Chapter 5 Ryan
RYAN
There’s a bear in here. One that’s rumbling and roaring.
I jolt awake, sitting straight up in bed. The bear rumbles again from my right.
It’s only Jay snoring under the covers of his bunk.
“He didn’t used to be this loud,” I mutter, astounded. We’ve been on the road to games, sleeping on planes, and I can’t remember this noise.
“He was worse.” Atlas’s voice comes from the top bunk.
I shake my head and get up. There are sounds downstairs, and when I stick my head out of the room, I smell coffee brewing.
My stomach growls louder than Jay in his sleep.
When I step into the bathroom, my hair is sticking up all over the place. Guess I didn’t sleep the best—probably due to the bunk bed situation. What seemed cozy in theory is a little rough in practice. I’m used to a king bed, and anything less means I’ve got body parts hanging off the sides.
But it’s not nearly as rough as the time we went camping as kids and my sister dropped her sleeping blanket in the lake so I gave her mine.
I thought I’d never know how it felt to be warm again, though I wouldn’t have complained out loud.
The chill only lasted a few hours, and the smile on her face made up for it.
Funny how quick you get used to the way things are.
Now, I grab a quick shower and tug on purple plaid Kodiaks pants.
There’s no early-morning workout or game tape watching session. For two days, we’re free and we’re together.
I get down to the kitchen, expecting to find Miles already working his barista magic. The guy can brew a mean espresso and do it for a crowd.
“Miles. My favorite guard…” I start, leaning over the island that separates the dining area from the kitchen.
It’s not Miles.
Sierra’s standing next to the coffee machine, her hair tucked up in two little buns on her head. A soft purple tank top, the same shade as her shorts, reveals fascinating tattoos. She’s drumming her fingers on the countertop as the coffee brews.
Hell yes.
There’s no part of this I’m not instantly committing to memory.
“Morning,” I say at last.
Sierra opens a pine cabinet over the sink. “Ran out of clothes on day one?” she asks as she pulls four mugs off the first shelf. “You could put a shirt on.”
“But I get such a great reception when I don’t.”
Now she does look at me, toes to tips. I lean over the island, flexing for her benefit.
I hitch a thumb upstairs. “If it’s bothering you, I can—”
“I’m not affected.”
“Right.”
She seems affected. She turns away again and presses up onto her toes, trying to reach more mugs at the top. I round the island to her, nudging her out of the way with a hip.
“My grandfather swears he won my grandmother over with his cafecito.” I reach the mugs easily and pass them to her.
“He makes it strong?”
I grin. “He’d say, Esto te despierta hasta las ideas. It’ll even wake up your brain cells.”
She laughs as she sets the mugs on the counter in tidy rows.
Although he came to Tampa and married my grandmother fifty years ago, he still loves to share his food, stories, and music at every opportunity.
“I hope you weren’t up too late drinking alone last night.”
I file away the fact that she noticed. “I wasn’t drinking alone. I was thinking about home.”
She turns that over as the coffee machine beeps. “What about it?”
“On Christmas day, we’d go outside and look for reindeer tracks in the snow.”
“Did you find them?”
“Never.” I go to the fridge, pulling out cream as she gets sugar from a drawer. “My parents tried to convince us the cat’s footprints were reindeer though. I said the reindeer work in a team, so there weren’t enough tracks.”
“Smart kid. When did you catch on?”
“I was seven or eight. But once I was in high school, I took over making it work for my cousins.”
“Cute.”
“How about you? What’s your best Christmas memory?”
She turns the question over before answering. “One year there was a huge storm. Dad couldn’t get to the bar, so it was closed. I got a chemistry set and played with it the entire holiday and made him play with me.” Her lips curve at the memory.
I grew up with a big family, and they were a massive part of my life. Taking care of each other was just how we rolled. Her family was smaller, and taking care of each other was a necessity.
“You worry about him.”
“Running the bar has been hard work for a long time, and he thinks he has to do it alone. I wish he’d see that I’m here. Except…” She blows out a breath. “I don’t want to do things like he does. I have my own ideas. And I think I’ve earned the space to try them out.”
“So, why don’t you?”
Sierra shoots me a look. “Because he reminds me that’s not how we do things. But what he means is, it’s not how he does things. Sometimes it feels like it would be easier if I worked somewhere else.”
It’s obvious how much she cares about her family and feels responsible for their business.
“You ever tell him that?”
“No.” She laughs. “It’s not going to happen.”
“You can practice on me, if you want.”
She looks up, our eyes locking. “I’m not afraid.”
It feels so damn good to stand close to her. I’m wondering what she’d do if I backed her against the counter. Lifted her onto it, my fingers digging into her curvy hips.
A loud noise like a grunt comes from outside the window.
She jumps, spilling half the contents of her mug on the floor and herself, plus a few drops on me. “What the hell was that?”
Not that I care about the spillage, because she’s tucked against my side. I tuck her closer behind me and peer outside.
Her hand is on my bare chest, her breasts pressing against me through her tank top. When her chin lifts, her gaze meeting mine, I’m aware of all the places we’re lined up.
I’m thrown back to this time last year—the hookup no one since has measured up to.
Probably because what I feel about her isn’t only physical. This woman who’s cool and confident and sexy, with layers behind the walls she keeps high to keep people out… All of it only made me want more badly to break inside.
The front door has us jumping apart.
“A storm is coming!” Chloe announces. She shoves the hood of her parka off her face and stomps snow off her boots onto the rug.
“You go for a hike?” I ask.
“More like a wade. It’s so deep. I went up to the road but no cars.” She shrugs out of the coat and adjusts her ponytail. “Coffee? Oh God, yes.”
Sierra’s already passing over a mug.
As if called by ESP, Brooke sticks her head out of her doorway at the top of the stairs. Miles is next.
Soon, the table is half occupied.
“I think I’m going to go for a run today,” Brooke volunteers as she claims a seat on the far side with Chloe.
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“Don’t go alone,” Sierra says from the kitchen as I take the head of the table. “We heard noises outside.”
“What kind of noises?” Brooke asks.
Sierra cocks her head. “It was probably Trista trying to score a look at Ryan naked.”
I snort.
The crew talks for a few minutes as I take a sip of my coffee. Damn, that’s good.
“I have some gift wrapping to do,” Nova volunteers, presumably for our secret Santa exchange later on. “Clay’s going to help me.”
“I’d pay money to have Clayton Wade wrap my gifts.”
“You couldn’t afford me.” Clay’s voice comes from the stairs, where he’s shuffling down them one at a time. He might play the old man, but he’s one of the most legendary players ever. Like Kobe or LeBron. Like them, he can say as much with a look as with a word.
Sierra’s gone back to the kitchen. That won’t do.
“We also need to get the tree,” I say as I shift out of my seat, my mug still in my hand.
I head for the kitchen, draining the rest of my mug on the way. The caffeine kicks pleasantly in my veins, the warm flavor dancing on my tongue.
I find Sierra bent over inside the open fridge. Her curvy ass is hugged by her shorts, her long legs pale and ending in bunny slippers.
“You hiding out here?”
She emerges with two cartons of eggs and some bacon balanced on top. “Starting breakfast.”
“Easy, Cirque du Soleil.” I reach for the bacon as it slides off.
“Thanks,” she murmurs when I grab it, one-handed, before it hits the floor.
“You know, for someone who practically lives with the team, you act like we bite sometimes.”
“Well, bears and humans aren’t a good combination,” she says under her breath. I don’t have time to press her on that because she continues, “Besides, I enjoy cooking.”
She kicks the fridge closed with a bunny foot and sets the eggs on the counter. Under the sink, she rummages around until she finds a big frying pan.
I set my mug on the counter. “Bet you’re good at it too. But how often do you let someone else do the heavy lifting?”
She puts the pan on the stove, turns on the element, and cuts a chunk of butter into it. “If I waited, I’d be waiting a long time. I’m not a famous athlete with thousands of fans ready to worship me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. You’ve got more than a few worshippers at Mile High.”
Her lips twitch. “They like me because I pour the alcohol.”
“They like you because you’re funny. And kind. And…”
“What?” She leans a hip against the counter, face tilted up reluctantly. Her lips are parted, her dark eyes alert and warm.
I pause. “And way too fucking beautiful.”
Sierra turns away and grabs a couple of eggs, but not before I see her flush. “Save it for the Kodashians, Ryan. You don’t need to pretend what happened last year was a big deal. We’re cool.”
I frown as she taps an egg on the edge of the pan, cracking it in.
“We are?” I ask slowly.
Sierra turns for a handful more, but I’m right there to pass eggs to her. She jumps, taking them from me. Our fingers brush. Our eyes lock.
“Yeah. It was a one-time thing. Meaningless.”
My appetite evaporates in an instant.
I didn’t realize how much it would suck to hear her say those words. Not like I’m head over heels, but I think about her a lot. About last year, what was and what might have been. Now, if there was any hope left alive that she was into it, that hope is dying an agonizing death.
Once she’s done, she dodges me and goes to the sink to wash her hands.
Then she wipes down the counter thoroughly. Carefully.
“You take almost as good care of this as your bar at home,” Brooke observes from the other room.
“You’ve got no idea,” Clay counters. “Her bar is sacred. It’s her altar.”
That’s when it clicks.
I step closer to her. “How many times have you hooked up on your bar, Sierra?”
Her eyes flicker.
Laughter goes up from the dining room. Neither of us looks over.
“Let me guess: one-time thing, meaningless,” I say quietly. A slow smile tugs at my lips.
I whistle—Mariah Carey—as I go in search of the toaster.
I’m suddenly starving again.