Catching Her Heart (Scored, #3)

by Marquita Valentine

  Right now, my relationship doesn’t have a label. At all. “I haven’t been dating him long enough to have a label.” I have been dating him long enough to take a shower with him. My cheeks heat, and I’m thankful my very perceptive brother’s back is turned.

  “You know the rule, Ash. Three dates and it’s meet the family time,” he says.

  I groan. “That hasn’t been instituted since college.”

  “You haven’t dated anyone since college. At least not more than two dates,” he points out.

  “Haven’t met anyone worth more than two dates.” I make a face and pick up my plate, joining him at the sink to help with the dishes. “You wash, and I’ll rinse.”

  “Don’t break the plates, brat.”

  “Don’t be so bossy, Rhett Butler.”

  This time, my brother makes a face. “You would think our parents could have been a little more original with our names.”

  “Could be worse.”

  “Than to be named after Gone with the Wind characters?”

  I give him a pointed look.

  He grins. “Forgot about our brother, huh.”

  I laugh. “He still fusses about me getting named after the heroine instead of him. Bless his heart.”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a damn, Ashley.”

  I jump, dropping the plate I’m rinsing before turning to face my other brother.

  “Watch it,” Rhett calls.

  “Why, Will Scarlett, fancy see you here.” I smirk, miming fanning myself.

  Will mutters something under his breath and opens the fridge. “Got anything else to eat?”

  “Don’t you have a home?” Rhett asks. “Doesn’t your wife need you to rub her feet?”

  “Su casa, mi casa,” Will says with a grin. His blond head dips out of sight as he digs through the drawers. “Score. Besides, my beautiful wife is at wine and design class tonight—sans wine.”

  I grin at the reminder that I’ll soon have a niece to spoil.

  “I’m not cooking again,” Rhett says as Will straightens. “Did you know Ashley has a new boyfriend? He’s a football player.”

  Will bites into the hunk of salami, then grimaces. “Really?” He shakes his head. “They’re all the same, Ash. Find someone else.”

  I smack the sides of my legs. “You two need to get a life. And manners,” I say, giving Will a pointed look as he eats with his hands.

  “What?” He gnaws off another hunk, looking more like a boy of six rather than twenty-six. “I’m hungry, and I don’t want Rhett to have to cook for me.”

  “You wish I’d cook for you,” Rhett says.

  “I’m leaving,” I say, giving both my brothers a quick hug. “I have an early appointment tomorrow.”

  “With Ryan?” Rhett asks, stretching out Ryan’s name to about fifty annoying syllables. There’s no way I’ll bring him to meet my family until I’m good and ready.

  “And his dog, too,” I say. “Our dogs are friends.”.

  Will chokes on the food in his mouth. “You’re dating the Ryan Turner?”

  “Gotta go.” I wave at them and make my way to the front door, which my brother left wide open. “Were you raised in a barn, Will?”

  “Dammit, Scarlett. How many times have I told you to shut the door?” Rhett shouts.

  “It’s Will, you pompous one-legged asshole,” Will yells right back.

  “Watch it, or I’ll take my leg and shove it up your ass.”

  “Didn’t know you lost your dick in the war, too, buddy.”

  A dish slams against the wall. Then the table crashes into it as a fight breaks out between them. I’ve heard the sounds of them fighting often enough to know. By tonight, however, they’ll be on the couch, drinking beer and watching ESPN like nothing ever happened.

  “Brothers,” I say with a huff.

  Chapter 15

  Ryan

  I wait for J.R., the Renegades’ owner, to join me in his office. It’s sleek, full of old-world-style furniture, and lots of new money. At one point, J.R. had a gold-plated toilet that practically wiped your ass after you were done.

  The Texan walks inside, trademark cowboy hat on his balding head and cigar clamped between his lips. “Ryan, my boy. Glad you could make some time for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I shake the older man’s hand.

  “What’s this I hear about the Pats wanting my best player?” J.R. wastes no time getting to the point. Something I’ve always admired.

  “They want me to play for them.”

  J.R. eyes me. “And what do you want to do?”

  A year ago, I would have jumped at their offer. Hell, two months ago, I’d have said the Patriots were my dream team, but that was before I met a fiery redhead in puppy-parenting class who makes me weak in the knees.

  “I’m considering all of my options,” I reply noncommittally.

  J.R. smiles. “I’m not like most owners, willing to hold a man by the short and curlies until he cries ‘uncle’. However, I’ll need an answer soon. There’s a player I’ve had my eye on for a while now, but I’m not sure of the reception he’ll get being a former Renegade and all. There’s talk of you two not getting along.”

  Sucking in a breath, I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. I struggle to keep a neutral face. “Dean Clark?”

  “The rumors are true, then.”

  I’m not about to badmouth another player, even if I’d sooner punch myself in the throat than play with Dean again. I don’t want that asshole in the same country as Ashley, much less the same city.

  “We got along fine,” I say tightly.

  J.R.’s eyes gleam. “Fine. Such a versatile word, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It can mean everything from okay to I’d rather have my left nut chewed off by a beaver with dull teeth than play with Dean Clark again.”

  I blink. “I didn’t say that, sir.”

  “You didn’t have to, son.” J.R. holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Good talking to you, Ryan. Be sure to keep me in the loop, but I can only wait so long. Summer training is coming.”

  I walk out of J.R.’s office, feeling conflicted over our conversation and the next step in my career—and it has everything to do with Ashley Mitchell.

  Maybe I should go talk to my agent. Once, I’m out of the building and in the parking deck, I pull out my phone and call Kingston Price. He answers on the second ring.

  “Turner. What’s going on?” he asks.

  I stop beside my truck. “J.R. had me up to his office today.”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  I lean against my truck. “I know you weren’t the one to spill the beans. It’s not time and you’ve told me to be patient. However, I admitted it was true to J.R.”

  “I don’t blame you. He put you in an awkward position.” Kingston sighs. “Most likely it was another player trying to fuck with negotiations.”

  “Another Renegade.”

  “Try a player who wants your position and has maybe heard some rumors of the Patriots interest.”

  “Dean Clark,” I say flatly. “That son of a bitch.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “About that... I’m not sure if moving to the Boston is the best thing for my career.”

  There’s a pause. “Why don’t we schedule some one on one time in person? Check your calendar and then give me a call, I’ll make it work.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Kingston.” I end our call and unlock my truck.

  How in the hell am I going to tell Ashley about this? The things is, I have to tell her. I can’t let a lie come between us and I can’t not let her make the decision on how far she wants us to go, especially with the chance of me moving out of state.

  She means too much to me and she’s been through to much to be treated that way.

  Only, what will I do if this is a deal breaker for her?

  Chapter 16

  Ashley

  Bright and early on Friday morning, I meet
Ryan at the Beauregard’s.

  Gunner and Bluebelle jump and bark at each other, their little tails wagging a mile a minute. It’s obvious to everyone they are thrilled to see each other.

  “I think we need to take them off their leashes,” I say.

  Ryan nods. “Yeah, they can run and play to their heart’s content while we talk.”

  My stomach drops. I do not like the sound of that. No man I know willingly suggests conversation when they could be running around with their dog. Especially in this place.

  “Okay.” I set Bluebelle free, and Ryan does the same for Gunner before we walk to a nearby bench situated under a large, shady oak tree.

  “It’s nice today,” he says, and I glance at him. This is worse than I originally thought. Aren’t we past the point of polite weather conversation? We’ve seen each other’s bare butts, for God’s sake.

  I adjust my sunglasses, watching our dogs play while I work up the nerve to ask him what’s wrong. But before I can, a couple of people spot us and make their way over.

  Of course, they want autographs and pictures. To Ryan’s credit, he patiently signs whatever they hold out and poses for multiple shots.

  When it’s over, he sits with me again and takes my hand in his. That’s a good sign. Or so I hope.

  He laces our fingers together. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.”

  Oh, God. He’s going to tell me that he doesn’t want to see me again.

  I nod, staring straight ahead, even as my stomach plummets to my toes and my heart begins to ache. My stupid, foolish heart. “I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, too.”

  “I’m not sure if you’ll like the attention you’ll start getting soon,” he continues. “I don’t want it to spook you. Or make you think I’m doing what I shouldn’t be. Sometimes the press can be harsh.”

  Huh? “You’re not breaking up with me?” I ask, turning to face him. “I mean... you’re not my boyfriend. Obviously.”

  Ryan looks at me for a minute before gently removing my sunglasses, setting them on the bench between us. “Who else do you think I’m dating?”

  I hate he can see the vulnerability that has to be showing on my face. “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t Google you anymore.”

  “Then I’ll answer my question for you.” He gazes directly into my eyes. “You are the only woman I’m seeing.”

  “Okay, but I’m not sure why,” I blurt, even as my body gets all happy at his answer.

  “Because you’re the only woman I want,” he says simply. “You make me laugh. I look forward to spending time with you and Bluebelle. Hell, sweetness, I had to bribe you into going out with me.”

  “You don’t have to do that anymore,” I say softly.

  “I know.” Then he looks away. “I want you to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, my stomach back where it should be.

  “If you hear anything about me, about what I want to do with my career, you come to me. I want you to get the unvarnished truth, not the media hype or spin.” His expression is deadly serious when he turns back to me. “I’m not your ex. I promise to talk to you first when I decide to leave the Renegades. If it ever comes to that.”

  When he decides to leave? Does this mean he’s considering it? I’m not sure if I want the unvarnished truth about it. Look at what Dean decided for me, and we were engaged. Ryan and I are barely dating, so why does he think I’ll go anywhere with him?

  Oh good grief.

  My entire thought process is ridiculous. I’m placing more importance on myself than is necessary. Instead, I’ll focus solely on our time together, not expecting more.

  Not expecting forever.

  “If I read or hear something from anyone who isn’t you, then I’ll ask,” I assure him.

  “Thank you.” He smiles “Ready to go play with Gunner and Bluebelle?”

  “Of course I am.” I bolt from my seat, halfway to our dogs before I call over my shoulder, “Last one there never wins the Super Bowl Trophy.”

  He flies past me before I can blink, stopping beside the two canines that are staring at us like we’ve lost our minds. Maybe I have.

  “Already won three of those, firecracker.”

  I try to catch my breath while smirking. “Except last year.”

  Ryan grunts. “How many have you won, Ms. Designer?”

  “Three less than you.”

  He throws his head back, laughing at my answer. After crossing the small distance between us, he puts his hands on my hips. “Another reason I like dating you,” he says, dipping his head to capture my lips in a hot kiss that leaves me more breathless than ever. “You give as good as you get.”

  Bluebelle and Gunner circle us, jumping and begging for attention. I can’t help but grin. The day is turning out to be completely perfect.

  Chapter 17

  Ryan

  Later that night, Gunner and I head over to Ashley’s place. She makes a meal fit for an entire team of football players. Fried chicken, homemade biscuits, and mashed potatoes swimming in butter—just the way I like them.

  I finger the ruffled hem of her apron. “Did you make this?”

  She nods happily as she sets a bowl of fried okra on the table. Those dimples of hers, the ones I find so damn sexy, appear in her cheeks. “I like to sew. The domestic arts give me a sense of purpose. I like sewing, cooking, and planting flowers.” Her smile falls a little as she wrinkles her nose. “I probably sound super old-fashioned.”

  I pull her onto my lap and look out the window to check on the dogs. They’re playing tug in the backyard. “Not in the least. It’s not often people get paid to do what they love.”

  Loosely wrapping her arms around my neck, she cocks her head to one side. “Does that include you?”

  “I love football. Have ever since I was old enough to throw one.”

  “Did you play with your dad?” she asks.

  “Until the day he died,” I reply.

  Sympathy covers her face. “I’m so sorry, Ryan. How old were you?”

  “Twenty-two. He was sixty-one, and his heart gave out. But he got to see the very first professional game I played.” I smile at the memory of flying my seventy-year-old dad out to Phoenix. Everything was amazing to Dad—the stadium, the food, the players... everything.

  “I’ve always been proud of you, son, but this beats all,” he says in his deep Georgia accent.

  “I’m so glad he was able to see you play before he passed,” she says, then kisses me on the cheek. She leans her head against mine, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “I bet he still watches you play on the most ginormous big-screen television heaven has to offer.”

  Yeah, I like to think that, too. “As much as I love you sitting on my lap, I’m starving. Mind if we eat?”

  Ashley practically jumps off my lap, untying her apron as she sits beside me. She carefully folds the fabric, then places it in the chair next to her. “I have peach cobbler for dessert.”

  I groan. “Trying to make my Monday weigh-in go badly for me, sweetness?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Just because I made it doesn’t mean you have to eat it.”

  There’s no way I won’t eat it. I’ll eat every damn thing she puts in front of me. I hand her a plate, saying, “Load it up.”

  The smile she gives me makes my skintight. “But not too much,” she admonishes as I dig into my mashed potatoes. “Save room for me.”

  I almost drop my fork, but quickly recover and give her a wink. “ Yes, ma’am.”

  “My brothers want to meet you,” she says without preamble. “We have this dumb rule about three dates means a meet-and-greet, but you don’t have to abide by it.”

  I know her family is important to her, and I feel the same way about mine. Every single one of my sisters are happily married with kids, and I’m an uncle at least ten times over. Ashley will fit right in.

  But will I fit in with her family? Will they think the worst of
me, because of Dean? I know I’d be ultra-protective of a sister who was hurt by some fuckwad of an athlete.

  “If you want me to meet them, then I will.”

  Her blue eyes widen. “But we haven’t gone out on three dates.”

  Smiling, I survey the table and then her. “Pretty sure this is date number three, but honestly, we’ve been dating for months now.”

  “Months?” she asks, clearly bewildered.

  “Yeah, if you count those two weeks of puppy-parenting classes, plus the three weeks I spent thinking about dating you, along with our most recent dates, then the scoreboard would show I scored a two-point conversion.”

  “I know you did not compare us to a football play,” she says with a scowl, but her eyes twinkle.

  “Baby, you’re the best play I’ve ever made. The ultimate Hail Mary.” Grinning at the pleased astonishment on her face, I tuck back into my supper.

  Chapter 18

  Ashley

  With Ryan’s help, I clean the kitchen and dining room in record time.

  He sticks a detergent tablet into the slot and closes the dishwasher as I finish wiping off the island in the middle of my kitchen.

  “What’s left?”

  “Nothing with the way you eat,” I tease.

  He smirks. “I saved room for you.”

  My cheeks heat. “About that. You don’t have to... spend the night if you don’t want to.”

  Moving to me, he wraps his muscular arms around me and molds my body to his. “I came prepared.”

  I take a sustaining breath. “How prepared?”

  “Brought my toothbrush and deodorant.”

  A giggle escapes my mouth. “No pajamas?”

  “Thought I’d wear you to bed instead.” He winks, and my heart flutters in my chest.

  “Oh, my.” Heat pools between my legs. “Well, I thought I’d wear you out, then go to bed.”

  “Are you issuing a challenge, firecracker?”

  “Afraid you can’t keep up?” I ask, lightly trailing my fingers along the collar of his shirt. His skin is hot, and he smells so good.