Chapter Seventeen

Zoey

We made our way to a swanky restaurant in Greenwich Village. I never realized there were so many fans of MMA. I had thought the people earlier today had been excited to see Ryder, but the women asking for pictures and hanging all over him, passing him their numbers and him pocketing them, definitely rubbed me the wrong way. I had a jealous streak, but to see him do it right in front of my face made me uncomfortable. All the things he had said earlier in the day seemed less and less important.

I stood off to the side, thinking of all the ways I had been the brunt of jokes at the office after my ex had played me. The girl he slept with had made it known that I was playing second fiddle to her. I wasn't going to be played as a fool again. I knew Ryder had to act a part, and I hoped that was all it was, but with each girl, I became less and less sure of myself.

A raven-haired woman with breasts as round as balloons, touched his arm and smiled big enough to cause dimples on each of her cheeks. He said something, and she laughed, throwing her head back and thrusting out her chest.

His low chuckle was like a knife to my heart.

“Here’s my number,” she said, her voice sultry. She passed him a slip of paper, then strutted down the sidewalk, joining a group of her waiting friends.

As Ryder tucked her number into his pants pocket, I turned and walked away. He walked quickly and caught up with me. Not that it mattered, because I was already angry at the show he’s put on.

“Wait, what’s wrong?” he asked as he caught up with me.

“You enjoy yourself?” I said, my voice bitter.

He looked a little shocked. “They’re my fans. You didn't mind earlier.”

“The fans earlier were little kids and grown men—not women wearing hardly any clothes. How many numbers do you have in your pocket?” I refused to meet his gaze—I was afraid he’d see the rage in my eyes.

“Wait, you think I'm gonna call them?”

“I don't know, are you?” I sounded like a petulant child, but I couldn’t care about that. All that mattered was that I wouldn’t repeat what had happened with my Peter, my asshole ex. I refused to be cheated on, ever again.

“Are you serious right now?” He stepped in front of me and stopped me in my tracks.

“Yes.” I looked up and gave him the hardest glare I could muster. Everything we had accomplished over the last few hours was on the verge of being washed away.

I maneuvered around him and picked up my pace, trying to make it back to my place before I lost it. Tears were burning behind my eyelids, but I wouldn't let them fall. He’d let those women flirt with him and come onto him while I had to stand there and watch. I wouldn't let him see me cry.

“Zoey, that isn't what that's about,” he called from behind me. “I don't need those women. I have you.”

“Whatever, Ryder.” I turned around and let him see the hurt and rage that I knew was written all over my face. “This is exactly what I thought would happen. You talk about your distractions, and I just accept that the distractions won't affect me. I need you to leave. I have to figure all of this out, without you here.”

He looked away and then huffed out a big breath. “I don't know why I even wasted my time trying to make you believe something that you had already made up your mind would be a problem. Serves me right.”

* * * * *

I stripped my clothes off the moment I got home and headed right for the shower. I knew my reaction to Ryder’s fans was childish and stupid, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from feeling this way. I tried to tell myself that Ryder wasn’t the man who had screwed me over, but that didn’t seem to matter.

What mattered was that I wasn't sure if I could handle all of the attention. Not just the attention on us, but the attention he would get. The women throwing themselves at him. I’d have to trust that he wouldn't act on that when I wasn't around. The last thing I wanted was to be the woman who woke up to pictures of her boyfriend on the front page with another woman on his arm, or in a dark corner with his tongue down some slut’s throat. I was so frustrated, I needed to let it out. So, I did. I yelled, as loud as I could.

“Hello?” Annette’s voice echoed as she cracked the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” I called back.

“What the hell is wrong?” she asked as she pulled the curtain back.

“Jesus, could you wait until I’m out of the shower?” I grabbed the curtain to cover myself.

“No, this is what best friends do.” She grinned at me. “Seriously, though. I heard you shouting and the last time that happened was when that dickhead screwed you over.”

I looked at her for a second, trying to fight it. It didn’t last. “You should have seen him,” I said, my voice breaking.

She reached over and turned the water off, then handed me a towel. I wrapped it around my body and stepped out of the shower.

“Who? Ryder?” she asked.

“Yeah. We had a great day and then when we went out to dinner he acted like a complete douche. These women came from every direction, rubbing all over him and giving him their numbers. He put them in his pocket!” I said angrily.

“So?” she asked.

“So, he kept their numbers for later.”

“Did you ask him what he was going to do with them?” Annette questioned me.

“No, but why would he put them in his pocket?”

“Have you ever thought about the fact that his job is fan-driven? How would it make him look if he blew off every person who walked up to him? Would he still have fans or sell tickets to his fights? Could you imagine what would happen to his image if the tabloids ran with it? I mean, I get it, don't get me wrong, but he is an actor of sorts. He has an image, and you have to conform to that, at least a little. Trust is a fickle beast and you either trust him, or you don't.”

“I thought I did.” I wrung my hands in my lap.

“Did he actually give you any reason to not trust him?”

“No, not really, but I don't want to wait until he does.” I looked up at her.

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

“You need to give it a week or so and really think about what you want. I hate you were hurt and that your trust was broken, but let's be honest—Ryder isn't that dickhead, and he really hasn't given you any reason to think he would treat you that way.” She kneeled down in front of me. “I love you, my beautiful friend, and I want what’s best for you, so I need you to really dig deep and figure this out before it's too late.”

She kissed my forehead before she stood and pulled the door shut behind her.

I knew she was right, but I didn't want to admit to myself that my own insecurities had pushed Ryder away.