Page 3 of Tight End

Oliver looks up at me, holding the football in front of him like it’s a snake or a rabid animal. “Um. Fank you?”

“You’re welcome, little man.” He reaches out and ruffles Oliver’s light-brown hair before giving me an expectant look.

I know he asked what my name was, but I have zero intention of telling him. Instead, I gesture to the football and try to look apologetic. Pretty sure that also comes out looking like a grimace. “Sorry, but we’ve got to run. Congratulations on your divorce.”

His poor dazzling smile, the one that’s wasted on me, tilts into a frown, and he looks stricken. I’m sure no one has ever turned him down before, and I get the impression his marriage didn’t stop him from meeting newfriends.

“That’s a shame. Are you sure?”

I don’t answer him or turn around, just put both arms around Oliver and hustle my butt to the parking lot. Or at least I wanted to, but then I hear a voice behind me. A voice I haven’t heard in years.

“Princess?”

Apparently I should’ve looked up the entire team roster, because as I turn around, I seehimstanding at the edge of the crowd. The man I spent almost four years searching for. The man who never went back to the stupid bar with that stupid name.

Never in a million years did I think I’d find him standing in front of me in a football uniform.

It clings to him like a second skin, highlighting every single one of his muscles—muscles I once knew intimately. His dark-brown hair is a little shorter, but his aqua eyes still cut right through me as they roam over my body.

Now I understand wanting one of these guys to sign your breasts.

Exceptshit—I mean, shoot.

His gaze cuts to Oliver, and the speech I had planned all those years ago flies out of my brain as it short-circuits.

What am I supposed to say here?

Nice weather we’re having. What have you been up to for the past four years? Oh, by the way, this is your son.

TWO

Ryan

Holy fucking shit.I may not know her name, but I sure as hell know her. Those dark-brown eyes, laced with recognition, those long legs concealed by an unfortunate pantsuit. And those fucking luscious lips of hers—lips that felt like heaven as they fluttered across my body.

“Princess. Is that you?” I take a step toward her and then another while she stares at me, her mouth opening and closing, but no words come out.

It’s been a few years, and maybe I’m wrong, maybe she doesn’t recognize me. Maybe our night together meant way more to me than it ever did to her. But there’s not a chance this isn’t the one woman I can’t stop thinking about.

Pathetic, I know. Trust me, I’ve kept myself buried with football. I’ve tried to purge her from my soul, but then sometimes late at night, when I’m all alone, the memories come rushing back, burning into me like a brand.

And here she is, finally standing before me, shaking like a leaf as she stares at my football uniform.

Probably should have shared some personal details after rocking her world for hours.

Yeah, but you still know how she looks when she comes.

“Big football fan?” My bad attempt at a joke falls flat as she continues to stare at me, her eyes wide, tension growing around us, between us.

I’m usually good at breaking the ice, at starting casual conversation, but I’m floundering.

Of course she’s not a fan. It was one of the biggest perks of being with her. She had absolutely no idea who I was, which meant she didn’t watch football. If she had, she would have recognized me right away. No question.

She shifts on her feet, moving a child from one hip to the other—wait. A child? “I was dropping something off for Silas. I?—”

Silas? Fucking Silas Brooks.

In the two seconds it took to say his name, my blood began simmering with an unharnessed rage I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. My hands curl into tight fists as I glance in his direction. That sleazy fuck is already hitting on a group of college-age girls. How dare he even look at another woman if he’s with her. How dare he be withherin the first place. He’s still technically married, let’s not forget that. I may not know this woman’s name, but I know she doesn’t belong to him.

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