It Started with a Crush.... Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
if she knew going into this things wouldn’t work out the way her nephew wanted. But she could keep him smiling a little while longer. At least until Ryland said no.
Connor squirmed out of her arms. “Let’s go see him now.”
“Not so fast. This is something I’m doing on my own.” She didn’t want her nephew’s image of his favorite soccer player destroyed in case Ryland was no longer a nice guy. Fame or fortune could change people. “And I can’t show up empty-handed.”
But what could she give to a man who could afford whatever he wanted? Flowers might be appropriate given his injury, but maybe a little too feminine. Chocolate, perhaps? Hershey Kisses might give him the wrong idea. Not that he’d ever known about her crush.
“Cookies,” Connor suggested. “Everyone likes cookies.”
“Yes, they do.” Though Lucy doubted anything would convince Ryland to accept the coaching position. But what was the worst he could say besides no? “Does chocolate chip sound good?”
“Those are my favorite.” Connor’s smile faltered. “It’s too bad my mom isn’t here. She makes the best chocolate-chip cookies.”
Lucy mussed his hair to keep him from getting too caught up in missing his mom. “It is too bad, but remember she’s doing important stuff right now. Like your dad.”
Connor nodded.
“How about we use your mom’s recipe?” Lucy asked. “You can show me how she makes them.”
His smile returned. “Okay.”
Lucy wanted to believe everything would turn out okay, but she knew better. As with marriage, the chance of a happy ending here was extremely low. Best to prepare accordingly. She would make a double batch of cookies—one to give to Ryland and one for them to keep. She and Connor were going to need something to make them feel better after Ryland James said no.
The dog’s whimpering almost drowned out the pulse-pounding rock music playing in his parents’ home gym.
Ryland didn’t glance at Cupcake. The dog could wait. He needed to finish his workout.
Lying on the weight machine’s bench, he raised the bar overhead, doing the number of reps recommended by the team’s trainer. He used free weights when he trained in Phoenix, but his parents wanted him using the machine when he worked out alone.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. He’d ditched his T-shirt twenty minutes ago. His bare back stuck to the vinyl.
Ryland tightened his grip on the handles.
He wanted to return to the team in top form, to show them he still deserved the captaincy as well as their respect. He’d already lost one major endorsement deal due to his bad-boy behavior. For all he knew, he might not even have a spot on the Fuego roster come opening day. And that … sucked.
On the final rep, his muscles ached and his arms trembled. He clenched his jaw, pushing the weight overhead one last time.
“Yes!”
He’d increased the amount of weight this morning. His trainer would be pleased with the improvements in upper-body strength. That and his core were the only things he could work on.
Ryland sat up, breathing hard. Not good. He needed to keep up his endurance while he healed from the surgery.
Damn foot. He stared at his right leg encased in a black walking-cast boot.
His fault. Each of Ryland’s muscles tensed in frustration. He should have known better than to be showboating during the friendly with Mexico. Now he was sidelined, unable to run or kick.
The media had accused him of being hungover or drunk when he hurt himself. They’d been wrong. Again. But dealing with the press was as much a part of his job as what happened for ninety minutes out on the pitch.
He’d appeared on camera, admitted the reason for his injury—goofing off for the fans and the cameras—and apologized to both fans and teammates. But the truth had made him look more like a bad boy than ever given his red cards during matches the last couple of seasons, the trouble he’d gotten into off the field and the endless “reports” on his dating habits.
The dog whined louder.
From soccer superstar to dog sitter. Ryland half laughed.
Cupcake barked, as if tired of being put off any longer.
“Come here,” Ryland said.
His parents’ small dog pranced across the padded gym floor, acting more like a pedigreed champion show dog than a full-blooded mutt. Ryland had wanted to buy his mom and dad a purebred, but they adopted a dog from the local animal shelter, instead.
Cupcake stared up at him with sad, pitiful brown eyes. She had mangy gray fur, short legs and a long, bushy tail. Only his parents could love an animal this ugly and pathetic.
“Come on, girl.” Ryland scooped her up into his arms. “I know you miss Mom and Dad. I do, too. But you need to stop crying. They deserve a vacation without having to worry about you or me.”
He’d given his parents a cruise for their thirty-second wedding anniversary. Even though he’d bought them this mansion on the opposite side of town, far away from the two-bedroom apartment where he’d grown up, and deposited money into a checking account for them each month, both continued to work in the same low-paying jobs they’d had for as long as their marriage. They also drove the same old vehicles even though newer ones, Christmas presents from him, were parked in the four-car garage.
His parents’ sole indulgence was Cupcake. They spoiled the dog rotten. They hadn’t wanted to leave her in a kennel or in the care of a stranger while away so after his injury they asked Ryland if he would dog sit. His parents never asked him for anything so he’d jumped at the opportunity to do this.
Ryland hated being back in Wicksburg. There were too many bad memories from when he was a kid. Even small towns had bullies and not-so-nice cliques.
He missed the fun and excitement of a big city, but he needed time to get away to repair the damage he’d done to his foot and his reputation. No one was happy with him at the moment, especially himself. Until getting hurt, he hadn’t realized he’d been so restless, unfocused, careless.
Cupcake pawed at his hands. Her sign she wanted rubs.
“Mom and Dad will be home before you know it.” Ryland petted the top of her head. “Okay?”
The dog licked him.
He placed her on the floor then stood. “I’m getting some water. Then it’s shower time. If I don’t shave, I’m going to start looking mangy like you.”
Cupcake barked.
His cell phone, sitting on the countertop next to his water bottle, rang. He read the name on the screen. Blake Cochrane. His agent.
Ryland glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock here meant seven o’clock in Los Angeles. “An early morning for you.”
“I’m here by six to beat the traffic,” Blake said. “According to Twitter, you made a public appearance the other night. I thought we agreed you were going to lay low.”
“I was hungry. The fire station was having their annual spaghetti feed so I thought I could eat and support a good cause. They asked if I’d sign autographs and pose for pictures. I couldn’t say no.”
“Any press?”
“The local weekly paper.” With the phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, Ryland walked to the living room with Cupcake tagging alongside him. He tried hard not to favor his right foot. He’d only been off crutches a few days. “But I told them no interview because I wanted the focus to be on the event. The photographer took a few pictures of the crowd so I might be in one.”
“Let’s hope whatever is published is positive,”