her tongue when he watched her. The fire and anger had slipped back into his eyes, and now he looked at Reese like he either wanted to throttle her or kiss her stupid.
“Fine,” she said, turning to hit the elevator button, feeling his stare and the low, warm breath that hit her back while she watched the numbers grow higher and higher overhead.
“You’re too far up on the ball when you kick,” Ryder said, sounding hesitant. There was no attitude in his tone, no insult intended. This was him trying to lead. Reese looked over her shoulder, surprised to find him standing so close to her. He looked over her face, gaze on her mouth before he settled his attention back to her eyes. “You were nervous with that first kick yesterday. It was obvious. You kept rubbing your fingers on your shorts.”
“It was hot. I was sweaty.”
He nodded, but otherwise ignored her explanation. “The second kick was still high. We can’t have that. You kick too high, and it makes the ball…”
“Easy to block,” she said, repeating the advice her father had always given her. Ryder hadn’t moved, kept looking over her as though he was just seeing her for the first time. She turned, watching the numbers again, too uncomfortable with his scrutiny.
The elevator bell chimed, and Reese waited as two middle-aged men came out through the doors, nodding to her and shaking Ryder’s hand. She reached for the first-floor button the second she stepped inside the elevator, not bothering to hold it for Ryder as he said goodbye to the men that greeted him.
Just as she hit the button and the doors started to close, a large hand slipped against the open space between them, and Ryder pressed the doors open again, watching Reese’s wide eyes and dropped mouth.
He paused for half a second, like there was something he wanted to say and was pissed that it had almost left his mouth.
“Get this straight,” he warned, keeping the doors open with his wide shoulder against one side. “On the field, around our team, I’m that guy, the one you knew. The guy with…”
“Honor?” she asked, shutting up when he nodded once.
“Whatever you wanna call it.” Ryder straightened, ignoring the alarm that sounded at the doors being forced open too long. “Off the field, away from the game and the fans and the kids at the camp, when we aren’t in each other’s spaces, I don’t exist to you. There is no everything between us anymore.”
Ryder didn’t give Reese a chance to respond. Instead he stepped out of the elevator, walking down the hall before the doors had closed, and Reese wondered if she’d ever felt so cold or miserable in her life.
5.
RYDER
SHE STILL MOVED WITH GRACE. Funny thing to think about a football player, but Ryder couldn’t deny it. Reese Noble on the field, guiding the ball through the uprights, was like a dancer gliding across the stage.
Shit.
He knew looking at her wasn’t something he was supposed to do. He hated her. He hated Reese for knowing him deeper than anyone ever would. He hated her for her lies, for the things she withheld and the damage it caused. But, hell, he wasn’t blind.
“She always been this good?” Wilson asked, joining Ryder in the bleachers, five rows above the field. The stadium was quiet except for the field staff cleaning away the bottles and towels from the team’s practice, and Wilkens and Reese out there as Ricks worked them hard, Mills watching from the sidelines. The special-teams coach didn’t look happy, and Ryder guessed Ricks had made good on his promise to teach the man a lesson: you don’t take out your bullshit issues on Ricks’ players. Mills had a problem with women doing shit he thought was just for men. Ricks had a problem with Mills jeopardizing his season.
Ryder leaned forward, tugging his black and gold Steamers jersey from his neck as he watched Wilkens struggle to keep up with the drills Reese managed with little effort.
She was younger. She had more to prove than Wilkens, and it showed. Her legs were strong, wide, quads like a lineman, but still somehow feminine. Ass like she moved in perpetual squats, stomach so flat Ryder bet if he got a close enough look, he could make out the lines on the muscle over that smooth expanse of skin.
But he’d never get that close again.
“No,” he finally answered Wilson, keeping his attention on the field and Reese, who stepped