The Unforgiving Minute (7 page)

Back in his room, Ryan checked his phone. He had congratulatory texts from his parents and Elena, and, surprisingly, from Mitch. His read simply:
Congrats. See you in Memphis, M x.

Ryan read it multiple times, wondering what, if anything, the
x
signified. Probably nothing. Probably Mitch signed all his texts that way. It was the first one he’d sent Ryan since they’d swapped numbers back in Melbourne, so Ryan had no way of knowing for sure. He sent back one that he hoped gave the impression of warmth without embarrassing himself if Mitch was just being a good guy and had texted the entire Cup team.
Thanks
, he said.
Looking forward to Memphis.
He didn’t sign it even with an initial, reckoning that got past any awkwardness to do with the whole
x
thing
.

Texts to his parents and Elena were easier, if a little more exuberant. Then he saw the time and realized he needed to get changed and back down to the bar in seven minutes flat. He automatically went to pull on a pair of jeans, but suddenly remembered Josh in the Brisbane restaurant and wondered if he had somewhere upmarket in mind again. He ended up wearing a pair of black pants and a dark red shirt that Elena always said looked good on him. It would be better to be overdressed than turn up looking like some kind of hick, although his hair was doing its best to undo all his good work with the clothing choices. He scrubbed his hand through it but didn’t try to do anything more. He didn’t see why it would suddenly behave tonight just because he wanted it to.

When he got downstairs, he was glad he hadn’t gone with jeans and T-shirt because Josh, standing at the bar, was wearing a pair of gray dress pants that did positively sinful things to his ass. He turned to greet Ryan, and Ryan practically swallowed his tongue because of how the soft blue button-down Josh was wearing made his eyes look.

“Want a drink before we go?” Josh was halfway through what looked like a juice.

“You know what? I just want to get out of the air-con and see the city,” Ryan said. He never thought he’d say it after all those years of crummy motels and hotels, but he was at the point where he’d had enough of interchangeable five-star hotels, any of which could be in any city in the world.

Josh drained his glass. “Lead on, Macduff.”

“You’re the one who’s been here before. I haven’t a clue where I’m going.”

“It’s more exciting that way.”

“You say that till I lead us off the edge of a cliff.”

Before they left, Josh picked up the ball cap that had been on the bar and settled it low on his head so it obscured his face a little. Ryan realized that even in the middle of France, Josh Andrews was a pretty recognizable name. Venturing outside the artificial environment of tennis stadia and tournament hotels was an invitation to get pointed out and stared at.

The doorman held the door open for them as they stepped into the evening sunshine. Warm air, exhaust fumes, and the feel of a city that was busy going about its everyday business surrounded them. It was real life, not the slightly precocious bubble that Ryan had begun to feel he was living in.

“Left or right?” he asked Josh.

“Left is the parking garage,” Josh pointed out.

“Right it is, then.”

They’d only walked for a couple of blocks, Ryan keeping a keen eye out for anywhere that looked like it might serve food to two hungry tennis players, when the commercial frontages on their right opened up to wrought iron railings, showing a park beyond.

“You want to cut through?” The green of the grass and shrubbery looked more inviting than the traffic and the hard sidewalk.

“Sure,” Josh said agreeably, and they meandered over the short-mown grass, past flower beds and statues and fountains. France obviously did public parks in style.

Ryan bumped Josh’s shoulder to get his attention and stopped, his interest drawn by something to their left. “You see what I see?”

“Ryan, you’ve just spent all fucking
day
on one of those things.”

Ryan blinked. There’d been real hostility in Josh’s voice as he’d stared at the public tennis court. He shrugged, half in apology and half because he wasn’t sure how to respond. “It just takes me back to when I was a kid,” he said. “Every Saturday and Sunday, Paul and I would get to the park as early in the morning as we could, before the grownups got there, so we could play without getting thrown off.”

“Is Paul your brother?”

“My best friend, until his family moved away when we were nine.”

“Is he a tennis player too?”

Ryan snorted, and then he couldn’t help it. He threw his head back and laughed until he had tears in his eyes. “Dear God,
no
,”
he gasped out at last. “Any day he managed to get a ball back across the net was a red-letter day. Hand-eye coordination was
not
his bag, which is kind of a worry now that I think about the fact he’s a bariatric surgeon.”

There was a slight frown on Josh’s face. “If he sucked, why did you play with him? Why did he want to play?”

“Because it was fun,” Ryan said, as if it was self-evident. Which it was.

Josh turned and looked at him, looking even more puzzled as he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants, and Ryan refused to think about the way that must be pulling the silky gray material taut across his ass. “If you were one of those people who played for fun, how come you got as good as you are?”

Josh thought he was good? Ryan preened internally for an instant before remembering Josh was waiting for an answer. “One of the guys we beat to the court used to let me play him sometimes, and he must have seen something in me because he suggested I join a club and get lessons. I begged my mom and dad until they gave in just to shut me up. Paul took up playing the trumpet instead, and here I am.”

“And here you are,” Josh murmured and started walking again.

“So how did you start playing?” Ryan asked, matching his stride to Josh’s. “I guess with your dad it was kind of inevitable.”

“I don’t remember not playing,” Josh said. “It’s just something I did, like learning to walk.”

“How old were you when you first remember playing?”

Josh shrugged. “Dunno. I won my first tournament when I was five.”

Ryan’s mouth hung open for a minute before he remembered just how unflattering a look Elena said that was on him. “Are you serious? My grandma and grandpa bought me one of those kids’ sets, which was what gave me the bug, but that was for my sixth birthday. It took me most of the next year to figure out which way round to hold the racket.”

Josh’s lips twisted. “That’s what you get for being the son of a frustrated pro sportsman, I guess,” he said. “What sort of food do you fancy?”

Ryan might not have the most finely tuned social antennae but he could recognize a change in subject when he saw one. “Anything.” Then he realized what he’d said and amended it. “Anything that includes dessert and alcohol.”

“I’m insulted you think I’d consider anything else.”

They found a restaurant that looked good without being fashionable enough to require reservations. Or maybe it was the way the maître d’s eyes widened fractionally when Josh took off his ball cap that assured them of a table. Either way, the meal was excellent, and the wine with which they quietly toasted kicking French ass was even better. As they started a second bottle of wine, completely justified because they were celebrating and Brad had said they could do whatever they wanted so long as it didn’t involve getting into a goat-throwing competition while bombed on tequila—Josh promising to tell him the full story of that particular Davis Cup later—Ryan found himself gushing a bit about how excited he was to be on the World Tour.

Josh studied the wine in his glass for a minute before draining it. “Just—” he started, then ground to a halt and refilled his glass.

“Listen, Ryan,” he said in the end. “The Tour might not be everything you think it is, okay?”

Ryan waited for some sort of explanation. He didn’t know what Josh was talking about, but he could tell Josh was serious about whatever it was he was failing to say.

“It’s just, you’re quick to trust people,” Josh said eventually. “Don’t forget that there’s a lot of money involved, and where there’s money, there’s shit. Or is that flies?” His brow wrinkled as he swirled the wine in his glass. “Anyway, just be careful, okay?”

Ryan wasn’t entirely sure what Josh was trying to say, but he got the general idea. It wasn’t the first time he’d been told he was naïve about people.

Josh refused to meet Ryan’s eyes but instead concentrated on finishing yet another glass of burgundy. Ryan looked round for the waiter, who arrived at their table at the merest suggestion of a raised eyebrow, and asked for coffee. He wouldn’t intervene if Josh wanted to get drunk, but he had the strong feeling that Josh was the kind of guy who would hate to do that in public. He was too private for that. So they sat and drank coffee instead of wine, and whatever had been bothering Josh seemed to disappear along with the petits fours and a rather large volume of coffee.

“Guess we should head back,” Josh said at last, sounding reluctant.

“Unless you know where any goat-throwing competitions are being held.”

“Sadly, no. You should have gone out with Finn and Daniel for that.”

“I was kind of surprised they didn’t come out with us.”

Josh shrugged. “Some sort of tradition of theirs. They don’t want to do anything differently and risk breaking their winning streak. You know how superstitious some players are.”

Ryan snorted, because some players he’d encountered were just a tad extreme in that regard.

Josh must have exchanged some sort of invisible signal with the waiter, because moments later he was there with their check. Josh put his Amex down on the silver tray. Ryan fumbled for his wallet, only for Josh to shake his head. “I got this,” he said firmly. And as Ryan’s jaw set mutinously he said, “It’s Davis Cup tradition—the newest member of the team gets treated. You don’t want to jinx us, do you?”

Ryan stared very hard at Josh. He didn’t believe him for an instant, and Josh knew that, but he also couldn’t risk messing with Josh’s alleged superstition just in case he meant it, and Josh knew that too. In the end, he comforted himself with the thought that Josh made a lot more money than he did and accepted with reasonable grace.

Back at the hotel, they got the elevator up to the fourth floor, where they were both staying. Josh’s room was closest, and Ryan waited while he got his key card out.

“I enjoyed tonight,” Ryan said, then mentally winced as he realized it sounded like the end of a date. Well, if he’d embarrassed himself already, there was no reason not to make it even worse and say the thing he’d been wanting to say for the past week but had avoided because it sounded too gushing. “Thanks for everything
,
Josh. You made this whole thing so much easier.”

Josh took his ball cap off and rubbed a hand through his hair, looking slightly embarrassed but also pleased. “Glad I could help,” he said. “It can be a bit daunting first time through, I guess.”

Ryan nodded and did
not
end up staring at Josh’s mouth, wondering just what it would be like to pretend for an instant that the whole evening really
had
been a date. Josh’s tongue flicked out to moisten those lips as Ryan watched, and Ryan had to fight hard not to lean in and see if they felt as soft and warm as they looked. Common sense and his survival instinct overcame the sharp tug of desire in his stomach, and he tore his eyes away to glance down the corridor. Anywhere but at Josh’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, see you in Memphis,” Josh said, and his voice sounded slightly rough.

Ryan looked back to find that Josh’s color was high. And God, let it not be just Ryan’s imagination that Josh’s eyes were dark with want.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan managed. They both stood there, and Ryan was pretty sure Josh was breathing faster, just the way he was. And then a door banged further down the corridor, and it felt like coming back up from being underwater.

“See you,” Ryan said, and turned away.

As he walked away, he counted, and he’d gone thirty-four paces before he heard Josh’s door close.

By the time he got into the safety of his room, Ryan was already half-hard and wasted no time getting into bed. He was sure he hadn’t imagined Josh’s reaction because he’d wanted to see it. As he stroked himself, he was thinking of what might have happened next, how if he’d kissed Josh they would have fumbled their way into Josh’s room until Ryan pushed him back against the wall and pressed the full length of his body against Josh as they kissed. And then Josh let Ryan bend him over the back of the couch, those gray pants outlining his ass so beautifully that Ryan had no intention of rushing to get them off. Instead, he ran his hands over Josh’s perfect ass until Josh was begging him. And then Ryan had those pants down and was pushing into Josh’s ass.

Ryan was working his cock in earnest now, eyes closed and his other hand playing with his nipple, catching it with the edge of his fingernails in a way that teetered between pleasure and pain. He wondered if Josh, four doors down, was doing the very same thing—jerking off, hands moving over that amazing body of his as he thought about Ryan. Sucking his fingers into that gorgeous mouth, getting them good and wet before working them into his ass and fucking himself on them, imagining they were Ryan’s thick cock, before coming with Ryan’s name on his lips.
Fuck.
While he didn’t actually shout Josh’s name as he came, Ryan was still grateful for the thickness of the hotel room walls. He’d come hard, fast, and noisily.

Wiping his hand off on the sheets, he moved to the other side of the king-size bed. He definitely needed to get laid, and soon. The problem was, right now he’d be measuring everyone against Josh, and he had the distinct suspicion that no one else would cut it.

Ryan fell asleep to vague but very pleasant scenarios in which Josh responded to Ryan’s advances, or even made some of his own, which led to them having the most amazing sex in the world, with Ryan curling up around Josh in bed afterward.