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“You didn’t?” his brother said, and then they held on to each other as they fell about laughing.
With a shake of his head, Ryan picked up his towel and water bottle. “Thanks for the pep talk. It was something else. As usual.”
“My point is,” Bill said when he’d stopped laughing, “we all get taken for a ride sometimes, son. Not every woman’s like that, but some are. You need to kiss a lot of frogs to find your princess.”
“I’m not looking for a princess,” Ryan said. “I’m perfectly happy on my own. Women are too much trouble.” He’d learned that lesson the hard way, at the expense of his reputation with his team. These men and women expected him to have their backs. Not to get distracted by his dick with every passing woman.
Bob looked sad. “She might have had a good reason for what she did,” he said.
Ryan strode past them toward the changing room and the showers. “There’s always a good reason—for them. It’s never good for me. Don’t worry about me, Pops. I’m good. She used me and I let my team down. It won’t happen again.”
As he heard the door close behind him, his granddad’s soft voice came to him. “Oh, I hope it does, son. Because the alternative is no life at all.”
With that, Ryan headed to the showers.
Harry and Magenta
This story takes place after Ransom.
Harry Boyle’s mind was on other things as he dodged through the crowds in Addis Mercato, the biggest market in Africa. He was surrounded by people, animals, and vehicles. There were folk buying spices from stalls with perfect cone-shaped piles of powder on them. They’d scoop some spice into a little bag for their customer, then spend their time making the cone smooth again as they waited for another sale. A donkey carrying a pile of overstuffed bags wandered past a table where women haggled over lengths of brightly colored cloth.
He dodged around a display of intricately woven baskets being sold from a blanket on the ground, and barely missed toppling a woman who held a pole laden with jebenas—the local clay formed coffee pots. From plastic containers to shoes made of recycled tires, the market had everything you could ever need and a lot of things you wouldn’t.
But, on that hot, dry morning, where the red dust rose from the earth to coat your feet, Harry didn’t pay attention to the chaos around him. His eyes were fixed firmly on his feet as his brain raced over the lines of code he needed to perfect for the British government. This was why, when a man with a pile of overfilled bags balanced on top of his head stepped into his path—Harry walked into him. The bags fell to the ground, Harry tripped over them and landed flat on his back in the dirt.
And a nearby donkey sat on his legs.
There was a second when it felt like the whole world paused to look at the white man trapped under the ass of a donkey. And then, the world laughed.
“Harry!”
He groaned and shut his eyes as he heard his wife rush through the crowd to get to him. Unlike Harry, who blended into the woodwork, people tended to notice Magenta. He wasn’t sure if it was the Goth effect of her black makeup and clothes, or just because Magenta wouldn’t tolerate anyone getting in her way.
“Help me get that donkey off him,” she snapped. “Harry, are you okay?”
He opened an eye and saw her face above his, the bright blue of the sky framing her black hair like a halo. “The internet’s down,” he said. “Well, not all of it. Just our hotel’s connection. I was heading to the Hilton to use their Wi-Fi.”
The weight of the donkey lifted from him, and the beast brayed loudly in compl
aint. Apparently, Harry made a comfortable seat.
“Come on,” Magenta said. “Get up before someone trips over you.”
She reached out her hand and helped Harry to his feet. He gamely smiled back at his grinning audience as his wife patted the dust off his back. Today she wore black denim cut-off shorts, a black vest-top, and black canvas Converse. Several strings of black and white ceramic beads that she’d bought in Nigeria were wrapped around her wrist. She’d tied her dyed black hair up in a high ponytail, and this softened the effect of the thick black eyeliner framing her eyes. As usual, she was stunning.
He knew he was grinning at her like a loon, but he couldn’t help it. His whole life, all he’d wanted was to be with Magenta. Ever since he’d seen her in the playground when they were tiny. Now, he got to be with her every day.
“What am I going to do with you?” she said when she saw the grin.
“I can think of a few things. But maybe we shouldn’t do any of them in public.”
She took his hand. “Yeah, in public is definitely out.” She started walking, pulling him along with her.
“Where are we going?” Harry said.
“To the hotel. To find the internet you need.”
He could feel the burn in his cheeks. Thirty years old, and he still embarrassed himself at every turn. It was a good job he was smart; otherwise, his ego would have been dust by now.
