“I was shooting pool with a few of my teammates at a low-key dive bar. Some of the guys call us the old fogeys, because we don’t like to party all night in loud nightclubs.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one, but I was never a party ‘til dawn kind of guy.” He glanced at me as we pulled up to a stoplight. “Mind if I ask how old you are?”
“Twenty-five. But like, a veryoldtwenty-five.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I started a demanding career at fourteen and had to grow up fast. I think that makes me different than a lot of guys my age.”
“Why did you start working that young?”
“I was discovered by a modeling scout during my freshman year of high school. My career took off, and it was… just a lot at that age.”
“I can imagine. Are you still modeling?”
“No. I retired in my early twenties and went to college. Two years ago, I moved from L.A. to San Francisco and transferred to a private art school called Sutherlin. I should be finishing my degree in fashion design this June.”
I was talking too much. This guy didn’t need or want my entire life story, but I dreaded awkward silences, and that made me chattier than usual.
“That’s great! Congratulations.”
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” I muttered. “There’s still plenty of time to crash and burn.”
“I doubt it. You seem like someone who has it all together.”
“It’s an illusion.” As the light turned green and we rolled through the intersection, I asked, “What do you do when you’re not flattening your opponents on the rugby field?”
“I run a horse rescue on the ranch I inherited from my grandparents.”
That made me grin. “You work with horses and your name is Ryder? That’s awfully on the nose.”
He grinned, too. “Yeah, go figure.”
“How many animals do you look after?”
“There are currently eighteen horses, along with a bunch of goats, dogs, chickens, and a donkey named Jeff who thinks he’s a person.”
“Probably because his name’s Jeff.”
“Probably.”
“And you live in Austin?”
“The rest of the team does. I live out in the country, a little more than an hour outside of town.”
“Is your rugby league the equivalent of minor league baseball?”
“No, we’re strictly amateurs. We play different clubs in the area, and once a year we come here for this tournament. This is our fifth year, but it’ll probably be our last, although we plan to do one more regular season after this.”
“Why is this your last tournament?”
Ryder shrugged. “We’re all getting older. For a lot of the guys, that comes with more responsibilities back home, like careers and families. It’s hard to get away.”
“Please don’t tell me you have a hubby and kids back in Texas, because I have zero tolerance for cheaters.”
“God, no. The only kids back home are baby goats. I’m not seeing anyone, and I would never cheat. I think it’s despicable.”
