36. June
THIRTY-SIX
June
Turns out “just getting started” meant spending the rest of the weekend having sex. Granted we did take Oliver to the park, played trains, and watched the second monster movie, but once he was asleep, it was like Ryan was on a personal mission to make me come as much as I could before passing out.
His stamina is ... well, let’s just say it’s impressive.
My thighs are burning like I spent all day at the gym, and for the life of me I can’t get comfortable in this desk chair. Probably because I’m itching to leave and have been ever since I walked into the law firm this morning.
Every day I’m here and not at my studio feels like a wasted opportunity. Especially since my session the other day with the football players. Several of them have reached back out, asking about classes twice a week, and my regular sessions are filling up fast. While I won’t kick out the two girls who rent space from me, I don’t think I need them anymore to pay rent.
I’m not sure I need this job, either, and the longer I sit here, the more I feel the chains wrapping around me, trapping me.
“Uh, good morning, June.” Michael clears his throat, shuffling his feet as he stops in front of my reception desk, shoving his hands into his pockets.
I hold up a finger, clicking a few random things on the computer. While I may not have anything that needs my attention this exact minute, I’m going to let him wait. He sold me out for football tickets. I mean, I’m not really mad at the events that followed, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.
So instead of turning to him after a minute, I open up an email to Poppy and Kinsley, asking them to meet me for lunch. I should send a message to my dad, too, get his advice, but I know what he’ll say. He’s already told me I should quit my job in Satan’s lobby and focus on my own career.
And yes, those were his exact words.
Email sent. I clear out my junk folder. Michael fixes his tie. Trash needs to be deleted too. He’s smoothing down his jacket. I should refresh things for good measure.
When there’s nothing left to do, I turn to him with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Fitzpatrick. How are you?”
He clears his throat again, his hands going back into his pockets. He glances to the ground, and at least he has the good sense to look stricken. “I’m sorry about the other night?”
“Which part?” I fold my arms on top of the desk, still doing my best to smile. “Picking the restaurant? Insisting I order a glass of wine? Or when you ditched me for football tickets?”
He gulps, tugging at the collar of his pretentious pinstripe dress shirt. “The last one.”
“Water under the bridge. I’d hate to make things awkward since we work together, but I hope you understand that we will not be going out a second time.” Not that it was a question, but I don’t want him getting any sort of ideas. “Have a good day, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
He stands there frozen, staring at me. His mouth opens and closes several times before he gives me a tight nod and heads off to his office. Or at least I’m assuming. I really don’t care.
But I do take out my phone because this seems like the perfect opportunity to rile Ryan up.
Me: So, Michael stopped by my desk.
It doesn’t take long for his response.
Ryan: And?
Me: Oh, it was nothing, really.
Ryan: We’re watching tape right now. I could easily leave practice if he needs me to have a conversation with him.
Me: I don’t know, aside from your excellent taste in women, I’m not sure you have much in common.
Ryan: It’s not going to be a friendly chat.
Me:
Me: That’s going to make it real awkward in the break room.
Ryan: If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, it’s working.
Me: Why would I do that?
Ryan: What did Michael say to you, June?
Me: A little bit of this. A little bit of that.
Ryan: June . . .
Me: He tried to apologize and I basically told him to (excuse my language) fuck off.
Ryan: That’s my girl.
Ryan: It’s so hot when you swear. It’s even better when I’m balls deep in that sweet pussy of yours.
Me: Real talk, are you sure you’d be okay if I quit this week?
Ryan: I want you to be happy and I know running your studio does that. The guys are already talking about going to regular classes. You said yesterday you need to find more time for regular classes. I’m behind whatever you want to do.
Me: You’re the best.
Ryan: I know.
Me: Humble too.
My email dings with a few new emails. Kins and Poppy are both in for lunch, and even better, I’m being summoned into my mom’s office. I’m actually a little surprised she waited a few hours instead of jumping me when I got in this morning.
I close out my email, and after taking a steadying deep breath, push up from my chair and head to her office. Or as my dad would say, Satan’s lair.
She’s finishing up a call when I let myself into her space, and as she holds up a finger, much like I did to Michael, I take a seat in front of her desk.
Time ticks by and the trepidation sinks in. Do I quit now? Do I wait until the end of the day? Do I stew over it for another couple of weeks? Months? While I don’t like this job, or this place, or law, I do like the security it’s afforded me. It’s a guaranteed paycheck every two weeks—enough to cover rent, food, and Oliver’s day care.
I also don’t want my mom to think I’m not grateful she gave me a job when I needed money, because I am. It’s just not my future. It’s not my passion. Not like it is hers.
Taking risks, even calculated ones, has never been who I am. I’ve always been safe and sound in my little box. Until Ryan. I took a chance on him the night I found my fiancé cheating on me. If it weren’t for him, I’d never have Oliver. And if I didn’t have Oliver, I’m not sure I’d have found my true calling.
If it weren’t for Ryan, I’d have gone to law school like my mom planned, and I’d be here as a junior partner and not a secretary. This would be my life. And I’d hate it.
He took a chance on me the other night. He opened up to me and told me his secret. I still can’t believe he was married, that he’s been harboring such pain, and my heart goes out to him. I wish I could help, but at the same time, I’d never want to take that experience from him.
I wonder what she was like. If she would approve of me, if she’d want Ryan to move on and find happiness.
And I wonder if he could ever love me like he did her.
I don’t know ... but I owe it to him and any future we could have together to take risks. To be the person he deserves.
If I don’t climb outside the box I’ve lived in, I don’t stand a chance at getting the life I truly want for myself and my family, because regardless of what happens, that’s what we are. Ryan, Oliver, and me—we’re it for each other. Four years ago, Ryan and I weren’t ready for each other. The timing wasn’t right. But maybe now it could be.
And now he’s behind me along with most of my family. He’s doing his darndest to make sure all my dreams come true. The only roadblock that remains is ... me.
If I don’t take the leap on my studio, I’d have only myself to blame if it fails.
“Here is an agreement for you to look over. Sorry, it took me a few days to get it done, but I wanted to make sure your parameters were met.” My mom interrupts my thoughts, handing me a stack of papers. “Regardless of what may or may not be happening between you and Ryan, I’d feel better if we had a custody agreement in place.”
Regardless of what’s happening? Does she know something is going on? I know it’s nothing Poppy or Dad would mention to her, and I sure as hell didn’t leave her a little Post-it Note telling her Ryan and I were together. Maybe she’s just being her general lawyer self and being ambiguous. “Thanks for doing this. I’ll look over everything today.”
I give her a strained smile and she nods, holding my gaze for what feels like hours before it narrows. “Do you know what you’re doing, June?”
My spine straightens and my body becomes rigid. “What do you mean? With custody?”
“Don’t play cute with me. With this Neanderthal football player. I heard a couple of the girls talking in the break room. They were practically smitten with his barbaric behavior.”
Okay, maybe she does know more than I thought. “His name is Ryan, and you haven’t even met him yet. Maybe you can hold off on judgment until then.”
Her mouth flattens into a straight line, and I think it’s safe to say she doesn’t agree. “I don’t need to know him to know his type. These guys are all philanderers with more money than sense. Let’s not forget I just helped one of them get divorced, and it wasn’t pretty. They have a type of fame and notoriety that breeds ignorance, and women will flock to them like flies on shit. You’re better than that. You deserve better than him.”
I bristle, anger flaring in my chest.
How dare she! The only one ignorant in this situation is her, and with the attitude she wears like a scarf, it’s never going to change.
Sure, there was a period of time when Ryan was a playboy, when he wasn’t selective about whom he went home with, but that stemmed from a place of hurt. From the death of a loved one. He couldn’t heal, he couldn’t move on, he distracted himself. While I’ve never experienced something like that, I understand.
And his notoriety is a gift. With his increase in popularity—heck, with mine—we can make a difference. He’s done nothing but show off how happy he is being a father, showing Nashville and maybe the world there’s more to him and his friends than being ignorant football players.
His friends haven’t shown me that they’re only into partying and women either. They’re nice, smart, and, you know, they’ve been more supportive of me than she has.
“You’re wrong, Mother, and maybe if you got off your high moral horse for five minutes, you could see what’s right in front of you. Ryan is good to me. Good for me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and that’s the only indication I get that she’s actually heard me. “I’m just concerned for you and your future if this is the kind of company you intend to keep.”
That’s it. I can’t do this. I can’t keep letting her run my life. It’s time I think about what’s best for me, not falling into what she thinks is best.
It’s time I stand up for myself.
“I think we need to talk about my future.”