EPILOGUE
* Ryland *
The smells of spring in early May are all around as I take in a large breath in hopes I capture it before the game takes over my senses. I love being on the field after it’s been clipped—no smell matches fresh cut grass. Especially those nasty candles my mother sends me for Christmas every year. Wait till Marissa finds that box in her quest to organize twenty-five years of soccer shit. The thought of that argument makes me chuckle and my dick perks up even though he got some action this morning.
Marissa’s pert little ass comes into my line of sight and my eyes are drawn in her direction as she bends over one of the brand new white goal post we purchased for the Youth Center. She swats at something around her face, batting her hair in the process. When her feet start stomping on the ground as she tries to look at the bottom of her shoe, a chuckle escapes. Her head raises to the sky in silent prayer and I outright laugh. My Kitten hates mornings. And nature.
My laughter must draw her attention because Marissa stops her little show and pulls her hair into a ponytail. When she turns to me and waves in my direction, my dick and I both stand at attention. He’s fucking ridiculous.
Ask your average soccer fan and most would tell you Marissa reformed the stereotypical playboy, but they’re wrong. This is the most sex I’ve had in years. Maybe ever. Hell Marissa is my first and last long-term relationship.
The woman in question pulls up her stretchy black yoga pants and leans against the goal post using it to stretch on. It’s like she does this shit on purpose, just to screw with me. The position reminds me of the time I bent her over in the kitchen counter, but now I visualize the fun we’d have with a goalpost. My dick stirs again while I make future plans and decide on another rule. Number six — more yoga pants.
Another brown haired women enters the field, approaching Marissa while waving in my direction. Damn Aspen and Finn with their horrible timing. I wave back and scan the field for Finn who has yet to emerge.
I cannot let him see me standing on the sidelines drooling over my new wife. Finn was the guy in college who continuously mocked my girlfriends. He was right. Not only did they look like Barbie, they were also mostly plastic. The trend continued when I went pro. What can I say, they look nice on your arm for the night, but not so much the next morning when you’ve worn off the make-up.
Finn and I both know he’s the one who told me to find a real woman to make me happy. He’s seen me with Marissa. He doesn’t need my verbal confirmation to gloat in. As if being a video game tycoon wasn’t enough, this would make his year. He’d probably get Grant to tape record my confession and then stick it online.
The man himself finally walks on the field and heads in my direction. Aspen must not have dressed him because he’s in jeans and a grey t-shirt with aMariomushroom on the front. There might be a matching one in my closet. The jeans aren't the best choice, but it’s before ten o’clock on a Saturday morning. We should be grateful he’s out of bed and not in pajamas.
“Grant’s running late, but he’ll be here.” Finn slaps me on the back in our brotherly way. “I can’t believe you succeeded in getting everyone here so early on a weekend.”
When I first suggested a soccer game between our group of friends and the kids I’ve been coaching for the last few weeks, the response wasn’t what I expected. Who doesn’t want to play soccer at 8 a.m. on a Saturday? I finally pushed it back to nine-thirty and everyone agreed… with help.
“It’s for the kids and Marissa may have threatened people to get them here.” I shrug. None of us expect less from her.
He laughs and slaps me on the back again, but this time I assume it’s from pity. Finn’s always been a sweet guy. He has no idea how Marissa’s feisty side turns me on.
“Have your parents calmed down yet?” he asks in reference to their less than stellar reaction to my marriage. Their first responses were mild compared to how the accusations have spiraled the longer we stay married.
“Nope. My dad still thinks I’m on drugs.” And if he goes to the press with his allegations as he’s threatened, they’ll both be cut off. Marissa does not need more shit to read on her damn gossip blog sites. It’s officially rule number two now. Neither of us need to waste time on my parents or reporters.
A little red sports car pulls up to the curb on the side of the center. Trey walks around the side and opens the door for Simone. I need to try that with Marissa. See if it earns me any extra points. Finn runs off in their direction and the first kids start to exit the building and make their way to the field.
“Hey, Ryland.” A female voice comes from behind me. I turn to see Amanda. “I wanted to say thanks for letting me rent out the apartment."
“No problem. I’m sure Marissa will love having you close.” I haven’t spent much time with the fourth member of Marissa’s group of friends. I hope the two don’t spend all night gabbing together and cut into my wife time. There’s a lot of apartment Marissa and I haven’t tested out yet.
“I plan to move in next week and will make sure to keep boxes out of the hallway.” She laughs at the end of her statement, but I can’t figure out if she's making a joke or concerned. Amanda should know Marissa enough to realize any friend of hers is safe from my wrath.
“Do you need help moving in? Finn always volunteers Jake for these events, and I’m sure we plan to help too.”
“He’s right. We’d help you if you need it. I haven’t done my moving in duty with anyone lately.” Grant comes from nowhere and works himself into the conversation.
I swear she blushes. “No thanks. I have three brothers. They’d be upset if I didn’t let them help out and scope out the place."
Aspen waves and Amanda uses the opportunity to walk in her direction crossing the field the fastest anyone’s moved today. My kids will kick this group’s ass.
“Is everyone here?” Grant takes Amanda’s place beside me and we stare out at the field as it gathers more and more people.
I’ve lost sight of Marissa and I scan the group looking for her dark hair, but she’s too short to see above everyone else’s head. "Yeah, now that you’re here, we’re ready to go.”
I start to walk toward the field, but Grant pulls on my arm until I stop. “I don’t see Clare. Is she here?”
“Um, no. She had a family commitment today. One of her other volunteers is here with the kids.” I don’t ask Grant why he's concerned. I don’t need to.
There’s a single reason why he’d ask about a girl he had a one-night stand with a month ago. His behavior and the way he’s dressed this morning, in a button down shirt and a pair of black pants, tell me what I need to know. Like Finn, he either doesn’t know how to dress to play soccer or he’d hoped to impress someone.
