everywhere. Massive banners and vendors line the perimeter, while people linger with cocktails and champagne.
She bumps my arm with her elbow. “Give me a second.”
We don’t get a second.
“Cole.” An editor for SportsElite approaches, extending her hand.
“Hi, Megan.” I shake her hand, giving Ryder time.
“We’re so excited to have you this evening.” Megan’s attention shifts to Ryder, searching for recognition.
She steps closer, and Ryder slides between us, creating a clear boundary, her hands slipping in front of her, poised and ready.
Megan continues, unfazed. “The spread and interview you did last year is still one of our top-selling issues. We’ve contacted your agent in hopes of snagging another next year. A recap after a couple of seasons in the NFL.”
“I let him do all of the negotiating.” I glance down at Ryder, and she’s still shifting through the crowded area, her shoulder blades bumping my chest.
Megan smiles. “We have some amazing photos and interviews with your dad. We’re thinking a spread featuring the two of you. Father and son. Two generations of greatness.”
I try really hard not to, but I tense at the word “father.” It’s still a knife straight through my heart. He was my dad, my hero, and the best man I’ll ever know. I will never stop missing him.
“Hey, look, there’s. . . ” Ryder tips her head to the right, tugging on my wrist. I have no idea what she’s doing, but she said to follow her and not to ask questions.
Megan glances in that direction, but I stop her. “Thanks, Megan. My agent will be in touch.”
She nods, smiling as Ryder ushers me away. We weave through people until we’re out of Megan’s sight, and stop against the wall.
“What’s wrong?” I watch her take in our surroundings.
“Nothing, I just. . . ” She side-eyes me.
I study her. She knew I didn’t want to talk about my dad, and she saved me from it.
How did she know that?
“Thank you.”
Her blue-green eyes lift to mine, but they’re gone before I can catch whatever is in them.
“Cole Matthews.”
My name comes from within the crowd this time. Ryder shifts in front of me, keeping me against the wall as a former pro-turned-commentator for a major network approaches.
My shoulders pull tight, knowing this man played with my dad and how this conversation will go.
“Boy, when will they get you a defense that knows what in the hell they’re doing?” Jack Mason sticks out his hand, and I offer mine in return.
“That’s a question for my management.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles. “He’s too good, like his old man, to be stuck with guys who couldn’t sack a mounted target.” He winks at Ryder.
I’ve only chatted with Jack a few times since signing with the Stingrays, most often for post-game interviews. He’s in his sixties and wears a smile as if he’s won at the game of life.
Jack rubs his jaw. “Your dad would’ve taken those boys to school. You need to get in there and make them pay attention.”
My spine stiffens. If I had a dollar for every time someone explained to me how my dad would do things and how I should do likewise.
Ryder’s stance eases, and her body brushes against mine. “Yeah, well, you can show a jackass how to sit, but it doesn’t mean they ever will.” There’s only a hint of tease in her tone.
Jack laughs again, while Ryder looks like she’s one second away from throwing a punch.
It makes me smile. We’ve never spoken about my dad, but somehow, she gets it.
“It’s nice seeing you, Jack.” I reach around Ryder, shaking his hand again, ready to move on.
He slaps me on the back and wishes me luck as I pass.
I push forward, getting stopped every ten feet to shake hands with reporters and other athletes I’ve met through the years.
We finally reach the Stingrays’s setup, where Mindy and her team are distributing team merchandise.
Mindy makes a beeline, reaching for my arm, but Ryder’s hand jets out, stopping her from making contact.
I peek down at Ryder, who’s in full surveillance mode, and I have to hold back the cocky-ass grin threatening to break free.
Mindy’s usual full smile falters, but she recovers quickly. “Cole, if you wouldn’t mind, we have a stack of your SportsElite issues waiting for you.”
“Ok. I’ll be right there,” I say, expecting Mindy to get back to whatever she was doing, but she stays put.
I face Ryder, blocking her from Mindy’s view.
Ryder shifts, peering around me to ensure Mindy keeps her hands to herself.
“Maybe you can chat her up and make sure my face isn’t being used as wallpaper.”
I might be mistaken, but I think my protection agent made of steel just tucked her bottom lip in a little tighter to prevent her mouth from going rogue.
Mindy leads us to a table with two stacks of magazines. I sit and begin signing while Ryder places herself beside me, her eyes trained on the crowd, ignoring Mindy’s overbearing attempts to be as helpful as possible.
“Well, I could say it’s funny running into you here, but that would be a lie.”
Ryder slides closer as my eyes drag up to the man standing before me.
He gazes at the giant picture of me hanging over my head as if he’s just noticed it.
Jared Reynolds is a snake poking his head out of a hole, hunting for prey. He needs to move on before he finds out he chose wrong. Again.
“What’s up, Jared?” I ask, returning to the stack in front of me.
“I should ask you. Seems you’re having a bit of a rough go again this season.”
Ryder moves even closer, her hip bumping into my elbow, as one hand grips her middle finger on the other.
His eyes run over her, and I stand, making it clear I’m not putting up with any of his shit. And if he looks at her one second longer, he’ll find out what kind of season he’s having.
“Jared, it seems you still don’t have your facts straight. What do you want?”
He smiles. It’s grossly slick and makes me want to punch it off his face.
“Ahh.” He rubs his pointy chin. “Just wanted to remind you that you still owe me, and someday, I’ll collect.”
“All I did was walk away from a bad proposal. You broke contracts when you couldn’t make good on them. It’s how the business world works, and that’s what it was, business. I don’t owe you a thing.”
He laughs, but it’s full of arrogance and spite. “We’ll see about that.” He gives Ryder one last once-over before he slithers back into the crowd.
“Want to tell me what that was about?” Ryder asks quietly, but her tone is tight.
I scribble my name across a cover and move to the next one. “When I signed with the Stingrays, he wanted me to endorse his product, but it was a bad deal. I turned him down, and he couldn’t deliver what he’d promised his stakeholders. He blamed me for losing money and credibility.”
“How much are we talking about?”
“I don’t know for sure, but apparently enough that he’s still bringing it up two years later.”
We’re interrupted when the CEO of SportsElite stops to chat and pose for photos, along with a few fans who won VIP passes. Ryder sticks close, observing every exchange.
I finish my duties and push away from the table. “Thanks for the help, Mindy. Unless you need something else, I have a promise to keep.”
Ryder’s eyelids droop, but I sense a smirk hidden in that glare.
“I think that’s it. You’re free to enjoy the rest of your evening.”
There’s a sharpness to Mindy’s dismissal that I know Ryder doesn’t miss when her knuckle taps the back of my hand.
I’m tempted to snatch it, making things perfectly clear to Mindy, but I refrain.