game—the last time Reese had bothered to acknowledge his existence.
“That’s the coolest, Mr. Glenn. I mean, I know I’m small and all…”
“Not to me, man,” Ryder told the kid, kneeling down to his level. “You got heart. You got talent, and you love this game. To me, that makes you a giant.”
The kid didn’t answer, and Ryder guessed it was because he’d rendered Jack speechless. It hadn’t been bullshit. Jack was good. Didn’t matter that he’d likely never see anything of the world from more than five feet. He still had heart and passion. That meant everything to Ryder.
“Now,” he said, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “Let’s practice.”
Ryder knew a little something about heart and passion. In the past ten years he hadn’t lived with very much of either. As he glanced at Reese across the field, he realized that without her with him, he probably wouldn’t again.
OTHER THINGS that made little sense to Ryder, aside from women: how hummingbirds hover, racking up the clout in the bird word as King Ballers. How whiskey could hurt so bad going down and still make you feel so damn good. How orgasms made you feel like your body was quickly falling to pieces, but humming with such fucking pleasure. And, in this moment, how the hell Greer had gotten into his apartment.
“Baby,” she said, that saccharine tone in her voice grating. “I missed you. Did you have fun with those kids?”
He nodded, letting the woman kiss his cheek but not otherwise responding. She moved around his place like a queen, so comfortable with where he kept his good liquor or what glasses were clean and stored away in the cabinets.
“Whiskey?” she asked, reaching for a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label on the rack next to the sink.
“Nah,” he said, falling onto the sofa as she finished making her drink. “Not in the mood for drinking.” She sat in front of him, that ever-present smile not lowering as she moved her bare feet on the sofa between his legs. She wore blood red polish on her toes, the nails perfect and trim. That didn’t make him any easier about how she wiggled her toes closer. Ryder frowned, pushing her feet from his junk when she stroked his inner thigh. “I’m also not in the mood to entertain you.”
“Oh?” Greer asked, watching him over the rim of her glass as she drank. “Got some other plans tonight?”
He nodded, wondering why her showing up—which she never did without an invitation—and being mildly aggressive, something else she’d never done, seemed like the act of a desperate woman. He should have cut her loose. He wanted to, but the time never seemed right. There was always a distraction. Ryder guessed he’d gotten too comfortable with Greer. Now, though he was determined.
He left the sofa, heading to his fridge for a bottle of water. He only stayed in his kitchen to avoid her, already irritated by her presence.
Greer was everywhere the last few days: at Decadence after the game, at church on Sunday, at Lucy’s Monday night. She knew Ryder’s routine and he guessed he couldn’t blame her. She had spent the past two years as his woman. She wanted to keep him, he supposed. But why the sudden upswing in her attention?
Then it hit him like a baseball to the temple.
Decadence. Greer. Reese.
“Holy shit,” he said, slamming the fridge shut. Ryder took two steps out of the kitchen and met Greer in the middle of the room. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know what—”
He stepped closer, his quick movements shutting her up, and Ryder took her glass. “Now,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
Subconsciously, he thought, Greer rubbed her stomach, gaze around the room, to his large stone fireplace and the driftwood mantel, to the neat row of signed helmets situated in glass cases along the wall; anywhere, it seemed, but at Ryder.
“Greer,” he said, hand on her bicep, touch light, but steady. “What did you say to her?”
The blonde rubbed her neck, finally glancing at Ryder like the sad, pathetic plea in her eyes would completely eradicate Reese’s memory from his mind.
“We could be great together. Just us. We could build a legacy.” She stepped close, ignoring the grip Ryder had on her arm. He tightened his touch, and she didn’t seem to care. “Our sons, they’d follow in your footsteps. You could be one of the greatest with my help.”
Greer had never been anything other than mild company to Ryder. That might make him seem like