he said, his face flushed and lit with interest and humor and a hundred other things Reese knew would keep the man rooted to the spot.
“No one’s called me that in a long time,” Cat said. She didn’t seem irritated by Wilson using the nickname, but her smile did lower.
“Dang,” he said, gaze raking over her. “You grew up good. Real good.” The ‘good’ got drawn out, spoken in a husky, vibrating tone before Cat cocked an eyebrow at him and Wilson cleared his throat. “So…how the hell did you end up here?”
“That’s a long story,” she sighed, staring back at Reese as the woman moved her head, squinting at the Audi when it moved past them. “Reese?” Cat said, pulling her attention away from Ryder’s car and the passenger riding with him.
“Yeah?”
“We still on for wine and Netflix?” Cat ignored how close Wilson stood to her or how he shifted his interest between the two women. If Reese had to guess, she’d say the running back was about to invite himself to the party. Cat was smoother than Reese and deflected the awkwardness before it happened. “Sorry, Kenya,” she told Wilson. “The wine is for Reese and me and the standing date we have with Jessica Jones and Luke Cage.”
“You sure?” The smile Wilson gave Cat was obvious, overkill since she hadn’t given him even the smallest indication that she wanted it. “I like Marvel. I’d be good company.”
She paused long enough to sigh, then nodded at Reese. “See you in twenty?” she asked, spotting Reese’s nod before she turned to face Wilson. “Glad to see you got rid of those shades and the hat.”
“I don’t know,” Wilson said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Shutter shades must have worked for Kanye. He landed a Kardashian, and Jay scored B.”
“If you say so,” she said, nodding to Reese before she walked toward her car.
Wilson stood next to Reese watching Cat leave, head moving to the left like he needed to pay better attention to the sway of her hips. “Kitty Cat,” he said low to himself. It was only after Reese cleared her throat that Wilson straightened, adjusting the duffle on his shoulder before he exhaled. “Ever have a coulda been, Noble?”
“Yeah,” she told him, biting back the name on her tongue and the burning jealousy that bubbled in her stomach. “I had one of those.”
9.
RYDER
THE PLAYERS HAD A LOVE/HATE relationship with the Little Steamers camp. It wasn’t personal, but when you have a bunch of exhausted, over practiced athletes surrounded by hundreds of kids all under the age of fourteen, crowding the small field at Armstrong Rec Center on Loyola Avenue, then things tended to get chaotic.
For Ryder, that irritation—the noise, the whining, not just from the kids, and the demands for his attention felt like a weight crushing his skull.
And then, there was Greer.
Greer who decided late August, just before the first regular season game, was the perfect time to grab everyone’s attention. She did this by layering pink and purple into her platinum blonde hair and having a little adjustment done to her tits. Turns out the eight grand she told Ryder she needed to fix her car was for her new adjustments, both of which she decided to show off at the first Little Steamers practice.
“Holy. Shit.” He heard, wincing when Wilson’s loud voice carried over the crowd. “Man, seriously?” he said, nodding toward the gate entrance where Greer walked through, her black, tight capris sticking to her like grease. On her feet were three-inch high wedges that she managed to navigate in, swishing her hips as she hurried onto the field, waving and blowing kisses at the other WAGs as she passed them.
“Brah…” Pukui started, standing next to Wilson and Ryder as the quarterback tried to block out his girlfriend with the clipboard in his hands. The chart in front of him listed last year’s roster and the status of their participation in the camp. “I’m not trying to tell you your business, man, but…”
“Then don’t,” Ryder said, snapping at Kai and Wilson before he moved along the field, throwing glances toward the crowd of kids circling Pérez and Reese, neither who seemed able to control their groups.
“Baby!” Greer cried, trailing after Ryder as he hurried past the throng of people. Glances shot his way, and despite the attention that always greeted him—attention he should be used to— Ryder’s face flamed, and he averted looking anyone in the eyes.