The Unforgiving Minute by Sarah Granger Read Free Book Online Page A

plentiful, and came along regularly, which was another big plus as far as Ryan was concerned, and his fellow teammates were pretty awesome. Daniel and Finn shared a sense of humor that was distinctly frat boy in tone, but their teasing of Ryan was good-natured and helped him to feel part of the team rather than like the new kid who was waiting for someone to figure out he wasn’t really good enough to be there.
    Josh, who seemed to be the unofficial leader of the team, appeared to have made it his personal mission to make Ryan feel at home, even if he did laugh more than Ryan thought was either necessary or polite the first time he witnessed Ryan’s encounter with an ice bath. On the other hand, Josh laughing uninhibitedly like that was going straight into Ryan’s mental scrapbook of favorite memories—sparkling blue eyes crinkled at the corners and his body shaking with peals of laughter Ryan hadn’t known Josh was capable of. On court, Josh was buttoned-down and 100 percent disciplined, and so different from how he looked in that instant. It led Ryan to wonder just how Josh would be in other circumstances, with all that self-discipline slowly stripped away until all he could dowas react.
    But even with those thoughts occasionally—well, okay, fairly often—buzzing round his head, Ryan made a supreme effort and stopped jerking off to thoughts of Josh. Now that he was getting to know the guy, it felt dirty somehow, and not in the good way. It also felt as if he was tantalizing himself with something he couldn’t have. He was happy Josh treated him as a friend and fellow player he respected. That was more than he’d ever thought he would have. It was just a shame Josh had to look so damn hot while doing it.
     
     
    B Y THE time they flew out for the tie against the French, Ryan knew he was playing at least as well as he had at the US Open last year. He was relaxed, he was happy, and he was confident. He was also beginning to realize how lonely he’d been on the tournament circuit. Ryan thrived on company, and while he was perfectly happy to chat with anybody he encountered who’d talk back to him, the transience of interactions with drivers or housekeeping staff or random road-sweepers didn’t compare with being surrounded by this sort of effortless friendship.
    The draw for the first day had Josh playing Philippe Martin, followed by Ryan playing Guillame Rouze. Ryan had known he’d have to play Rouze, but he’d really hoped it would have been his second match, by which point he might not need to win for the USA to take the tie. Martin was good but Ryan had beaten him before, giving him the confidence he could do it again. Rouze was another matter entirely. His game was strong and aggressive, and he was amazingly agile around the court. Ryan would have given anything not to have had to face him first.
    Josh won against Martin in straight sets. Ryan, despite playing his heart out for himself, the team, and his country, lost to Rouze in straight sets.
    Josh was waiting for him as he came out of the locker room, and Ryan could scarcely look him in the face. He was sure he’d never felt this bad over any other loss. He felt as if he’d let down Josh, let down Brad, let down everyone who’d ever thought he could be good enough for the Davis Cup team.
    Before Josh could say anything, Rouze came out of the locker room. Josh and he exchanged a brief greeting as he walked past them. And then Josh put his hand on Ryan’s bowed neck and steered him back into the empty locker room and over to a bench.
    Ryan sat down. “I’m sorry,” he said, and to his horror, found his voice was thick and his eyes were suddenly damp.
    “Hey, you played well out there.” Josh sat down next to him. “You didn’t do anything wrong; Rouze just outplayed you today. It sucks, but it happens.”
    Ryan sniffed and ran a hand under his nose. “I guess.”
    Josh shook him gently by the scruff of his neck. “I’ve played more matches