Bound

Ryke & Kate

November 2010 -- Ryke

The green-eyed beauty at the bar smiled at me and I couldn't help grinning back. She'd been sneaking glances at me since we walked into the restaurant. My gaze stayed on her as she played with one of her bright red shoulder length curls.

No need to point it out, sweetheart. I know your hair's sexy.

In my single days, I wouldn't have even finished my dinner once I knew this woman was ready and willing. I would've taken her back to my room and quickly given her a view of the ceiling above the bed.

But here I was, about to finish my steak and head out with the guys I'd come here with. I sighed as the waiter returned with my credit card.

"Have a nice night, Mr. Ryker," he said.

"Thanks." I scrawled some numbers on my ticket and got up from the table.

"Wanna try that bar down the street?" my teammate Leon Richter asked, raising his brows.

I shook my head. "I'm tired."

"No, you're whipped," Leon said, adding sound effects.

"Fuck you, Richter. If you played as many minutes as I did, you might be tired, too."

His eyes narrowed and I laughed. The other guys got up and we were heading for the door when I felt a light touch on my arm. I turned and saw the redhead.

"Hey," she said, a light pink flush coloring her pale cheeks. "Are you . . . an athlete?"

"Why, do we look like meatheads?" I grinned at her and her face darkened another shade. "I'm teasing. Yeah, we play hockey. Nice to meet you . . . ?"

"Stella."

"Stella," I said, reaching out to shake her hand. As soon as I let go, her fingers were twining around one of those curls again.

"Can you stay for a drink?" she asked. The other guys headed for the door. They'd leave without me. I could spend the night with this woman and no one would ever know.

I looked at her huge eyes, my smile fading. "I wish I could. But I need to go call my wife."

"Oh." She looked down, embarrassed. Should I tell her that in another time, I'd have loved to get to know her better? Probably not. She might take it the wrong way.

"It was great to meet you," I said, leaving. "Have a good night."

She turned away silently. Walking out of the restaurant to hail a cab, I dug my phone out of my pocket. I dialed and Mag answered, her voice muffled and sleepy.

"Ryke?"

"Hi, baby. Sorry I woke you up."

"I waited for you to call, but it got so late . . ."

"I know." A cab cruised to the curb and I opened it and slid in, giving the driver the address to the hotel. "Sorry. We were late getting out of the game, and—"

"Are you leaving a bar? Did you go out after the game?" By the edge in her tone, I knew she was wide awake now. This first season as a married man wasn't what I'd expected. I didn't know Mag and I would rehash the same fucking fight over and over every time I was out of town for a game.

"I had dinner with some of the guys."

"And I'm sure you're on the way to the bars now." Her voice was cold, and I reminded myself not to fire back and get into a huge fight with her. Once we argued, she'd keep me up half the night with texts and phone calls.