Page 6 of Broken Play (The O’Ryan Family #1)
SIX
SUTTON
Anna's face pops up on our video call. "It's late. This better be good. You know how much I love my sleep," she says, complete with bedhead and swollen eyes.
"I have news. Big news." It's so big it needs to be delivered with a touch of drama—the jaw-dropping, best-friend-screaming-in-the-background kind.
"You will not believe who I just saw," I whisper-shout, glancing over my shoulder as if someone might hear.
"Remember the hottie at the Denver nightclub?
The guy with the smirk, the hands, and the lips that melted mine? "
"How could I forget?" she asks loudly.
Anna barely gets her words out before I'm talking over her, excited and panicking.
"Yeah, him. Where, you ask? Oh, at a meeting with my dad, who apparently just went out and bought the Austin Armadillos, a professional football team, like he was picking up milk.
And get this: Greyson isn't just here; he's also the freaking quarterback of the team. "
She perks up, screaming, "This is amazing. I knew he didn't live in Denver. Now you can be together. No longer two ships colliding on a dance floor; you can get Bodhi out of your system. Ooh, I may have to move to the States. But wait. Why were you in the meeting?"
"Because I think my dad is having a midlife crisis a few years too late. Maybe he's living a youthful dream, but he can't devote one hundred percent of his time to the franchise, so he wants me to run the daily operations."
"You don't think he's dying, do you?"
It gives me pause. "No."
"What does he expect you to do, slam the employees with a tennis racquet if they don't follow directions? Did you accept the job?"
"Not yet. A little voice has been nagging me for the last few months, making me think I want to do something else. Coaching is fun and I'd like to keep coaching Paulina and Gabby, but will I only ever be a tennis player? I want to stretch my knowledge, be challenged."
"Or maybe you just want to see Greyson every day and hook up in the utility closet." She bursts out laughing.
She's not wrong. I've thought about him all night.
"What should I do?"
"What does the job entail? Do you have to work directly with Greyson?"
My teeth dig into my bottom lip, thinking about a scenario where I'm the general manager for the Austin Armadillos. "I don't think so. His older brother is the head coach, also a former player, and I'll have meetings with him; he's married to Birdie, the singer."
"Well, this story just got even more interesting. Take the job and get Francisco and me VIP tickets to her concert in Madrid. You know how much I love her. "
Rolling my eyes, I say, "Sure, I'll take the job for concert tickets."
"Don't take the job for me. Take it so the hot quarterback can melt your undies."
"I'm fairly sure that if I take the job, it would be against the rules. No fraternization. It's a rule at the tennis academy."
"When did that stop anyone at our tennis academy? Where there's a will, there's a way. Didn't you always say that?"
I did. But that was before my self-confidence was shattered along with my ribs.
When I don't say anything for a minute, she squeals, "Okay, text me as soon as you decide. But if you want a challenge, this qualifies."
"Love you, Anna. Thanks for waking up and listening, but now I need to go to bed."
"And it's time for me to eat and go to practice. I'm just glad you didn't call and say you ran into your ex-asshole. Oh, before we hang up, did he remember you? And did you let him know you remembered him?"
I replay the way Greyson's eyes lingered a little too long on me in my dad's house. "My dad and his brother were in the room most of the time, but I think so. At the end, he said, 'You can put me wherever you want me.'"
Anna lets out a satisfied cackle. "This is going to get good. Have you stalked him yet?"
"Next on my to-do list."
I hang up, still buzzing with the thrill and the coincidence of it all. Before I go to bed, I do a deep dive on Greyson O'Ryan's Wikipedia page. I admit, I go straight to the personal section. Single .
How could a man with more charm than a prince be single, never married, and without children?
After daydreaming about Greyson, I skim the professional section about Super Bowls and MVPs.
This is all great, but it doesn't tell me why he was traded.
Did he do something stupid? A bar fight?
Drugs? Injury? I look over his statistics and have no idea what the acronyms mean.
INT? PY? RY? I make a mental note to do some studying if I'm serious about accepting this job.
I type "Greyson O'Ryan trade" into the search bar, and everything that comes up says he almost lost the Super Bowl single-handedly.
The backup came in and won the game. I blow out a breath.
He must be devastated. Someone with his talent being replaced.
The article says that Denver had to pay Greyson a lot of money, and then, of course, he's getting paid by my dad's team.
What I find next shocks me.
A photo of Greyson and me at the nightclub appears. My back is to his chest as my head leans back on his shoulder, and his hand is on my leg, dangerously close to my privates. The various headlines read:
Is Mystery Woman the Reason for the Distraction?
Did O'Ryan Lose the Game of His Career
Because of a Woman?
Denver Needs to Find This Woman and Screw His Head on Right.
When I was in Europe, I never saw any of this; they don't care about American football.
I'm sure he's photographed with women all the time, considering he's single and has never been married.
Why are they harping on him about one girl?
We kissed once. We danced for an hour, maybe less.
But as I gaze at our picture, shivers run up my spine; a tidal wave of memories crashes over me, overwhelming my senses and transporting me back to that night.
How he held me tight.
How his voice made me melt.
How well he could dance.
How his hands felt on my skin.
And most of all, how his kiss infiltrated my broken heart and gave me life again at a time when I thought I would never let another man touch me.