He takes a step back from the couch, maybe worried he’d be too close when dealing the blow. “Well yeah, eventually. I play soccer, Marissa. It’s the only thing I'm good at.”
I allow our eyes to meet startled by how much truth his hold. What’d I think, we’d have sex a few times and he’d drop his career for me? I wouldn't ask that of Ryland or anyone. Hearing the truth sucked, but I’m glad it happened. At least it’s what I promise myself I’ll feel eventually. In a few years.
With a genuine smile I pat him on the arm and stand grabbing empty wine glasses. “You’re right and you’ll kick ass once you're back on a team.”
His chest puffs out a little. “You think?”
“Yup. If you pick a warm place, maybe Aspen and I will fly out and watch a game.”
He stops outside my kitchen while I load the dishwasher. “You’d fly out and see me play a game?” he asks in angry disbelief. "How often? Like what once? Twice?” Anger slashes each question as he spits the words out.
Clueless to what I’ve done to upset him in the last five minutes, I shrug. “Sure, a couple. However many I could manage.” Soccer's a long season and my vacation days are limited.
“That’s nice.” He uses a harsh tone and I finally lookup to see Ryland scowling at me from across the open bar area. “I wouldn’t want you to miss any important work at your job as a marketingassistantto watch me play a silly sport.”
What the fuck? “Excuse me?”
“Forget it. It’s good to see where I’ll stand with you when this is over.” He backs away to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning to take you to work.”
The door slams behind him shaking a picture on the wall and I stomp over locking the deadbolt for the first time in two weeks. Screw him. Whatever his problem is he needs to figure it out on his own. I’ve got my own shit to deal with.
