My driver pulls up out front of the ritzy club. I hand him fifty Euros and tell him to keep the change. He smiles, gives me a nod, and then thanks me in French. I walk straight inside the club, ignoring the line of people waiting to get in. I nod at the man who stands at the door, recognizing him from last night.
“You’re back,” he says, in a heavy accent. “Should you not be at home in bed, getting your beauty sleep, no? You have big match tomorrow.”
“I’m beautiful enough, Pierre,” I say, slapping him on the back.
He laughs and waves the next two girls in line through, giving me a wink.
“Hello.” I smile to the beauty on my left. She giggles and then runs off with her friend, leaving me standing there alone. Not that I care. There are plenty of women in here who will be thrilled to be my entertainment for the night.
I swagger over to the bar and order myself a rum and Coke. Nodding at the barman, I take my drink and walk over to an empty table at the r
ear of the room. Here I can sit and scope out the talent.
I smile at a group of girls who are shamelessly staring at me. They blush and giggle, and I know right then that one of them will be coming home with me.
Or maybe all of them.
“Unusual to see you sitting alone.”
I look over as Josh slumps down in the seat next to me. I nod in the direction of my little fan club, and chuckle. “I don’t plan on being alone for long,” I say.
He rolls his eyes and laughs.
Josh is my best friend. He is as American as they come, and always makes me laugh. The thing I probably look forward to the most about the competition season is the amount of time I get to spend with him.
Outside of tour season, it’s just too hard. He trains in Florida, where he lives with his girlfriend, Charlotte. She’s a model, and they are great together. They’re like the perfect little couple—who’ll probably go on to have perfect little children. Hearing how happy they are makes me miss being in a relationship.
My last relationship ended a long time ago, and not on good terms. Most of the time I’d be happy if I never entered another relationship again—the key words in that statement being most of the time.
“Man, I don’t get you. Any other night of the year, fine, but you’re in the final of the French Open. How come you don’t take this shit more seriously? You piss people off with your disrespect of the game. You piss me off.”
“And yet I keep winning,” I say pointedly, lifting my drink to my lips.
“Precisely why you annoy people.”
I laugh and set my drink down. How can I explain this to him? Nobody understands. Everyone assumes I’m just some cocky arrogant asshole, but that is so fucking far from the truth. Was it my fault if winning didn’t stimulate me anymore? Another final. So fucking what? Where’s the challenge?
“I’m not here to talk about tennis, Josh. I’m here to have a little fun. Are you with me?”
“I’m always with you, man.” He shakes his head and flags down a waitress. “Can I get a vodka and tonic, please? Do you want another?” he asks me.
I nod.
“And a rum and Coke for my friend.”
The waitress nods and walks off. I smile as my little fan club begins to edge closer to the table. The pretty brunette at the front meets my gaze. I wink at her, and watch as she approaches us.
“Mind if I sit down?” she asks, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder.
I motion to the vacant chairs opposite us. “Please. I’m Ryder.”
“Nice to meet you, Ryder. I’m Salli.” She giggles, and extends her hand to meet mine. She is completely oblivious to Josh sitting next to me, and I can see that amuses him. Not that he minds. He’s my wingman, but I know he’d never do anything to jeopardize his relationship. I admire that.
“So what brings you to Paris, Salli?” I ask. Her accent tells me she’s British, like me.
“A girls’ weekend.” She smiles again, and her beauty strikes me. Some would call me a player, but that’s not how it is at all. I just love exploring the sensuality of different women. Every woman has her own unique beauty, and discovering that can be an incredible experience.
Am I really that bad a guy if I like to be thorough in my exploits?