“Ryland!”
“But I missed you.” His hand inches up again until I slap at it. “I couldn’t do it, Marissa. I can’t go back to that life.” He sighs and his entire body slackens. “I stepped off the plane and the media was there. How did they even find out so quickly?"
He’s lost the small amount of playfulness of moments earlier, and I miss it. Ryland exudes tiredness. My free hand reaches up and rubs a small circle over his cheek.
“Reporters yelled questions and took pictures. It’s been quiet in San Francisco. I’d forgotten how horrible my life used to be. I almost turned around and flew home right then. I would have, but James made me attend the meeting.”
The words stop, but there’s more to the story. “What happened at the meeting?”
“The entire time I didn’t hear a word anyone said. My only thoughts were about getting home to you and whether I’d make practice at the center."
I can’t let him lose focus before he finishes the story. “Okay, I still don’t understand how you ended up a coach for your old team."
“Because, Marissa, don’t you see?” When I’m silent he continues. "Coaching is the answer to our problems.”
We have problems? “Okay.” I’m silent again and only hope he’ll hurry up and spit the rest of the story out.
“Coaching is the best of both worlds. I love soccer — I hateplayingsoccer. College teams get less hype. I have connections in the field, which will be helpful to players like my college coach did for me. The schedule is less intense and we can stay right here.”
His smile grows with each point and his body becomes tense again, but with excitement. “Pierce, the current head coach plans to retire in five years and I’ll step into his position.”
I’m so frustrated with his crappy story telling skills, I’d shake him if I had access to both my hands. Instead I do the only things available to me, roll my eyes and huff my displeasure. “That’s great, Ryland, buthowdid you end up as the new coach?”
Ryland realigns his body to the open area of the couch and lies on his side next to me, forcing me between him and the couch. “Fate.” My eyes go huge as I level him with my best “I will hurt you look” until he keeps talking. “Parker, a college teammate sent me a text with news they’d fired the old assistant coach. He's an asshole and we hated him.”
He plays with a piece of loose hair, tucking it behind my ear. “I took it as a sign and called Pierce asking about the job. He tried to hire me over the phone, but I flew back and met with him and the Athletic director today to finalize the paperwork. They’ll make the official announcement tomorrow.”
Everything about his relaxed posture screams happiness, but there are so many unanswered questions. I’m worried he hasn’t thought this through. “Are you sure about this, Ryland? What about the talk of playing ten more years?”
He sighs. “I feel old and there’s so much I want to do now. I’ve chased the glory. Shakespeare was right, all that glitters isn't gold. And those bright lights are cancerous to your soul.”
Dead composers and now Shakespeare? “What about your endorsement contracts?”
“James will handle those. It’s his job. Some will drop me, but as long as you don’t plan to buy a two-hundred-million-dollar house on the water we'll be okay. Plus, I do get a salary coaching.”
I scoff. It’s not about money. I don’t want him to face legal trouble.
“That’s it. What do you think?” he asks as his fingers run through strands of my hair.
“Now you ask me?” I push on his chest, but not hard enough to knock him over the edge of the couch.
He laughs. Again not fazed by my attitude. “I promised you I’d be home when I’d taken care of it. I wanted to keep the promise." I narrow my eyes at him as he raises a hand in the air. “But for now decisions are a team effort. From here on out it’s you and me, Kitten.”
Team Bates, huh? I could get used to that.
He suddenly becomes serious. “You’re okay that you’re no longer married to a pro soccer player?”
“I’ll survive,” I respond and pull his head closer.
Our lips connect in a sweeter kiss than he greeted me with. His stubble bites into my chin and I pull back taking his bottom lip with me.
“Kitten.” He sends me a warning. When I don’t respond, his large palm rolls up my shirt exposing my belly button.
His hand continues to run up the exposed skin and higher underneath the shirt until he reaches my bra. He pulls the fabric lower and with two fingers pinches my uncovered nipple until I moan. “Hmm. Where did we leave the handcuffs? We need them tonight.”
His body leaves mine taking the extra warmth with him as he walks out of the living room leaving me behind on the couch.
