Chapter 23
My skin crawls when Whit isn’t around. I’m restless, itching to get that sweet look she always gives me. It fucks me up every time and I revel the shit out of it.
What does a guy do when his girl is out of his reach? Spend it with the next best girl possible—Gracie. I called earlier to make sure she wasn’t doing anything better than spending time with me and now I’m watching her show me her best attempt at swan diving. She’s belly-flopped more than once, face planted against the water twice, and her tiny legs tend to flail just before hitting the water every time.
Don’t look at me to teach her. I can’t do this Olympic shit.
She pops up in a fit of bubbles and swims toward me, water splashing like hell behind her. She swims right in front of me and stands all out of breath. Droplets of water are scattered over her face. The brown in her hazel eyes seems darker, the whites redder, and her eye lashes are matted together. She fights with the hair slapped against her cheek, trying to sweep the mess away.
“That one was horrible.” She latches on to my arm, holding it as she floats.
“Practice makes perfect,” I tell her.
“I’ve got the perfect feet-first down pat,” she giggles.
“So…no Olympics this year?” I tease.
“No Olympics ever.” She drops her head into the water, allowing it to pull the strands away from her face. “Unk, did you know what you wanted to be when you were my age?”
I laugh, picking her up and placing her on the edge of the pool. “Spiderman.”
Her eyes go wide. “Wait.” She holds up her finger. “Actor or the real Spiderman.”
“The real deal, Pooh. Ask grandma. I used to try climbing the walls, and jumping from the couch to a counter.”
She dips her chin, looking at me with the cutest serious glare. “You got a lot of whoopings, didn’t you?”
I bellow out a laugh and nod. “I got away with it more with grandma, but grandpa? Not a chance. Didn’t help I’d climb up the bookshelf and wait on someone to pass by so I could jump down at them.”
“Spiderman doesn’t scare people.” Her tone implies I’m an idiot.
“You’re saying if some dude in a red leotard comes swinging in from a piece of thread it wouldn’t scare you?”
She laughs, kicking her feet in the water. “Ry, I think you have the wrong idea of Spiderman.”
I shrug. “My version was cooler.”
She flicks her bright and joyful eyes to me. “I think I want to be the girl who holds the numbers at your fights.”
I pat her head, standing up. “Over my dead body. Be a doctor or some sh…thing like that.” Saved that one.
She springs and steps beside me, wrapping a hot pink towel around her body, cocooning her little self. “I could be a dancer. Would you come to my recitals?”
“I wouldn’t miss any in my control. What’s with all the seriousness? You’re eight, Pooh. You have years to change your mind a hundred times.”
“Mrs. Santner said we can be anything we can put our minds to,” she explains.
“She sounds smart.” I smile at her.
“She’s a teacher, RyRy.” Yep. I’m definitely an idiot.
“You two hungry?” Sarah calls out from the house and in a flash, Gracie is running toward her.
There’s her answer.
She’s made sandwiches giving mine special attention since she knows my fighting diet. Bland, boring, and turkey. I’d rather have a Whitney special from Nuckles.
Sarah sets a bottle of water in front of me and hands Gracie a napkin and her drink. She pulls out a seat across the table, staring directly at me. I know this look. She’s up to something.
“Where’s Whitney today?” she asks.
I eye her conspicuously. “She had to work.”
“You’re pretty serious with her, huh?” The way the corners of her lips pull up insinuates it’s a rhetorical question.
I rest my forearms on the side of the table, holding my sandwich in front of me. “Does it upset you? Have you finally come to your senses and seen I’m the better brother?” Although we tease each other all the time, she’s been Jackson’s light since they met and never my type.
She titters, puffing a breath. “That look, your brother has it. It looks good on you. She brings out the old Ryker, the one before fighting hardened you.”
I take a bite of my sandwich.
“You’ve been dating her for a while,” she adds.
“What are you getting at?” I gruff with a mouthful.
“Nothing,” Sarah croons with a look. “Any future thoughts?”
“What’s Jackson have you up to?”
She shakes her head. “I like her. I don’t want to get too close and then have to pick her side when you decide to toss her away.”
“Keep liking her. She’s not being tossed.”
Whatever the hell I just said vitalized Sarah. Her facial features brighten up, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she smiles at me and pushes away from the table. I glance to Gracie who’s looking back at me and we both shrug.
There’s shit on the television. Time has shit on me. Have I mentioned I’m an impatient fucker? No? Well, I am. I have no idea when the hell to expect Whitney other than somewhere close to six or seven. It’s five. And the prelude of a cantankerous man.
I should’ve gone to the gym after leaving Gracie. That would’ve moved the time, released boredom, and freed my anticipation. The leather always does.
I grab my ringing phone from the table.
“Hey,” Abby replies.
“You all right?” I ask knowing her calls aren’t usually out of some chattery need.
“I am. I’m at break and just wanted to check on you and Whitney.”
“What the fuck is in the air today? Why is everyone concerning themselves with my personal life?” I rattle off.
She laughs. “You’re whining, Ryker. Get over it.”
I clear my throat, getting frustrated. People in my space causes me to feel claustrophobic.
“That guy…” she trails off with noises of shuffling coming from her end. “Sorry. So, apparently I wasn’t the only one he was talking to. His wife found out about his cheating ways and beat the shit out of him. He came in last night needing stitches. She threw something and it busted his cheek.”
“He needs more than that,” I say.
“I thought you’d get a laugh from it. I had to tell you.”
“You going to tell me who he is?”
“No. It’s not important.”
“Abs, if I find out I know this character, I’m gonna lose my shit on him and be pissed with you,” I warn.
“I promise you don’t know him. He’s not your gym-rat style.”
“You’re saying I should head into the business park and walk around until I find someone with stitches on his face?”
She laughs again. “Karma took care of him. Besides, you don’t want to do anything to jeopardize spending time with Whitney. Poor Ryker will be singing the blues from inside the jail cell. I like her, by the way. She’s really sweet, like you said. She cares a lot about you.”
“And how do you know this?” I ask.
“I just do. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I don’t plan on it, Abs.”
“Good. I’ve got to go.”
I toss my phone to the side and drop back into the couch looking around the room. This place needs a lady’s touch. I smirk. I’m a fucking genius.