Wilkens wanted to know about her at-home workouts and her father’s opinion on lower body conditioning. Her timing was off, her steps a little sluggish, and by the time she came near the front row, Ryder was already at his car.
The parking garage was quiet, despite the exodus of staff and players as practices ended. There was an occasional low squeal of a tire, the faint one- or two-tap horn blast, but otherwise, Reese thought the garage was too dark, too quiet. She gripped her keys between her fingers, the sharp point of her car key ready to jab and slice, and jogged a little toward the sound of Ryder’s steps. Then Reese heard a loud yelping laugh, walking two more feet before she stopped short, backtracking immediately as Greer Larson curled herself around a surprised-looking Ryder and kissed him thoroughly. He held her against him under her ass, arms gripping as the woman took his face between her hands and savagely kissed him. Ryder didn’t close his eyes—he seemed more surprised than turned on—but Reese still walked away, hurrying toward her Challenger two rows back.
It was stupid, wanting to thank him. He was their captain. He’d likely say speaking to Hanson was a common courtesy he’d do for anyone on his team. She was no one special to him, not really. Not anymore.
But Reese could still recall exactly how Ryder tasted and the sure, certain force of his tongue as he slipped it inside her mouth. More than that, she remembered how her heart raced as he kissed her, how she’d waited a long time to hear his apology. It had been perfect, that sweet kiss, and Reese reminded herself it would never happen again.
“Hey.” She heard, smiling at Wilson when he came through the door. “What’s going on, Noble?”
“Nothing,” she told him, clicking the alarm for her car. “Just trying to get home.”
“I hear that. You got plans to…”
Wilson’s question died when Cat emerged from the elevator. The woman was imposing, and Reese had seen her silence an entire table of men two weekends before just by walking past their table one night at Lucy’s. It was some weird, quiet beauty trait, Reese guessed, that shook a man with little more than a half grin. Cat had that thing, whatever it was, and at that moment, that thing rendered Wilson speechless.
“Hey,” Cat greeted Reese, shifting her wide smile to Wilson when the man adjusted his stance. “How’s it going, Wilson?”
“I’m…it’s good,” he said, and Reese had to smother a laugh at the way the running back nodded, smile shaky, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to speak or stare or hold his breath. Reese would gamble that a version of the three might happen if she didn’t intervene, and that would be a disaster for the guy who’d been the first of her teammates outside of the stadium to show her any real courtesy.
“Wilson, you know Cat, right?” He shook his head, shooting a shrug at Reese. “Well, sorry. We should remedy that. Cat Montgomery, this is Kenya Wilson. Wilson, this is Cat. She’s Gia’s assistant.”
“Oh,” he said, offering her his hand. Cat took it quickly and didn’t frown or roll her eyes when Wilson held onto her fingers a little longer than was necessary. “So you work for our new boss lady?”
“I do.” Cat pulled her hand away, suppressing a look that Reese thought might be hiding tittering laughter. “And we have met.”
“No way,” Wilson said, stepping closer to the woman. “I would have definitely remembered meeting you, Ms. Cat.”
She shook her head, folding her arms as she faced him. “Tucker Episcopal. Eighth grade dance. You wore shutter shades and a Yankees hat like you thought you were JAY-Z or something. My cousin is Marcus Phillips.”
Wilson’s eyes rounded, and he took an even closer step to Cat. Reese knew that look. She’d seen it a hundred times on her brother Nathan’s face, when he was young and stupid and thought he had way more game than he did. She’d seen it on every player she ever trained anytime a cheerleader or over-exuberant fan caught their attention. That was the look of a man on a hook. With little effort, Cat could jerk the line and reel him in.
“I can’t believe…” It took him a second, one which he spent head tilting, gaze working overtime to place Cat’s pretty face, and then finally, Wilson laughed, fist to his mouth as the laughter went loud and steady. “Kitty Cat?”