The Unforgiving Minute (19 page)

“Yeah,” Ryan sighed.

Mitch said nothing but waited quietly, inviting Ryan to continue if he wanted.

“We were good friends. Leastways, I thought we were, but when I beat him…. Let’s just say he didn’t take it so well. He won’t have anything to do with me now.”

There was sympathy in Mitch’s face. “I don’t know if it helps, Ry, but I had the exact same experience with him. He just can’t bear to lose, I guess.”

“He blew you off when you beat him?”

“Yeah,” Mitch said on a slight sigh. “I couldn’t work out what the hell I was supposed to have done. All I knew was we went from being tight like you wouldn’t believe to him not even giving me the time of day.”

Ryan didn’t know if it made things better or worse that he wasn’t the only one Josh had treated this way. “I’m sorry.”

“Hell, it was years ago,” Mitch said. “Andrews doesn’t even figure on my radar these days. I just make sure and whup his uptight ass whenever we play.”

Ryan just hoped that one day he’d have enough distance from the whole mess to be able to talk about Josh with that level of detachment. Mitch changed the subject then, talking about the photo shoot he’d done for an Italian women’s magazine—
swear to God, they gave me a goddamn lasso to twirl—
and the evening passed in a much more pleasant way than if Ryan had retreated to his room and concentrated on tennis as a way to forget about anything else.

Mitch was great company: funny, laid-back, and those long legs, once again in faded jeans that clung in all the right places, were downright sinful. But Ryan was aware it was getting late, and he was on court early tomorrow. “I should go,” he said, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet.

“You sure I can’t convince you to stay for one more?”

And damn, it was tempting. Mitch’s gaze was hopeful and unconvincingly ingenuous.

“I’m sure,” Ryan said, with a grin at Mitch’s obviousness. “But seriously, man, thanks for earlier.”

Mitch’s expression sobered. “Any time you want to talk, Ry, I’m always there for you.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said, meaning it.

He glanced back from the end of the street and found that Mitch’s eyes were still on him. When he saw Ryan looking, Mitch tipped that imaginary hat of his. What wasn’t so imaginary was the fact that, when Ryan had first turned round, Mitch’s gaze had seemed to be on his ass. There hadn’t been a hint of embarrassment or apology in sight as he’d flicked his eyes up to meet Ryan’s.

Well, wasn’t that interesting. Elena, had she known about it, would have said he needed to get back on the horse sooner rather than later. That was, however, probably not the best analogy to use when it came to Mitch and his whole cowboy thing, bringing to mind as it did leather chaps, lassos, and spurs.

As he walked back to the hotel through busy streets, he tried to put those thoughts about Mitch right out of his head. It didn’t really work.

Chapter 19

T
HE
next day started out the same as any other tournament day. By the time it drew to a close, Ryan had learned that Josh had withdrawn from the tournament, he’d fought with Elena, and he’d kissed Mitch.

He was surprised to hear Josh had pulled out just hours before he was due to play Mitch. He guessed injuries happened to everyone, and he knew, though he’d never tell, about Josh’s recent knee scare. But when Elena came into his room to go to lunch with him, firing off indignantly about how courtside gossip said there was no injury involved and that Josh was a coward who wouldn’t face Mitch because he hadn’t beaten him once in the last seven years, he’d found himself standing up for Josh. Which made
no
sense given what a good friend Elena was and what a crap person Josh had turned out to be, except she’d called Josh a coward. Ryan knew that no matter what other shortcomings Josh Andrews might have—and they were legion—he wasn’t lacking in guts.

Elena had banged out of his room, frustrated and angry, leaving him equally frustrated and angry. He got himself under control enough to beat Dooley, but it was close. The remnants of anger from the fight meant he kept overcooking his returns. Only the fact that Dooley played even worse than Ryan got him through it successfully, he reckoned. He’d have to play much better than that to have the slightest chance of beating Mitch in the next round.

He got a text from Elena later.
Andrews is still a dick but I said too much.

I shouldn’t have been so defensive. Love you,
he sent back.

Mitch came to find him that evening, sauntering into Ryan’s hotel room as if he belonged there. Maybe he did, Ryan thought, looking at him stretching out those long legs in front of him as he settled in one of the armchairs.

“Hope you don’t mind, I got your room number from Reception,” Mitch said.

“Uh, no, I don’t mind, but I didn’t think they were supposed to give out that sort of information.”

Mitch smiled lazily. “Hell, son,” he said, twanging it up shamelessly, “ain’t it just amazin’ what a little lady will do when you say ‘yes ma’am’ to her?”

“Oh God, stop it now,” Ryan begged. “Please. I just threw up in my mouth.”

“That’s a shame,” Mitch said, and his eyes were suddenly intent on Ryan’s face in a way that had Ryan’s heart jolting. He wasn’t sure quite how it happened, who stood up first, but suddenly Mitch was pressing against him and kissing him thoroughly, tongues sliding against one another until Ryan was panting with it.

Mitch finally pulled away. “So, there’s that,” he said. “Also, I wanted you to know I’m not going to pull an Andrews on you, no matter who wins tomorrow.”

“Uh,” Ryan said. It was all he was capable of saying.

“I’d better go,” Mitch said. “This ain’t the time for things to go any further.”

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan managed, which was an improvement.

As he got into bed later, Ryan was still wondering what the hell had just happened and how a single kiss had gotten him so turned on that, although he’d already jerked off in the shower, he was going to have to do it all over again. Thoughts of those long legs wrapped around him as Mitch cursed and begged for Ryan’s cock to drive into him and fill him, had Ryan close embarrassingly fast. But just as he came, Mitch’s gray eyes were overlaid by blue eyes that looked at him the way Josh always did when he came, such longing in them. Longing for more than Ryan could say.

Fuck it. He wiped his hand off on the sheets, rolled over, and tried to go to sleep, but his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him. He wondered what Mitch had meant by the kiss, whether he just wanted them to fall into bed or for there to be more. Ryan wasn’t sure how he felt about the possibility of more. He liked Mitch, a lot. He thought he was sexy as hell. The whole thing with Josh was well and truly over, and after what had been revealed about Josh’s character by the way it had ended, Ryan was happy for it to be that way. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. Mitch was fun and straightforward and far more open than Josh had ever been, so why was Ryan even hesitating?

An hour later, he gave up trying to sleep and flicked on the TV to see what Italy deemed to be good entertainment for this time of night. Three hours and too many Italian talk shows to count later, he finally managed to fall asleep.

L
EARNING
from his previous mistake, this time Ryan didn’t allow himself to be drawn into conversation with Mitch in the locker room before their match. They exchanged a few words, then Ryan indicated his MP3 player. Mitch backed off, seemingly unoffended, to indulge in whatever his own locker room rituals were. Ryan had learned long ago not to watch his opponents engage in whatever bizarre superstitions they might have; it either left him worried for their mental health or worried that they
had
no worries and would simply steamroller him. Either way, it was better not to know.

For once, his pre-match music of choice was not having its usual effect. Although he didn’t often listen to classical music, he’d found that some of Chopin’s piano pieces were the perfect pre-match listening for him. They removed him from his surroundings and helped him build up the feeling of anticipation and determination—what Stefan referred to as
flow—
while at the same time soothing him. He knew that combination made no sense. All he knew was that it worked that way for him.

But today, Chopin didn’t seem to be working as well as he usually did. Ryan found his eyes drifting to Mitch more than a few times, looking at the broad shoulders and strong back, and wondering. And as soon as he started thinking about being with Mitch, thoughts of Josh got mixed up in it all. By the time they got the call to go out on court, his focus was all over the place.

Unsurprisingly, Mitch took advantage of that and beat Ryan easily. It was over almost before Ryan knew it had started.

Once back in the locker room, where Henarez and Tomas were waiting to go out, Mitch gave him a quick back-slapping hug, like the one he’d given him across the net. “I have to run,” he said. “Pressers, you know how it is. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure,” Ryan said, sitting down and pulling off his T-shirt. He sat with it in his hands for some time. He didn’t particularly want to go back out there and face Stefan’s analysis of his poor play, and for a reason he couldn’t even identify, he felt somehow disappointed. Eventually, he realized that hiding here wasn’t going to change anything, so he showered and changed and headed out.

Hours later, he was still smarting from Stefan’s pungent critique, mostly because he knew it was all justified. Stefan had ordered him to book more sessions with the sports psychologist, Zoe, next time he was back in Denver, and indicated firmly that a conversation by phone in the meantime would be wise. Ryan was looking forward to seeing Mitch that evening because he knew he wouldn’t be judgmental. They could kick back together, share a beer, and a laugh, and maybe rather more than that.

His cell beeped at him.
Media crap going to go on for hours. See you in Paris. M x

Or maybe he would be left sitting on his own in his hotel room, wondering exactly how things had gone so wrong. Trying to shake off his mood, he got himself a cold beer from the minibar and picked up the paperback novel he’d bought at the airport.

He was just beginning to relax when his phone went off.

“Yep,” he said, before remembering that his mom would string him up for such bad manners.

Silence followed.

“Hello?” He gave it an instant because sometimes with international calls there was a delay, but quickly realized that he could hear someone breathing at the other end, which meant that wasn’t the problem here. “Hello?” he said again, and then pulled the phone away from his ear to see if there was a number showing.

“What the hell—
Josh
?”

The connection suddenly died, leaving Ryan staring at his phone as if it might start turning cartwheels next. What the hell? Why would Josh
do
that? It couldn’t have been a misdial from having the phone in his pocket because Josh had been on the other end of the line. Not saying a damn word, which was really creepy now Ryan thought about it.

Anger hit him then and left him shaking. What the
hell
?
What fucking right did Josh Andrews have to do that to him?
He
was the one who’d walked away.
He
was the one who’d severed all contact. He did
not
get to do that to Ryan when he’d just managed to get his balance back and put Josh Andrews out of his mind.

He punched at the button on his phone to call Josh back, breathing hard, determined to tell him precisely what he thought of him.

“You don’t get to— Oh, you
asshole,
you don’t even have the guts to answer your fucking phone to me? You gutless
bastard.”

Killing the call, he threw his phone onto the bed. Nowhere near as satisfying as throwing it at a wall would have been, but a whole lot less expensive. He was on his feet, pacing, still breathing hard. He was
not
letting Josh Andrews get away with this. He would confront the bastard and tell him exactly what he thought of him.

Adrenaline was still racing through him as he called the airline, and he noticed the corresponding tremor in his hand as he raised it to rap sharply on Stefan’s door some minutes later. Answering his door, Stefan stepped out into the corridor rather than inviting him in. As he did so, Ryan heard the sound of the shower going. It seemed Stefan had company. Now
that
was a surprise. But really, not top of his list right now.

“I’m going to take a few days,” he said to Stefan, “go back to the States, see Zoe for some sessions, and sort some stuff out.”

Stefan’s gaze was as perceptive as ever. “Good. You have allowed yourself to be distracted far too easily recently. When you come back, I want you to be a tennis player again.”

Ryan took a deep breath and counted to ten. He
knew
all that crap, but firing off at Stefan would be a stupendously bad idea. Stefan didn’t deserve it, and anyway, there was only one person Ryan wanted to yell at right now.