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Thoughts flicker through my head about Ryker and our bareback conversation and where it led us. It was perfect.
A second in time of perfection doesn’t outweigh the other seconds of imperfection. That’s where I’m at right now.
A life of imperfection.
Uncertainty.
Tears roll down my cheek and the horse senses it, placing his head on my shoulder. “I swear, it’s not you.” I laugh, scratching his neck.
“Seems you got a fan.” I jump backward from the horse, surprised at the voice. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mila says.
I blow out a breath and wipe the tears from my cheeks. “That’s okay.”
“Aspen” —her gaze drops and she kicks some dirt around— “I’m sorry I brought up the picture. I figured you would’ve seen it by now.” She lifts her head and I appreciate the sincerity in her voice.
“It mainly caught me off guard. I mean, he was here last week, telling me he would wait for me. He wanted to give me space to figure my stuff out.”
Our definitions of space are very different.
“Wait, he was here last week?”
I share her shock. Why would he be so genuine and then go out with someone else a couple days later? If that’s dating life here in the States, I don’t want to date anytime soon.
“Please tell me that’s not what normal guys do.”
She laughs with a shoulder shrug. “Well, there are definitely some that do. But you learn to weed out the assholes.”
I lean against the fence. “But he’s not an asshole,” I murmur. Why am I still defending him? “That or he’s fantastic at hiding it.”
“Have you tried to contact him? The paparazzi are always trying to spin things so it fits their narrative. Maybe he isn’t with Bree.” She doesn’t sound convinced, but she’s trying.
“I’ve tried. And I think I’m doing it right. He hasn’t answered or texted me back.”
“Do you have your phone? I can check it, if you’d like.” I pull out my phone from my pocket. Waiting for Ryker to call or text, I can’t part with the darn thing. She glances at the texts and lifts her head. “You did it right. You can’t screw up a text. Unless you send it to the wrong person. Been there, done that. I wouldn’t recommend it.” She laughs. “Where did you get his number?”
“He put it in there himself, last week.”
She hums and then hands me the phone. “If I knew him, I’d be able to give you a better idea of what he’s like. I’ve only heard he was a player.”
I’m surprised she doesn’t already know. “Yeah, he’s a football player.”
She snorts. “Not like that.” When I furrow my brows in confusion, she tries to stop her laugh by sucking in her lips. “It’s another name for a guy who likes to date around.”
“Oh,” my voice deflates.
“But that doesn’t mean he is. Rumors are part of our lives. I’ve been pregnant like at least five times.” My eyes widen and drop to her belly. “I haven’t been, but hell, if I gain like five pounds or just ate Mexican food and I’m bloated, there’s always a horrible picture that makes me look pregnant.”
This is what I have to look forward to?
Red horse nuzzles the top of my head again, messing up my hair. I step forward, out of his reach, and pat my hair down.
“Are you ready to go back up? I mean, I’m all for staying here talking, the two of us, but the guys were pissed I ran you off.”
“Sure.”
As we head back up toward the house, she asks, “Speaking of being in the public, have you seen what they’re saying about you?”
My steps slow. People took tons of pictures of us, but why would they be talking about me? He’s the famous one.
