The Unforgiving Minute (11 page)

Josh wriggled slightly underneath Ryan’s solid mass. “You only want me for my body,” he said mournfully, but his tone was belied by the way he was pushing his hips up against Ryan’s.

“Damn straight,” Ryan said, and that was the last thing he said for some considerable time, except for Josh’s name.

N
EXT
morning, Ryan roused properly as Josh was getting dressed. Josh stood next to the bed once he was ready to go, looking slightly awkward, so Ryan sat up and pulled him down into a kiss. After that, it was easier to watch Josh leave.

As the door closed behind Josh, Ryan rolled over but for once didn’t feel like going back to sleep. He stretched out luxuriously in the bed, knowing he didn’t have to get up early, that his pillow and sheets smelled of Josh, and that life was pretty damn awesome. His phone buzzed and he picked it up with a smile, expecting a text from Josh.

Well, one out of two wasn’t bad. It was a text alright, but it was from Elena
.
She must have forgotten the time-zone difference.
Four out of ten?

He shook his head in despair before sending back a very smug,
Make that eleven
, turning his phone off, and snuggling back down under the covers.

Chapter 11

R
YAN
was seriously considering cosmetic surgery by the time he finished unpacking in Indian Wells. He had to do
something
about the grin that seemed permanently fixed to his face. He had the feeling that it was considered bad form to beam so delightedly at everyone he saw, especially as they wouldn’t know it was only partly because he’d won his first ever World Tour title at Delray Beach. His mom and dad had been thrilled for him, as had Elena, and Mitch had sent him a congratulatory text. Stefan had even gone so far as to crack a smile for a couple of minutes.

The first of many
, Josh had said in his congratulatory phone call. And Ryan knew it. This was his time. He would be the best damn tennis player ever to come out of Denver. After the congratulations and chat about what Josh had been up to while Ryan had been conquering the world—which sounded like training, an exhibition, more training, and then a bit of training—Ryan had asked in his sexiest voice just what Josh was wearing. Josh had still been laughing when he’d hung up. Ryan loved hearing Josh laugh like that—open and uninhibited, as if his laughter had taken all his usual defenses by surprise and burst out despite himself.

So yes, Ryan might be grinning just a bit too much at the thought of seeing Josh again. It turned out he wasn’t the only one, because when Josh knocked on his door later that afternoon, his smile lit up the room. While Ryan didn’t want to lose that smile, there was something he wanted more, which was to push Josh up against the wall and kiss him, eyes closing at the familiar taste and feel of Josh. Eventually they had to stop, simply to breathe.

“Guess you missed me,” Josh said smugly.

“Sorry, who are you again?”

Which led to Josh taking a leaf out of Ryan’s book and pushing him backward across the room until Ryan fell down onto the bed, where he bounced gently. Josh settled on top of him and there was nothing gentle in the tactics Josh employed to get Ryan out of his clothes. It seemed as if Ryan wasn’t the only one who’d missed this.

Later, having showered and gotten distracted, ending up with Josh on his knees as Ryan tried not to drown under the combined onslaught of the water and Josh’s wickedly talented mouth, they’d gone to the hotel restaurant for supper. Several people Ryan recognized either nodded to them or spoke briefly, but they were left alone. Ryan was surprised; he’d thought that without his army around him, Josh would be chatting to people he knew. This suited Ryan far better, though, having all of Josh’s attention on him. They talked a bit about Indian Wells, about how it was an uneasy balance between natural beauty and man-made showiness, and how playing in California must be like playing in his backyard for Josh, but mostly they just kept catching one another’s eye and trying not to smile.

Back in Ryan’s room, Josh took a deep breath before sitting down in the hard-backed chair by the desk. “We need to sort some stuff out before the tournament.”

Ryan sat down on the couch. “Sure,” he said, and waited for Josh to take the lead on this, because Josh obviously had something on his mind.

“If we’re drawn to play one another, there’s to be no contact from that point on,” Josh said. “Not until after the match.”

That sounded pretty over-the-top to Ryan, but if that was what Josh wanted, he’d go along with it. “Okay.”

“When we do play each other, I will be playing to win. No holds barred.”

The look in Josh’s eyes froze Ryan for an instant. There was something hard there, something he’d never seen before and really didn’t like. He determinedly shook off his reaction and concentrated on what it was Josh had said. Then he got pissed.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just be warned, I’ll be playing to win too.”

Josh nodded slightly as he surveyed Ryan.

“Anything else while you’re at it?” Ryan queried, and it wasn’t his fault if it came out as decidedly snippy. He reckoned he should be getting props for not adding a mocking “Your Majesty” to his question.

Josh tensed in his chair. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“This?” Ryan gestured between Josh and himself. “
This
was a great idea. Ground rules are a good idea. I’m just not so keen on the way you’re behaving like Genghis Khan all of a sudden.” His brow wrinkled as he realized exactly what he’d just said. “Uh, well, so maybe you haven’t invaded China yet, but with that attitude it’s just a matter of time.”

Josh looked hopelessly confused. “Invaded China? What the hell are you talking about? Your brain is
weird
sometimes.”

And thank God, Ryan’s out-loud brain burp meant that Josh was back. The Josh who Ryan knew, not the stranger who’d been sitting rigidly in that chair a minute ago.

“There’s no need to be insulting just because you can’t keep up with the lightning speed of my synapses,” Ryan said.

“I think the problem is the speed of your mouth. It outruns your brain.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining about my mouth earlier,” Ryan reminded him, remembering just how Josh had gone to pieces under him as Ryan had given him a drawn-out and extremely thorough blow job on the bed as payback for the one in the shower.

With that, they were back on familiar ground, and the slight discordance was swiftly pushed to one side. But as Ryan lay next to Josh in bed later, sleep didn’t come quite as easily as usual. He’d seen a new side to Josh tonight, and he hadn’t liked it. Although, as Josh, already fast asleep, nuzzled against his shoulder like it was the comfiest pillow he’d ever had, Ryan couldn’t remember quite why he’d been so unsettled. He cursed Josh out for the stubble burn he was causing, but quietly, so he wouldn’t wake him. When Ryan finally fell asleep, he was holding Josh close.

R
YAN
had a match-free day, so after practice, he watched Josh beat Tommy again—it really was Tommy’s bad luck to have been drawn in the first round against Josh for two tournaments in succession like that—then took himself to the players’ lounge, knowing Josh would be busy for the next few hours.

He got a juice from the bar and strolled outside to where tables were set out, complete with branded parasols, in a garden that looked as if it had been trimmed and manicured to within an inch of its life. Ryan thought it was a shame it was so ordered and rigid; he preferred things to be a little more natural and messy. Which was always his excuse for his hair, if anyone asked—and they did, frequently. It sounded better to present his hairstyle as a positive decision he’d made rather than confess his hair had a mind of its own, defiantly ignoring every attempt he made to tame it, or even to try and convince it to behave in a slightly less independent fashion.

He was running a hand through his hair in the vain hope that this time it might calm down a little when he suddenly saw a very familiar figure. He couldn’t help the delighted grin that sprang to his face. Mitch was standing by the regimented flowerbeds, talking to Philippe Martin. He was wearing
those
jeans again, or a pair equally flattering, and a faded black t-shirt that clung enough to show off every single muscle in his torso. And that was a whole lot of muscles. He also had that damn belt buckle on again, the one that automatically drew Ryan’s eye to his crotch.

Ryan schooled the grin on his face to more manageable proportions and simply nodded as he walked past, not wanting to interrupt. Mitch, however, reached out to snag his arm and reeled him in. “You know Philippe, don’t you?”

“Bonjour, Philippe.” Ryan’s mom had raised him to be polite.

Philippe greeted him in return, looking genuinely amused by Ryan’s execrable French accent, before his face shifted again to the expression of concern it had worn when talking to Mitch. “We’ll talk later,” Philippe said, clapping Mitch on the arm before heading back inside.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ryan said.

“You didn’t,” Mitch replied, slinging his arm round Ryan’s shoulder. “Philippe’s just worried his wife’s going to find out he’s been screwing the masseuse.”

“Oh.” Ryan wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that.

“I know it won’t go any further than you. I trust you, Ry. Now, we should celebrate your win at Delray Beach. You want a drink?”

Before Ryan knew what was going on, Mitch was steering them back inside and to the bar, despite Ryan gesturing helplessly with his juice to indicate he already had a drink. Warmth flickered through his stomach, though he wasn’t quite sure whether it was from Mitch’s warm welcome or from the fact his arm was still draped round Ryan’s shoulder. It felt good to know he was making friends in the company he was now keeping. The fact the company he was keeping happened to look like every wet dream Ryan had ever had before he’d discovered the joys of Josh Andrews was just a bonus. He wasn’t tempted by Mitch, not now that he was with Josh—Ryan had never understood why people cheated—but it didn’t stop him from appreciating the view as Mitch stood with his back against the bar, his elbows resting on it as he leaned casually in a way that just happened to show off his body to anyone who might be looking.

Ryan hadn’t really wanted a beer, not in the middle of a tournament, but it seemed churlish to refuse in the circumstances. He took a swig before putting it on the bar. Maybe he could leave most of it without Mitch noticing.

“How’s the leg? I heard you had a bit of an accident at Memphis.”

It took Ryan a minute to remember just what Mitch meant. Memphis seemed so long ago with all that had happened since. “It’s nothing.”

“Could have been nasty.”

Ryan shrugged. “But it wasn’t.”

Mitch shrugged himself, then raised his bottle, meaning Ryan had to pick up his beer again to respond to Mitch’s toast. “The future,” Mitch said.

That was a toast Ryan could definitely get behind. They talked about their plans for the rest of the year, albeit only in general terms, because while Ryan might not be as superstitious as some players, he wasn’t an idiot when it came to tempting fate. They then got into a heated discussion over who was the best player of all time, until Ryan found to his surprise that he’d finished his beer.

Mitch got them both a fresh bottle and they took them outside to sit at one of the tables, where Mitch wanted to know all about Ryan. His eyes were steady and warm on Ryan’s face, filling with laughter whenever Ryan said something funny, and it seemed that Ryan was definitely on a roll with that today. Either that, or Mitch was easily amused. He told Mitch about his mom and dad, both high-school teachers until his mom had resigned a couple of years ago to concentrate on helping out at the local animal shelter, with a bit of private tutoring thrown in. He also told him how nobody in the family that they knew of had ever done anything more sporty than skiing on vacation. His dad, who was interested in genealogy, was still trying to work out where the rogue tennis gene had originated.

“Because that whole sporty thing does tend to run in families,” Ryan expanded, gesturing enthusiastically with his beer. “Look at the number of doubles players who are brothers or sisters, or there’s Erika Meissen, whose mom was such a good junior player, and then there’s Josh and his dad.” And damn it, Ryan could feel a slight blush starting on his face as he mentioned Josh, and his voice sounded funny to him—overly casual, as if he was trying too hard.

Mitch had definitely noticed something, judging by the way he was looking at Ryan.

“Of course, if that really follows, I should have been a vet or worked at an animal shelter,” Ryan said, trying to cover. “I’d probably be an intrepid earthworm rescuer, swooping in at the last minute wherever new homes are being built, and plucking them out the way of the diggers, like a superhero or something. You reckon earthworms have superheroes?” he asked, warming to his theme. “I wonder what sort of costume I’d have.”