she agreed. That would mean admitting she knew he’d been the most eligible bachelor, according to that damn magazine. “Second round pick who helped Alabama win three bowl games. Raised on his abuelo’s strawberry farm over in Ponchatoula with four older sisters. Hundred-and-five rushing yards per game and no less than sixteen touchdowns in just last season alone.” She picked up her now-refilled glass and raised it to each player she’d mentioned before her attention went back to Hanson. “Wilson’s got a cousin at LSU, which he finds to be the height of rudeness considering all that Roll Tide blood pumping through his family’s veins.”
“Three uncles and two brothers went to Alabama.” Wilson shook his head. “Dumbass kid.”
“So, Hanson,” Reese continued, “I do know you. I did my homework because this is where I wanna be. I know you’ve been very lucky with your success, but let’s be real here. Without the support of your teammates, you might not have landed that Rookie of the Year trophy.”
The man went silent as a tomb, but worked his back teeth together, inhaling through his flared nostrils like there was nothing he could say to her to make up for the truth. Ryder had thought Hanson was a little bit of a kiss ass. He always agreed with Ryder, never really wanted to rock the boat, but Wilson had mentioned Hanson drunkenly talking about his single mother back in Knoxville who worked as a defense attorney and the dead beat white father who never stuck around to see how his son had turned out. It was true Hanson had gotten sloppy and relied on his teammates more than he should have, but no man wants to admit that. Not in front of his boys. After another deep inhale and one more shot, Hanson popped his neck, leaning against the table as he glared at Reese.
“And?”
“And what?”
The running back moved his attention from Reese to Ryder, head shaking when he stared back at the kicker. “You learn all this shit about us, but you don’t bother to mention our quarterback? He’s our team captain, for fuck’s sake.”
Ryder didn’t miss the way Reese’s shoulders straightened or how stiff she seemed sitting in that large leather chair across the table from him. He wondered what she thought. He wondered if she was worried their teammates—or hell, their coaches—would learn about the past. Their past. It hadn’t been widely known, how close they’d been, but the end of it all, that was something anyone in North Carolina would have heard about. News travels. It might land in New Orleans, too.
“Ryder…Ryder Glenn,” she finally said, tapping her pinky against the table. The motion was a distraction, something she likely did to keep from appearing too nervous. It was a tell Reese had seemed unable to shake. “Quarterback. Duke. Heisman winner.” She didn’t look at Ryder as she spoke, apparently deciding it was an easier task to look at Hanson, throwing the man a frown that dared him to interrupt her or challenge what she knew. “Touchdown passes: thirty-seven. Yards thrown: 4,423. Interceptions: twenty-two last season. Most certainly a future Hall of Fame recipient. Best quarterback in the league.” She inhaled and the tremor in her hands lessened as she turned her head, finally looking at Ryder as he returned her stare. “Our team captain.”
When Ryder’s expression didn’t change—when he, in fact, twisted his mouth into a frown—Reese dropped pretenses, not seeming to like his expression or the hardening glare he shot her way. She had a temper, that much Ryder knew, and he also knew the longer they watched each other, the more that temper sparked. At that moment, it seemed to get the best of her. She leaned forward, making Wilson back up as she glared right at the quarterback’s pinched expression.
“Team captain. Hundred-million-dollar man and…a total asshole.”
“I’m an asshole?” Ryder asked, balling his fingers into a fist against the table.
Reese shifted her gaze to the still-filled shot glass in front of Ryder, then jerked her attention back at him. “It’s thirteen-hundred-dollar bourbon.”
“Not thirsty.” His tone was bored on purpose. He wanted her pissed. For some reason, he like how flushed her face got when she was angry. It reminded him of other things that colored her cheeks.
“You’re a liar.”
Ryder cocked his eyebrow, silencing Hanson with a flick of his fingers when the man tried to interrupt. “I’m the liar?” She caught his meaning. Last time they’d fought, before this morning’s practice, years before in fact, he’d