Ryan’s answering gaze was so intense she wondered for a moment if she’d said something wrong. Finally, he said, “As long as you love what you’re doing, Vicki, it’s all worth it.”
That flutter in her belly at the way he was looking at her had her feeling lightheaded as she took away their salads and brought over large plates of goulash and hunks of crusty bread.
“How was your meeting after the game?” He hadn’t told her what it was for, but she assumed it had something to do with the Hawks.
“It went all right. I thought it would be easier to get people excited about bringing sports back to schools, but it’s taken three months to pick up our first serious donor. Fortunately, I think this couple is pretty close.”
She couldn’t get over how different Ryan was from her ex-husband. If Anthony ever did anything nice for anyone, he broadcast it from the rooftops. Would Ryan even have mentioned his charitable work if she hadn’t asked about his meeting?
“You're raising money to bring sports back to schools?”
“Sports are my first target, and then the arts programs if I can pull in enough for both.”
She knew she was grinning at him like a fool, but he was that great. “I think that's so fantastic, Ryan. Because, honestly, I don’t know if I would be a sculptor if it hadn’t been for the class I took in eighth grade. Mr. Barnsworth told me the ashtray I made in his class belonged in a museum. Becoming an art teacher was always my backup plan. At least until the districts got rid of them all.”
“P.E. teacher was my backup plan.”
“You were thinking about being a high school teacher?”
“Until the scouts came calling, yeah, I was.”
How could she not have known this about him? And why did it have to make him even cuter? She could just imagine what it would have been like in the halls of their old high school if he had become a teacher instead of a pro baseball player. Every time Mr. Sullivan walked down the hall, the giggling from crushed-out girls would have been deafening.
“I substituted for a while,” she told him, “right after college.” Until she’d married Anthony and he’d supported them both with his sculptures. She’d been grateful, but not nearly as grateful as he’d expected her to be.
“Oh man, I’ll bet those lucky punks in your classes didn’t hear a word you said.”
She had never thought about herself as the object of teenage crushes. Was Ryan right? Had she been?
“That could explain why they all seemed so spaced out all the time.”
“They probably didn’t want to come up to the front of the class, either.”
She almost spit out her sip of wine. “Just eat already. It’s not nearly as good cold.”
Finally, Ryan took a bite of the goulash. And then another. And then one more before saying, with his mouth full, “I can’t believe you made this.” He shoved another bite in. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thanks, but we both know your mother’s straight-from-Italy spaghetti sauce is better. Just barely,” she joked, “but still better.”
It had been years since she’d sat down at the boisterous, crowded Sullivan dinner table, but she’d never forgotten how good the food had always been. Or how much fun it had been to be surrounded by all the laughter.
“By the way,” she said after they'd both eaten in companionable silence for a few minutes, “I was thinking more about the latest turn of events with Anthony joining the board. I really don’t think James is going to try anything again, not knowing my ex-husband will be coming in from Italy.” She put down her fork and pushed the rest of her goulash away. “You’re amazing for stepping in and pretending to be my boyfriend, but I can’t let you keep putting your real life on hold for me.”
He was frowning at her as he said, “I’m not putting anything on hold.”
“I heard you cancel those dates,” she reminded him.
“If I’d known you were back in town, I would have cancelled those dates anyway.” He grabbed their plates and headed over to the sink. When she got up to help clean the pots and pans she’d used, he poured her another glass of wine. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”
There shouldn’t have been anything sexual about what he’d just said. They were talking about dirty dishes, for God’s sake. And yet, the subtle command to relax sent a flutter of heat down deep in her belly. But even as she reached out to pull up a stool at his kitchen island, Vicki couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the picture he made—a big, strong man elbow deep in suds, even though he could easily have employed a full-time staff to cater to his every need.
Which was why, instead of sitting down, she grabbed a clean dishtowel and started drying off the plates he’d just washed. She needed to fill her hands with cotton and porcelain and keep them too busy to accidentally fill them with Ryan’s hard muscles, instead.
“Hey,” he said with a raised eyebrow as he watched her put the dry plate away, “I thought you were relaxing with a glass of wine?”
“I was, and now I’m helping you clean up.”
She pretended she didn’t see the look in his eyes that told her he wasn’t used to being ignored when he wanted a woman to do something. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he tell her how he wanted her and expect her to behave if she wanted him to please—