The dress was black, quality silk from the look of it, but hugged every curve Reese carried on her solid frame. And, hell, were there plenty of those. The dress hit her about five inches above her knee and draped down the front, nearly to her navel, with only elegant black lace hiding her ample, perky tits from view. She paired the dress with three-inch silver pumps and complementary silver and black bag, diamonds on her ears and around her wrist, and classy, subtle makeup that made her stand out around the overdone socialites in VIP.
Ryder didn’t need this shit. Greer would be back soon, ready to warm his bed and get the irritation from his mind. She always did, whenever he needed her. It wasn’t a relationship. It was a situation. One that should have kept his gaze from raking over Reese’s body.
Ryder’s mouth watered at the sight of her, and he was filled him with an uncommon sense of dread. He hated that she could still work anything other than rage and hatred inside his head. He hated that she could look that good, likely know she did, and was clueless what just being near her did to him.
“Can I deal in?” she asked the men, frowning a little when they all glanced at Ryder.
He’d held himself calm, relaxed, as he played that last hand with Hanson—arm stretched along the back of the chair next to him, fingers wrapped around a sweating tumbler of whiskey. It had all aided, he hoped, in giving off the intimidating demeanor he thought would make Hanson nervous. Now, some of that composure fractured, and he let his tumbler slip to the table in front of him as Reese, along with his other teammates, waited for him to answer.
He couldn’t. Not immediately. Not with Reese looking the way she did, purse under her arm and a gift bag hanging from her long fingers. A fleeting thought of what her father would say about her looking that good—that on display—in the tiny black dress, slipped to the front of his head, but he pushed it back.
“I’m about to tap out,” Ryder admitted, not looking at her.
“Knew it,” Hanson said, smiling. “You didn’t have shit, did you?”
It physically hurt Ryder to back out and leave that smug asshole with the pot, but he didn’t want to be there. No, that wasn’t true. He didn’t want Reese to be there, but before he could answer Hanson or tell Reese to leave, Wilson stood, smiling at her when she greeted him. He waved her to the empty seat next to him, like they were friends, and Ryder felt his lips tighten into a frown.
“We’re not dealing again,” Ryder tried, still not bothering to look at Reese, but he still caught her profile from the corner of his eye. He knew she looked good; he’d spotted that on the field today. Her skin was still so fucking beautiful, all brown and smooth, and she looked more like her mother now than she had ten years before. But he hadn’t been able to see her eyes— hazel, not brown in this light—from the sidelines today. He wanted to look closer, but anger and hurt kept him focused on the men around him.
“We not?” Wilson asked, frowning at Ryder as he called for another drink.
“Don’t bother,” Reese offered, putting the gift bag in front of Wilson. “My treat.” She motioned for the waitress and the woman hurried to the table. “Por favor,” she said to her, waving around the table, “for everyone.” That accented phrase made Ryder’s chest tighten. Fuck, he’d loved it when she let a few Spanish words slip out in her casual conversation. And when she got pissed? Holy shit, it was like seeing something so terrible it was beautiful.
Shit, Ryder thought. She was pulling out the stops. This was Reese’s thing—liquor and charm. It was how she’d wiggled her way onto the Duke team. It was how she’d managed to get Ryder to pay more than a passing attention at her, initially. Then, he’d watched her practice, watched her work, and all that charm and her daddy’s expensive bourbon had nothing to do with why Ryder liked her.
She was working on this team now. His team. Not happening.
“I see what you’re doing,” he said, finally sparing her a glance, but just then Wilson tore into the bag, whistling when he spotted the gold and green label, then grinning like an idiot when he held the