Oh, how stupid is that? Who cares if I look pretty? Ryan has seen me dressed down, dressed sort of up, and business casual. It didn’t seem like he minded what I wore to puppy-parenting classes.
Why start worrying now?
After smoothing down my blue sundress, I check the belt to make sure I haven’t missed a loop. Then, I fluff my hair one last time and make a face at my reflection.
“This will have to do,” I tell Bluebelle.
Bluebelle just stares at me, then huffs before closing her eyes.
“Gee, thanks.”
The doorbell rings as I make my way to the living room. My heart speeds up, and those crazy butterflies return. Ryan’s here. At my door. Waiting on the other side to take me out and—
Do what exactly? I’m still not sure why he wants to go out with me of all people. Does he think I’m a sure thing, or maybe my obvious difference from the women he usually dates makes me more exotic to him? And yes, I did sneak more than a few peeks at him on Google, his Instagram feed, and the Raleigh Renegades website.
I roll my eyes. If Ryan ever finds out, he’ll probably do a victory dance and slap my butt. Not that I would mind the slap on the butt...
“Control yourself,” I mutter.
He’s just a guy, a really hot, sexy guy, but a guy nonetheless. And I refuse to get played by him. So, tonight, I’ll go out and have a great time. Then I’ll do it again, and V-Squared will have its donation.
It’s a win-win in my opinion, and veterans like my brother will benefit from my sacrifice to the dating gods.
The doorbell rings again.
“Coming,” I call out, moving to unlock the front door. I open it a crack, finding Ryan on the other side. All my former blasé attitude about him being just a really hot, sexy guy flies out the window. He wears dark jeans, a button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of sunglasses.
“You look amazing,” he says, taking off his sunglasses. He runs an appreciative eye over me, and I flush. “Gorgeous. Holy shit. I’m at a loss for words, Peaches.”
Firecracker. Peaches. What’s with him and nicknames? “Don’t sound shocked,” I reprimand. “Judging by your reaction, you were expecting me to answer the door in a ratty old pair of sweats and—”
“It didn’t cross your mind?”
My cheeks heat even more. “Once or twice.”
He smiles. “An honest answer—I might not like it, but I can respect it.”
Suddenly, Bluebelle comes bounding into the room, tail wagging. “Here’s my guard dog, protecting me from you.” Smiling, I scratch her behind an ear. “What a good girl you are.”
Ever since I rescued Bluebelle from the pound, the dog has been terrified of the doorbell and hides out in my room whenever she hears it. Lately, however,, it seems like she’s coming out of her shell, which makes me more than a little excited for my sweet dog.
Bluebelle shakes all over, wags her tail, and sniffs Ryan’s boots. “She’s smelling Gunner.” He kneels on the front porch, and scratches Bluebelle behind the ears. “G-Dog is gonna be so jealous I got to see you, pretty girl.”
Bluebelle’s tail wags faster—not that I can blame her.. “I meant what I said about getting them together, Ryan. They were buddies for so long it seems wrong to keep them apart.”
Ryan peers up at me through lashes so long and thick I’m jealous. Mine are almost nonexistent without mascara. “I agree.”
In that moment, I know Ryan doesn’t just mean our dogs. He means us, too. I clear my throat, then give Bluebelle the command to go back inside the house. My dog, the sweet girl, listens almost immediately.
“Let me get her a treat, grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go,” I say, already walking to the kitchen, but I freeze when I hear a familiar crunching sound.
Looking back at Ryan and then at Bluebelle as she eats, I ask, “Did you give her that?”
“Might have,” he replies.
I glance up in time to see him dig into his pocket and pull out two more treats, one in each hand. He’d thought of Bluebelle. My heart softens, despite knowing it’s the wrong thing for it to do.
“That was sweet of you to think of her,” I say.
He shrugs. “It was nothing.”
Grabbing my purse, I cross the room and put my hand on his arm. “You don’t like it when I compliment you about the things you do—off the field.”
“I don’t know how to respond.”
This sexy man, so confident on the field, in interviews, and when asking me out, doesn’t know what to do? “Saying ‘thank you’ is more than enough.”
He stares into my eyes, his gaze so smoldering I’m surprised my clothes aren’t smoking. “Thank you.”
I move closer to him. “By the way, I read how much money you raised for V-Squared, and what you had to do on the mud run. If I had known the extent of it, then you wouldn’t have had to bribe me to go out with you.”
There, I’m being honest.
“I would have given more, if it hadn’t been enough for you,” he says quietly.
“Money has it uses, but that’s not one of them for me.”
“So, you would have gone out with me if I hadn’t done anything more than happen to run into you at the hotel?” His head dips, bringing those full, soft lips so close to mine that I dig my nails into his arm. His powerful, muscular arm.
Oh, sweet Lord.
“Ryan, I—” I lick my lips.
That’s all the invitation he needs, because before I can take another breath and start again, his mouth is on mine.
Chapter 7
Ryan
My firecracker kisses like an angel. All soft and giving as she melts into me. Her sweet little body fits against mine perfectly. She isn’t too tall or too short. Not too skinny and not too voluptuous. Some might say she’s average, but not me.
Never me.
Cautiously, her mouth moves beneath mine, and I keep the pressure light, not wanting to ruin this moment. I tentatively touch my tongue to her bottom lip, running it along the plump line until she gasps her pleasure.
Her hands come up, not to push me away but to slide into my hair. I nudge her mouth open, and she parts her lips with a soft moan. Taking full advantage, I sweep my tongue inside and tangle it up with hers.
A fully formed groan leaves me, and I have to make myself stop before I sweep Ashley off her feet and take her to bed.
I lean back, gazing into her gorgeous face. Her lashes flutter open, giving me an up close and personal view of just how blue her eyes can get. They are drowsy, full of desire and lust.
She blinks, and I bite back a curse, because I can see the exact moment reality hits her. Her forehead furrows, and her sexy pink mouth pinches up a little.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she says. “I didn’t—I took advantage of you.”
That isn’t what I expected to hear. She took advantage of me? I’m six-foot-three and weigh two-hundred-and-thirty-six pounds to her five-foot nothing and a hundred nothing pounds soaking wet.
“No, you didn’t. I did. You licked your lips; I saw an opening.” I shrug. “So I went for it.”
“You went for it?” She makes a face, like the thought of what we did is distasteful.
“Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And you seemed to like it.”
Her mouth opens and closes a few times as I wait for her to give me a penalty that will send me out of the game we’re playing.
“I’m ready to go,” she announces, marching to the front door. She glances back at me. “I can’t lock it until you’re out. Unless you relish the thought of setting off the alarm?”
“Can’t say I do.” Great. Just great. I’ve lost every bit of ground I gained with her. Except... she didn’t kick me out, and the only reason I know she doesn’t is because of the donation.
If that isn’t a kick to the teeth, I don’t know what is.
She gestures to the door. “After you.”
***
O
ur date is off to a rocky start, but I’m not out of the game just yet. The place I picked for tonight is thirty minutes southwest of Raleigh, so no one will bother us. It’s Carolina Panthers country in this part of the state.
I lean back in my chair, studying the woman sitting across the table. She’s drinking the last of her martini, trying to capture the cherry that keeps rolling from side to side in her glass.
Finally, her tongue gets in on the action.
That makes me sit a little taller. It also makes my dick hard. All I can think in that moment is her little pink tongue licking my body, like I’m a cherry she wants to eat.
Mercifully, the cherry rolls into her mouth so she can eat it, smiling as she chews.
“In all the time we spent together, I’m ashamed to admit I have no idea what you do for a living,” I say.
Setting her glass down, she leans forward a little. “I stalk football players, sleep with them, and record it, so I can post the video on YouTube and make millions.”
Forget angel. She’s a she-devil. Damn if I don’t love it. “You be sure to get my good side when you do.”
She flounders for a minute. “What side would that be?”
I capture her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb over her wrist. Her pulse is steady at first, but gradually picks up pace the longer I touch her. “I’ll let you be the judge.”
Ashley turns away from me, but not before I see the smile on her face. However, she doesn’t pull her hand away.
“Want to start from the top?” I ask.
She nods once, and then turns to face me. “I’m a designer.”
“How did you get started?” I really do want to know. Everything about Ashley fascinates me, beyond her physical attributes... just one more reason how I know she’s the one for me.
“In college. When my brother lost his leg, he joined a support group, and there were women in it I became friendly with. One of the things that always came up was their dating lives—dressing for them. The prostheses they use are either plain or sporty-looking. Sure, they’re functional and all, but when a woman has a date, she wants options—they wanted options—to wear a dress, a skirt, some short shorts, and show off her legs.”
“You had to fix that.”
Ashley smiles, obviously excited to talk about something she holds so near and dear to her heart. “One day, during art history class, we were studying a picture of a woman partially dressed and she had these thigh highs and garters on—very sexy. And it hit me. I could make those specifically for leg prostheses.” She grins. “So I designed a prototype, got a patent, and started selling them online. A picture of one of my designs went viral on Pinterest, then Instagram, and it steamrolled from there. It got to the point I had to buy a warehouse, more equipment, and hire a bunch of employees to meet demand.”
“You seem pretty relaxed for a CEO,” I say with a chuckle. “Most of the ones I know are tense and stressed and don’t look that good in a dress.”
She laughs. “I sold the business to a major distribution company for a fair price. In return, I get profit sharing as well as stock benefits.”
“And now?” I ask.
“Now... the sky’s the limit. I have so many ideas pinging around in my head,” she says, her blue eyes vibrant and warm like the sky on a summer day. “I don’t know what to do first, but since I don’t really have to worry about money like I used to... I have time.”
You can always start with me. “That’s a great problem to have.”
Chapter 8
Ashley
Ryan sounds genuinely impressed with me, which is a novelty. My ex... well, let’s just say he called my business a little hobby that I happened to make money doing.
Ugh. In hindsight, I’m not sure why I ever wanted to marry Dean. Except he didn’t start out a jerk, he ended up as one. That I couldn’t have seen coming at all. Reason number six million why I can’t trust my judgment when it comes to a guy like Ryan.
“I sound rotten, right?” I ask.
He gives me a look. “For working hard and becoming successful? Yeah, so rotten.”
My cheeks heat, as do the rest of my body. He hasn’t stopped that slow glide of his over my wrist. Goosebumps cover my skin and my nipples are hard. So hard he has to be able to see their outlines through the thin material of my bra and dress.
“What about you?” I ask, my voice breathless. It can’t be helped, and since we’re out in public, he can’t say much about it.
“Would I like to be your next project?” He rubs his jaw with his free hand. “Would I like for you to work on me for hours...?”
My eyes round and my face flushes hot. “No. Oh my gosh, that’s not what I meant.” But it can be what I mean. Shut up, I tell myself. I don’t date football players, and this date for charity doesn’t count.
He lets go of my hand, and I want to pout. POUT. What’s wrong with me? “Relax, firecracker. I know what you mean.” He takes a drink of his beer. “Besides, you already know what I do for a living.”
“Not for a while I didn’t. I thought you did crossfit or something. Since then, honestly, all I know is what I’ve read about you, and what I’ve seen on television.” I tilt my head to one side. “Then there’s the billboard on 540 that popped up two weeks ago.”
The bridge of his nose flushes. “I wish they’d take that damn thing down. The guys give me so much shi—er... grief about it.”
“How so?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you.”
I place both hands on the table. “Yes, you will. You can’t just say something like that and then refuse to tell.”
“No comment.”
Poking out my bottom lip, I bat my lashes. “C’mon, Ryan. I won’t tell anyone.”
He grumbles something under his breath about my mouth and eyes.
“Please.” I bat my lashes harder.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but if I do, I get something in return.”
“Like what?”
“My choice.”
“I don’t get to know ahead of time?”
“Either you want to know what they did, or you don’t,” he says lightly.
I never can resist a bet. “Deal.”
His eyes widen slightly, like he’s surprised. “They crossed out my last name on my locker and wrote Beckham over it, then they papered it with every image they could find of me shirtless at practice, in my board shorts at the beach, and all the shots from my campaigns.”
“Wow, that sounds harsh.”
“Honey, that’s men.”
“You mean that’s mean.”
“I’m a big boy. I can take it,” he insists, and I let the subject drop. If there’s one thing I do know about men, it’s their ego is important to them. He just shared something he considers to be hurtful.
I shake my head. “I don’t get you at all.”
One side of his mouth lifts. “In what way?”
“You’re not cocky, stuck on yourself, or only worried about the next game or season. You care about other people, and want to know about them. And you rescue pit bulls.”
His dark eyes gleam. “Ah. So, that’s it.”
My stomach flips. “What’s it?”
“You’ve been burned by an athlete. Most likely a football player,” he surmises.
Am I that easy to read?
I smash my lips together for a moment as the old hurt claws its way inside of me. “I was more than just burned,” I say. “He left me on our wedding day to go play for the Heat. Said he was doing me a favor. Wasn’t that kind of him?”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
The server brings our food, refills our water goblets, and makes sure we don’t need anything else before she leaves the table.
“Geez. I’m really bringing the mood down, huh?” I say, bowing my head to stare at my food. Why did I reveal all that to him? It’s none of Ryan’s business, and after one more date, I’ll never see him again.
; “I’m sorry, Ashley,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.
I jerk my head up. “It’s no big deal.”
“I think it’s a very big deal,” he disagrees.
“Have you ever been stood up?” I ask.
His jaw works for a moment. “Right now, I want to lie to you so you won’t feel worse, but I don’t want to patronize you.”
I let out a sniff. A stupid sniff that comes out of nowhere. “Patronize away.”
“Dozens of times. So many that I’ve lost count,” he says, and ridiculous happy/sad tears fill my eyes.
“What do I owe you for telling me about the mean guys on your team?”
His gaze bores into mine. “Not one damn thing.”
Chapter 9
Ryan
As I drive us back to her place, I stew in my own guilt.
Well, maybe not my guilt, but as soon as she said she’d been left on her wedding day, I knew exactly who she was talking about.
It made me hate that guy even more.
Dean Clark is a showboater, an out-for-my glory-all-the-time type of player. During my rookie days with the Renegades, the asshole nearly got another player hurt badly, because of his all-about-me attitude during the Playoffs.
I always wondered about the girl Dean talked about leaving behind when he moved to Phoenix. About how he dodged the bullet, because she was so clingy and had tricked him into getting engaged so he was going to break things off.
Only, I never understood that viewpoint. In my experience, women who are there from the beginning don’t want to be with a guy only for the money and fame. That’s not to say a good woman doesn’t exist after that point; she’s simply harder to find, because so many do want all the trappings that come along with being the wife of a professional sports athlete.
I suppose the only thing Dean has in his favor is he broke it off before the wedding happened. It isn’t much, but at least Dean was honest with her, while I can’t bring myself to tell her that I know Dean or that he’d talked about her. A lot.
Catching Her Heart (Scored, #3) Page 3