Gia laughed outright as she turned, drawing the attention of the bravest among the Steamers, who watched the woman walk away. Gia was fearless, unassuming, and shit, could she hold the gaze of even a blind man.
“What else can you do with those thick thighs?” Reese heard, the question spoken under the speaker’s breath and hidden behind a snickering laugh that made a kindling of anger spark in her gut.
She didn’t hesitate, figuring if she didn’t give her teammates the make of her now, they’d try that bullshit again and again until it got too late for her to set them straight.
“Stuff half-pint running backs couldn’t handle, pendejo,” she said, snapping her attention to the man in question as she walked off the field. There was a collective roar of hooting from her teammates, but Reese ignored them, kept her careful attention on the running back who’d insulted her. He wasn’t amused like their teammates.
“Oh, you think so, bitch…” he tried, stepping toward her with his hand over his dick like he needed Reese to know he had one.
Hanson, she thought. Robert Hanson. Second season. Last year’s Rookie of the Year. She’d spent the better part of the last few months memorizing players and their stats because she knew she’d have to be prepared. They’d try to shake her.
“Yeah,” Reese said, crossing her arms as he got a little close. “I’d snap you like a twig.”
“We can find out right—”
“Enough.”
The voice came from behind Reese, and she didn’t need to think about who’d killed the little insult battle she’d started with Hanson. It was the same voice that had haunted her for ten years. The voice Reese used to love hearing late at night when Ryder would crash on his hotel bed after an away game. There’d been a sleepy rasp in his tone then, and at twenty she’d found it erotic.
Not much had changed in ten years.
“Glenn…” Hanson tried, waving a hand like he meant to dismiss his team captain, but Ryder brushed Reese’s shoulder with his pads and stood next to her.
It only took a glare to get Hanson to back up and then Ryder nodded the man off, stepping away from Reese before she could thank him.
Something told her to keep quiet. It was the same voice that reminded her ten years had grown between them like a root, fracturing everything they’d been back in Durham when her father coached him, and she and Ryder’s little sister, Rhiannon, were practically joined at the hip.
But Reese was high on the rush that kick gave her, and she wanted the man to realize she was down for the long haul. This was her team now, and the hatchets stacked up between them needed burying.
“Hey,” Reese started when Ryder headed toward the stands and the fans waving pens and pictures at him. “Hang on.”
He kept going, pulling off his pads and scrubbing his tousled hair with a dry towel. He was two feet from her, throwing winks and smiles at the females leaning over each other from the bleachers.
“You still with that woman, Ryder?” one female fan asked, earning a laugh and shrug from the quarterback. “She’s not here watching?” The fan leaned forward, her ample breasts nearly spilling over the V-neck of her Steamers tee. “I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
“She’s out of town,” Ryder answered, head shaking as he winked at the woman when he passed back her freshly autographed picture.
Greer Larson. That was a name Reese had heard connected with Ryder’s name for a while. Cat, Gia’s assistant, had helped Reese settle into the city and given her the low-down on what she called The W.A.G. Hags.
“Wives and girlfriends?” Reese had asked as Cat helped her straighten the rug in her front room.
“No. Witches and Ghouls. They’re a pain in the ass.”
Greer Larson, Ryder’s girlfriend of two years, seemed to be the Hags’ head witch.
Reese pushed back the shock of jealousy that burned in her chest, intent on getting Ryder to hear her. He reached for another pen and picture, flashing a wide, beautiful smile at the mostly female crowd in front of him.
“You not gonna let me say thank you?” she asked, stepping out of the way of an older lady with Ryder’s number 21 jersey leaning forward, her large breasts bouncing against the metal railing as she flailed, thrusting a pen and half-naked shot of Ryder she’d clearly gotten off TMZ.