Wildcard: Volume Two

Chapter One

Ryder

Lying fucking bitch.

I’m clutching the paper coffee cup so tightly it crumples in my hand. Lukewarm black coffee drips through the cracks and pools on the table. I fucking hate black coffee. I hadn’t noticed the waitress had fucked up my order until I’d carried it to the table.

Just another reason why I hate this fucking country.

At least in England people could do their fucking jobs right.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” Josh suggests.

I laugh. What’s the point? She had made no attempt to run after me and try to explain herself. Hell, it’s been twenty-four fucking hours and I haven’t heard a god damned thing from her. No texts, no email—nothing.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m sitting in a coffee shop at the Chicago airport on the phone with Josh as I wait for my flight that will take me to Florida. It was either that or sit in my hotel room here in Chicago—alone—going over this whole damn mess in my head. A couple of days with Josh will at least keep me distracted until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

The worst thing is that there is no getting out of this fucking sponsorship thing. I was stuck in the US—literally ten fucking minutes from her place—for the next three weeks.

People rush past my table in a hurry to catch their flights, oblivious to my foul mood. I feel so fucking betrayed. I feel humiliated, and it’s my own fault. Because the reality is you don’t have a relationship after four fucking weeks, and I was stupid to ever think otherwise.

The last thing I want to do is give her yet another reason to feel sorry for me, because pity was all I saw in her eyes when I was standing on her doorstep, watching him crawl all over her. They might as well have been fucking in front of me. It wouldn’t have hurt any more.

It’s obvious to me that I’m a giant fuckwit and she used me in whatever sick game she was playing. She was probably using me because I felt sorry for her kid. Maybe she thought she owed me for getting him in the trial? Who knows? I should’ve just fucked her while I had the chance and got her out of my system.

“She could have a reason.” Josh tries again. “It’s probably all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you should call her.”

“Call her?” I snort. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

I never want to see her again. And what possible explanation could she have? Some random bloke had his fucking arms around her, groping her, right there in front of me. She told me to leave. How could I have gotten it so wrong?

She lied to me.

I sigh and close my eyes, gently rubbing my temples. My head is killing me—probably a side effect of getting hammered in my room with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s while watching pay-per-view porn. And not even good porn, at that. Not that it mattered. Every time my hand went near my dick, I thought of her and the mood was instantly killed.

This is another example of how I’m just not suited to a relationship.

I’m happy to go back to my anonymous sex and multiple women—at least there’s no hiding behind that. What I wanted out of casual sex was clear cut and impossible to misinterpret. Relationships were messy and someone always ended up hurt.

In this case, me.

“I feel so stupid, mate. I know we only knew each other for a few weeks, but there was something there. At least I thought there was.” I sigh again and stand up as I hear my flight called over the speaker system. “I gotta go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Sure. And you know you’re always welcome here.” He hesitates before adding: “Don’t go doing anything stupid, Ryder.”

I chuckle into the phone. “Isn’t that the only thing I ever do well?”

***

The taxi pulls up outside Josh’s apartment along the coast of Miami. I throw some cash at the driver and get out, taking my bag with me. I gaze down the boardwalk and sigh. Any other time I’d be excited about being here. American girls are a lot of fun and usually up for anything. This is especially true of girls on the East Coast. I’m surrounded by beautiful women wearing tiny bikinis and nothing else. Seriously, they might as well be naked with the little amount they’re wearing. I’m getting plenty of attention as I stand there, observing, but for once I don’t care.

Because I can’t get her out of my head.

Turning, I walk toward the entry of his apartment complex. It’s a courtyard of modern apartments that rise six levels. Right away, I’m reminded of that old American soap Melrose Place, and I half expect Heather Locklear to round the corner. I cringe. I’m not sure which I should be embarrassed about more: the fact that I remember that damn show, or that I can actually name Heather Locklear.

I walk through to apartment sixteen. It’s on the second level of the building farthest from me. This is the first time I’ve visited Josh since he and Charlotte moved to this neighborhood. I press the doorbell and wait.

Josh answers the door with a sympathetic smile.

I scowl at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.” I push past him and stroll inside.

He laughs and shakes his head. “Hello to you, too.”