3. Ryker
3
RYKER
F or a second, I consider going back to university to earn a degree in theoretical physics so that I can build myself a time machine to avoid meeting that woman in the first place. But physics is not my strong suit. Nor is breaking the laws of physics, I suppose. Man-made laws on the other hand…
“So you maintain you haven’t had any alcohol or abused any other substances?” The police officer’s inquiry sounds more like an accusation than a question as he shackles my hands to the table in the small interrogation room.
I can barely focus on what he wants from me, since my brain seems to have evaded arrest by still being stuck in the bathroom across the airport, still stuck with her .
That damned woman .
I am unsure whether admiration or disdain for her prevails until I feel the sting from the taser in my butt again. I shift to the other cheek and try to focus on what’s important. It takes all my effort not to forget my manners. “Look, can I just have my phone call?” I ask as politely as I can muster, hoping the cop has a better day than me.
“If you answer my question.”
A grumble involuntarily emanates from my throat as a little blood runs down my temple. For good measure, he had hit me over the head after I was already incapacitated by the taser.
Fuck this.
There are many reasons I don’t usually go around sleeping with random woman in airport restrooms. This is probably one I need to add from now on.
I am technically not entitled to a call until I have been processed, so my options are to either remain uncooperative and drag this whole thing out, or to comply and have a chance to get to my best friend’s wedding in time. “No, I have not consumed any legal or illegal substances,” I explain despite my better judgment. “I’ll happily blow into the breathalyzer if you need me to.”
“So, you just decided it was a good idea to expose yourself in the middle of a crowded airport?”
Speaking of good ideas: Talking to the cops is not one of them.
“I did not decide that was a good idea?—”
“Aha! So the drugs made you do it.”
“There were no drugs involved at any stage of,” I attempt to gesture with my hands but strain against the cuffs immediately, “this.”
“Yeah,” he huffs, obviously not believing me. “So what is this then?”
I look down at myself. “Someone stole my pants.”
“Someone stole your pants.”
“Someone stole my pants in the bathroom.”
And I am going to make her fucking pay for it.
Disdain. I don’t know how any sort of admiration could have even crossed my mind. Attraction, sure. There’s nothing one can do about feeling attraction for someone like her, but I am way past that. The admiration left along with my pants. All that’s left now is disdain. And cold thighs.
“Huh.” The cop sits down in the chair opposite of mine, his belly pressing into the edge of the table. “I’ve heard of weirdos who take off their pants all the way when going to the bathroom, but I’ve never met one myself. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
“Well, that’s not really what happened,” I say before I can stop myself.
“No? Then what did happen?”
Yeah, I should have gone with weirdo who strips before peeing.
“Well, I was in the bathroom…”
And a raccoon came and took them.
And I accidentally flushed them down the toilet.
And I was reckless enough to have sex with a stalking reporter who seduced me with her perfectly imperfect curls, her adorable little nose, that gaze of hers that could kill… and who then had the gall to steal my fucking pants.
“…doing drugs. You were in the bathroom doing drugs.”
I sigh and let my head drop onto the table. This is threatening to become a long night. And it will be a really long week once she writes her story about all of this. I can already see the headline:
CEO Of Grayson Holdings Caught With His Pants Down
Fuck. Bruce will not like this. The board even less so.
“I wasn’t doing drugs. I also wasn’t exposing myself in public. I was wearing a shirt, my suit jacket, this tie, even shoes, and, of course, underwear. That’s more than I’d be wearing at the beach. It can’t possibly qualify as indecent exposure in public. I didn’t break any laws.”
“Weeeell, those boxers are pretty tight, buddy.” The cop places his arms on his belly, getting a little too comfortable for my taste. “Besides, that’s for me to judge.”
“No. It isn’t,” I object, because apparently, I am too dumb to just shut the fuck up. “There are laws, and rules, and ordinances that define things like this, and, if anything, it is for a judge to… you know… judge .”
“Weeeell, there’s different rules here. We’re at the airport on extra-judicial grounds, so…”
“Extra-judicial gr—” My pulse is beating furiously against the tight cuffs as I try to control my temper. “I guess you are right.” Because apparently you can do whatever you want here. And if that isn’t extra-judicial, then I don’t know what is. “How about this: how about you reach into this pocket here,” I lean forward, allowing him access to the inner lining of my jacket, “and you look for a business card in there that says Bruce Grayson. Then you look up who that is and you give him a call. Of course, I probably don’t need to mention this, but other than my ID and that business card, my wallet is absolutely empty, as far as I’m concerned.”
I am bribing a police officer now. Might as well hire a hitman to find that reporter after what she is putting me through here. But anything to not miss the wedding.
Carefully, Officer Jabali, as it states on his name tag, reaches into my pocket, pulls out my wallet and opens it up. His eyes grow bigger and bigger when they discover the bills inside. “Well, well, well,” he says and quickly stuffs the stack of money into his pants while glancing over at the mirror in the wall, “I guess we can add attempted bribery of an officer to your charges.”
“I guess we could,” I agree with a fake smile. “Or we could make that phone call and see if my brother has pockets even deeper than this.”
The cop stares at me for longer than is comfortable, I assume mentally running —or rather leisurely strolling— through his options, before getting up and almost tripping over himself in the process. “Wait here,” he says and turns towards the door.
Yeah, where would I fucking go?
I rattle against the cuffs, clenching my fists. This is unbelievable. I will have my assistant get the camera footage from the airport, figure out how that reporter got into the VIP lounge, who she is and for whom she works. Or rather, for whom she used to work, because I am going to sue her harder than a middle-aged woman threatens to sue the diner across church for messing up her Sunday reservation.
I should probably give my mom a call , I think when Officer Jabali returns a little later.
“Come on,” he mumbles and releases me from the table.
“Finally. Is he coming to get me or can I just go on my own? Also, I will need some pants.”
“Yup.” The officer nods and drops a pair of orange trousers on the table. “Put those on.”
“Really?”
“Don’t make me play dress-up, pretty boy,” he snarls and reaches for his baton.
For a brief moment, I consider knocking Jabali out. It wouldn’t be too hard. He’d probably drop like a stone, or rather a heavy-set boulder. But I wouldn’t make it to my plane and then I’d definitely miss the wedding. So instead, I do as I am told. It’s fine . I will be out of here in a few minutes and on my way, just as planned.
“Come on,” Jabali mumbles, chewing on some jerky that he produced from seemingly thin air. “It’s your lucky day. My colleague here,” he tries to push me towards another cop who has the mandatory donut in his hand, “is headed towards the station anyway, so he will take you along.”
“That’s awfully nice of you to offer, officer.” I can’t help but grind my teeth a little. “But I am not going to the station. I have a plane to catch.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Officer Jabali explains to his colleague. “I think he’s drunk or high or both. He’s been rumbling on incoherently the entire time. Said something about losing a bunch of money too. Run him through the system, take some blood and do whatever else we do with someone like him, you know the drill.”
“Yes, sir,” the other officer responds, grabs me by the arm and leads me away.
I look back at Jabali’s grinning face and know there’s no way out at this point, nothing to be done. Nothing other than imagining revenge, envisioning what I would do to the person who got me into these cuffs in the first place. It’s a little disconcerting that those things also include a whole lot of kissing, touching and caressing.
I might actually be losing my mind here.
The rest of the evening is spent looking at a lot fewer bars than I had always imagined. Instead, the single holding cell has a heavy steel door with a little window at the top. The bed, if you can call it that, is all metal and cold, much like the toilet. It’s degrading, though that’s not even what I’m mad about. By now, my plane has long left with Olivia’s friends and family and I will definitely miss the practice dinner, as well as the little bachelor party I had planned for Phoenix. I hate that I am letting my friend down, especially on a day like this. All because of her.
For the rest of the night, I don’t get any shut eye. Instead, I just pace around the tiny cell.
Early in the morning, I am being processed and when they finally find out who I am, I am released immediately. I call Bruce and it takes another hour until he finally shows up with the biggest grin I have ever seen on him.
“Well, well, well, brother,” he says, looking at the bruises around my wrists and the cut on my forehead. “I guess it was only a matter of time for you to end up here, after all those scandals you’ve gotten yourself into the last couple of months.”
“I called the wrong brother, didn’t I? Couldn’t you have sent one of your assistants to pick me up?”
“And miss all of this?” He motions me up and down. “Not a chance. Hold on, let me take a picture of you. Wait, do you guys have a mug shot?” he asks the officer behind the counter. “I’ll have it printed on actual mugs and give them out at the office.”
“I’m gonna have to stay here if I murder him right now, won’t I?” I think out loud, which the officer answers with a disinterest nod. I grab the plastic bag that contains my belt, shoe strings, empty wallet, and opened pack of condoms. After all, there’s no time to waste. “Your jet?”
“It’s being prepared as we speak,” Bruce answers when we make our way to his limousine. “And stop being so grumpy. You’re not heading to work. You have the weekend off for the first time in months, presumably. Enjoy yourself a little.”
All that elicits from me is a low grumble. Enjoying myself is how I got here in the first place.
“Fine, suit yourself. Oh, and speaking of suit, here are the pants you requested over the phone. Had to make two stops on the way to find them.” He hands me a big, expensive-looking bag once we’re inside the car. “Julio, take us to the airport, please.”
“Thank you. But you didn’t have to get something that fancy. Any dress pants would have sufficed, really.” I open the bag and pull out a pair of pink pajama pants with little white pompoms on strings for a belt.
“It’s the new collection. Everyone is wearing them these days.” He laughs as I detach the Dollar Store price tag and exchange orange for pink.
That’s what I get for calling my brother to my rescue.
“I should beat you up and steal your pants.” I grumble a little more. “You’re lucky that pink suits me.”
Bruce is thoroughly entertained, despite my threats to drink his most expensive Scotch on the plane. I have to admit, it surprises me a little that he isn't angry. Usually, my brother is even more concerned about our company than I am. Maybe he hasn’t quite grasped the possible ramifications of this yet.
His driver takes us straight onto the tarmac, where his private jet is already waiting. We hug goodbye, I let him know I owe him one, and I am finally off to the island where the wedding is taking place. The pilot assures me that, thanks to the time-difference, he should be able to get me there just in time for the ceremony, and, once at altitude, I fall asleep immediately. Unfortunately, the flight is over before I actually feel rested. What’s even worse is, I don’t have time to take a shower before the landing.
As soon as we make it off the runway, I get in a cab and head straight for the wedding venue, not sure whether I am already too late. Phoenix is probably worried and wondering where his best man could be.
It takes less than 30 minutes on a much too narrow and winding road along the coast to reach the little chapel that is overlooking the ocean. The guests appear to have already congregated inside, as the only people I discover are servers with trays of champagne and canapés.
“That will be $72, please,” the cab driver says and flashes me a grin.
“Right… money.” I look through the window to try and find someone familiar. “Here,” I hand him my plastic prison bag, “please keep this as a deposit. I will be back with your payment in a minute.”
I can’t believe the bullshit I am going through today, and all because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself and my dick in my pants. From now on, there will be no more distractions. Nothing. No fucking women whatsoever.
Stepping, or rather vaulting out of the cab, I knock my head on its frame and stumble over my own two feet like an idiot.
God, this is the worst day of my life. It’s as if the universe is treating me like a practice run for a cosmic comedy show.
I rush inside and immediately discover the groom standing at the altar. He is talking to his grandma, who is supposed to officiate the wedding. Luckily, the bride is nowhere to be seen. It would appear I have made it just in time and a Jabali-shaped load disappears off my mind.
That’s at least something. I didn’t miss the most important part. Maybe this day is about to get a little better.
I walk down the aisle towards my best friend, who turns to face me just when I reach him. Phoenix grabs me by the shoulders, holding me in place to give me a thorough inspection, from the dark circles under my eyes to the bold choice of fashion I had no choice but to wear.
“Not now,” I say before he can ask. “You wouldn’t have 72 bucks in that dapper tux of yours, would you?”
Phoenix stares at me without a word until his grandma comes to my rescue. She fumbles in the cleavage of her dress and produces a few folded-up bills that she hands me with a gentle grin.
“You are not my type, Ryker Grayson, which is why I’ll spare you the dirty joke about having to pay me back later,” Nana explains in the most charming Scottish accent and presses a smooch on my cheek to say hello. “Just know that I will cut you if you don’t.” She gives me a wink and sits down on the chair by the altar as I walk back outside to pay the driver.
Just as I return, a quiet melody lets everyone know the ceremony is about to begin. Phoenix gives me a big hug before I take my place by his side. Then our eyes are fixed on the giant double door where his fiancée, Olivia, is about to make her entrance.
“So,” I whisper to the groom as we stare straight ahead and I can finally relax for the first time in two days, “since I missed yesterday, I’ll just skip to the stereotypical questions, which, according to all the movies I’ve seen, one is supposed to ask in situations like this: any second thoughts?”
The corner of Phoenix’s mouth lifts slightly while his head begins to nod. “Yes, indeed,” he says. “Second thoughts, third thoughts, fourth and fifth?—”
The music picks up as the door opens and Olivia, accompanied by her dad, slowly steps inside.
“…and they’re all about her. All my thoughts, every single one.” A tear rolls down his cheek as I hear a hauntingly familiar voice let out a gushing ‘Ohhhhh’.