Page 176 of Untying the Knot
“Morning,” he whispers as his fingers glide up and down my back.
I snuggle into his chest. “Good morning.”
“Do you feel okay?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask.
“You had a lot of wine last night. We were kind of . . . animalistic, especially when I was fucking you against the wall. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m perfect,” I say just as there’s a knock on the door.
“Ugh, fuck,” Ryot says while he tries to get up.
“You have a massive erection. Let me get it.” Laughing, I get up, grab my robe from a chair, and wrap it around my body.
I go to the door, where I find an employee with a cart on the other side. “Breakfast courtesy of Mr. JP Cane.”
“Oh, thank you.” I step aside and allow the man to wheel it in. “Smells amazing.”
“Eggs, bacon, fresh croissants, fruit, coffee, and tea, as well as crispy breakfast potatoes with an assortment of spreads. Enjoy.”
“Thank you. Here, let me grab you a tip.”
He waves his hand. “No, no. Mr. Cane has already generously provided that. You just enjoy and call us when you want the cart removed.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I see the man out and then shut the door behind him. When I return to the cart, I notice a letter. “Ooo, from the bride and groom. Shouldn’t we be sending them things on their wedding day, not the other way around?” I ask as I pluck the card from the table.
Ryot sits up and scrubs his hand over his face. “You’d think so. What does it say?”
I lift the envelope flap and pull out the card. “‘Ryot and Myla. Just wanted to say congrats again on the huge ESPN news.’” I pause . . . oh yeah. I sort of forgot about that. “‘Wish we could do more, but here is breakfast on us.’” I look up at Ryot, who has a panicked look in his eyes. When I set the card down, I casually say, “Well, that was nice of them.”
I move the covers off the plates and release the built-up steam as I try to wrap my head around what happened last night.
Too much wine.
Lots of appreciation for Ryot.
When Ryot started thinking about The Jock Report.
Banner’s news . . .
“Myla,” Ryot says, and immediately, that elephant in the room has reappeared, and there’s uncomfortable tension. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I mean, I had nothing to do with that. The ESPN stuff.”
“Why are you freaking out?” I ask, remaining as casual as I can while I put some eggs, fruit, and bacon on a plate for him. “It’s a big opportunity for you.”
“It is,” he says, a crease forming on his brow. “But I’m not worried about that right now. I’m worried about you and me.” He moves off the bed and puts on a pair of athletic shorts, his erection nowhere to be found now. “Tonight, well . . . tonight is the last night before we return to reality. And it’s still unclear what’s going on between us.”
“Yes, so, instead of worrying, how about we just focus on enjoying the rest of our time here?” I hand him the plate I just piled food on. He takes it but sets it down.
“Myla, maybe we should talk.”
“I don’t want to,” I say. “I want to just enjoy today. We can talk tomorrow. Okay?”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and there’s indecision heavy in his pupils. He wets his lips and then finally turns away. “Yeah, we can talk tomorrow.”
And just like that, the easy, flirty bubble we’ve lived in is popped by a fresh dose of reality.
Our marriage is uncertain.
