to acknowledge Reese as he took the fans’ pens and went to town signing autographs.
“You sure about that?” Reese couldn’t help asking. Ryder hadn’t spoken to her in ten years. Even at her tryouts, he’d kept his distance. They hadn’t been this close in proximity since…damn. Still? After all this time, he still blamed her?
Shit, she thought when Ryder lowered his hands, turning to face Reese like he’d only just realized she stood next to him.
“I’m. Sure,” he started. There was no warmth in his blue eyes, no reason for that thick bottom lip of his to twitch as though he tried to fight a smile from forming there. “Really fucking sure.”
You’re a liar. The words came back as clear as the day Ryder had spoken them. You’re a disgusting liar. They didn’t sting anymore, but they still ached, though Reese was able to hold them at a distance now.
She could do the responsible thing—the mature thing—and offer Ryder her thanks before she left the field and the attention their brief conversation was drawing. Or, she could strike back, insult the asshole before he began the process of ripping into her.
“You got mierda to say,” Reese started, moving in between Ryder and his fans. “Then fucking say it.”
The quarterback clenched his jaw, working away the tension he likely felt as Reese taunted him. “I got nothing to say to you,” he finally answered, gaze like coal, deep, unfathomable.
There’d once been something warm, smoldering, that hummed and worked like an electric shock between them. It had set her skin on fire and kept her warm at night before Ryder had ever even kissed her. Then, when he got around to admitting he wanted her, too, that spark ignited. It bore a firestorm of heat and passion Reese thought nothing could extinguish.
Until Rhiannon, and that too-bright hospital waiting room. The night that had changed them all forever.
Staring up at Ryder, with the fans to their side babbling and gushing at the quarterback, and their teammates eyeing them with open curiosity, Reese felt that electric current moving from his eyes to hers. It could have been lust, but likely was just more hatred.
Reese shifted, moving her feet so that she came closer to him, and she didn’t miss the step back Ryder took. For a second, the crowd moved away, and there was only Ryder and Reese and the things they couldn’t say in front of anyone. Still, she had to try to get him to be a professional. “Whether you want to or not, eventually we’re going to have to be civil to each other.”
He moved his head, not exactly a shake, but a tilt that told her he thought very little of her. “Don’t see why.”
“We’re on the same team.” Her explanation came out in one breath, the tone hushed, and Reese pulled on Ryder’s arm, meaning to lead him away from the bleachers. “We’ve both got jobs to do.”
Ryder jerked out of her reach, crossing his arms over his ample chest as he glared down at her. “You do yours and don’t worry about mine.”
She knew what this was. His anger. His irritation that she was on his team now. It was his little sister. It always came back to her. Without thinking, Reese opened her mouth, the words falling out before she remembered where she was and who was watching. “It wasn’t my fault…”
Ryder released a noise deep in the back of his throat, silencing her before she could finish her explanation. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He hated her. It was right there in the hard set of his features and the pulse thundering in his neck as he glared down at her.
“I’m here,” she tried, straightening her shoulders, trying hard not to let his frown get to her. “Whether you like it or not, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Yeah?” he taunted, the tone light, but Ryder still wore an expression that felt like a threat. “We’ll see.”
She hated the tease glinting in his eyes. Reese hated that Ryder had control, power she’d likely never have, not in this industry. Not on this team. One phone call and he could start a rumor that would lead to lies and accusations and trouble that was never hers to begin with. One anonymous tip and Reese would spend weeks—months—trying to deflect whatever bullshit he made up about her. One word to his people about his own contract negotiation, and the hundred-million-dollar man could make the coaching staff worry enough to tear up Reese’s