Catching Her Heart (Scored, #3) Read online

  I sigh.

  Or I had liked to spend time doing that. The problem with dating an athlete is that all men who aren’t pale in comparison. So, for two years, I’ve been in a drought. A really, really bad drought.

  Which has to be the only reason Ryan Turner seems like such good dating material. Well, not the only reason.

  My exit appears and I cross two lanes of traffic to take it, then make a right onto Roswell.

  Ryan is genuinely nice, loves his dog, and is fun to be around. For five weeks, he’s kept the class in stitches, yet when it was time for them to partner up and train together, he was serious. He listened to our instructor, too. He didn’t ask for special favor, or any favors at all.

  In fact, he didn’t tell people who he is, though everyone would have to be blind not to recognize his sexy face. Everyone around here drives on 540 to get to work. So, they have to see the billboard.

  However, in my defense, I had no idea who he was until after the billboard when up.

  Not that any of those things matter, because I will never see him again. We don’t have the same group of friends, or even frequent the same places. While I am more than comfortable, I’m not a celebrity.

  I press the button to open the garage door and drive my SUV inside. Cutting the engine, I get out and let Bluebelle follow me.

  “Good job, baby,” I murmur, handing her a treat from my pocket.

  Even if I do see him again, which is next to impossible, there is no way I’ll say yes, or that he will even ask me out again. He’s a football player, and his reputation, no matter how nice and genuine he seems at class, is that he loves the ladies and they love him. He runs in fast circles and travels to places I can only dream of going one day.

  Ryan Turner lives the life my ex always dreamed of having, and he doesn’t seem inclined to settle down anytime soon. Not that he has to, but I am ready to start seriously dating again. I’m ready to put aside my dream guy for a real one. A steady guy who might not have lickable abs or a v at his waist that will make me lose my mind.

  But he will be a guy who stays with me forever.

  *

  “How are things going with the stud?” Laurie asks, her brown eyes twinkling as we have dinner at Mallory Grille. She has her hair done in intricate braids with beads and gold filigree on the ends. Her dark brown skin glows under the lights as she sips on a whisky sour. I swear she already looks like the bride she’ll be in a week.

  “He asked me out,” I confess.

  She does a little victory dance in her seat. “When’s the date? Also, you can totally have him to the wedding as your plus one. I hear lots of shenanigans happen at weddings.”

  “He plays for the Renegade.”

  Her smile drops. “Seriously.” She groans. “Don’t let that stop you, Ashley. You have weeks of getting to know him without that in the way. He sounds like a decent guy.”

  “And you know how hard they are to find,” she adds.

  “Present groom to be to my bestie excluded,” I say.

  “Yup.” Laurie leans in. “Say yes, Ashley. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “We get serious, then he dumps me for his career on our wedding day.”

  She blinks at me. “You would go there.”

  “That’s the only place I’ve been,” I protest. “ I know it’s not fair, and I know you’re a huge believer in giving people the benefit of the doubt but...”

  Laurie covers my hand with hers. “Go out with him. Besides, you were planning on asking him out anyway, which I fully support with all the woman power in the world.”

  “I want to, but...”

  “Buts are for sitting. You need to take that man and go have some fun.” She lets go of my hand. “Think of him as a trial run to get you back in the dating scene.”

  “The dating scene sucks. I hate blind dates.”

  “All the more reason to go out with a guy you already know.”

  I make a face at her. “Stop being so reasonable and smart.”

  “Never.” She lifts her chin. “You love me like this.”

  “I do,” I admit. “Maybe, if I happen to run into Ryan, I’ll consider saying yes.”

  Her mouth twists. “Sure you will.”

  “Enough about me. You need to spill the details on your new house... which by the way, did I tell you that I’m seriously upset you’re moving to Boston.” I really am, but I don’t want to make Laurie feel bad. We met at book club in our neighborhood and clicked over our love of romance novels. Fast forward two and a half years later, and she’s my very best friend.

  She shrugs. “Doctor duty calls and all that. You know that silly profession people need in order to get healthy or heal sickness.”

  I stick my tongue out at her, then Laurie pulls her iPad from her purse and we go over the new house plans.

  “Don’t think you’ve distracted me. We will go back to the subject of Ryan Turner.”

  “Fine,” I say, knowing that Laurie will get her way—because I’ll let her.

  And because she’s always looked out for me.

  Chapter 3

  Ryan

  One week later

  I jump the fire pit at the end of the mud run, then almost fall to my knees in gratitude. I just completed fifteen grueling miles of the most physically exhausting obstacle course I’ve ever competed in.

  I’m covered in sweat and mud. My knees and elbows have gashes and cuts all over them. My thighs are screaming from all the burpees I had to do during the run.

  But I finished.

  And now, I’m starving.

  A smiling woman hands me a banana and a beer. “Congrats!”

  “Thanks,” I say, careful not to spill my beer as I peel the fruit.

  Beside me, Dallas Drake—infamous tight end for the Raleigh Renegades—downs his own beer. “This will be awesome, they said. You’re in great physical shape, they said.” Dallas levels me with a look. “They. Are. Liars.”

  I bark out a laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.” My buddy’s eyes narrow. “Fine. It was worse.”

  We watch as a group of men, fully dressed in military gear, including rucksacks on their backs and gas masks on their faces, carrying a stretcher with a dummy on it, pass us.

  Yeah, we need to shut the hell up.

  “Beasts,” I call out and toast them before throwing back my beer. Then I turn to Dallas, who finishes off his. “Still want to complain?”

  Dallas shakes his head, then tosses his trash in the large garbage bin. “Hell, no. Let’s hit the showers.”

  The showers consist of a roped-off area full of pipes and hoses that the participants use to spray off the mud, sweat, and blood. There’s no privacy, and since this is a family friendly event, we can only strip down to our boxer briefs.

  “How’s Paige?” I ask, gingerly rubbing my elbow to break up the dirt that coats it. Man, that’s going to look nasty tomorrow.

  Dallas grins, his eyes lighting up like they always do when someone mentions his wife’s name. “Good. And after you drop me off at the hotel where she’s waiting for me, I’ll be doing even better.”

  “Must be nice,” I comment.

  “No one waiting for you?”

  I think of Ashley, of her fiery hair and hot body. If I’d succeeded in asking her out a week ago, then maybe she’d be the one waiting for me at my house. “Gunner’s waiting, but his massage skills are pretty much nonexistent.”

  Dallas laughs, taking the water hose and holding it over his head. More than a few women in the showers with them stop mid-wash to stare. “Who is she?”

  Damn, when did I become so easy to read? “No one.” I turn off the water and step to the side to let another man pass, then make my way out. Dallas follows me.

  “You’re so full of shit, Turner,” he calls out as we get to my truck. “You got your fake-out face on.”

  “I do not.” I reach inside the bed and fish out two towels, throwing one at Dallas’s face.

  With a bark of la
ughter, Dallas catches the towel easily and dries off while I do the same. “Please. I taught you that face.”

  I unlock my truck and climb inside, Dallas joining me. “You didn’t teach me shit.”

  Dallas’s brows rise. “I remember when your first game for the Renegades. I also remember you puking right before we ran out on the field.”

  I grin, starting up my engine and pulling out of the makeshift parking lot. Hitting the gas, I follow the line of cars to the highway. “Those were the days. Nothing but the expectation to make the owners happy they traded Clark instead of me.”

  Dallas whistles. “Paige just texted me. The mud run raised over three hundred thousand, and she ordered me two of everything on the room service menu.”

  With mine and Dallas’s promises to match whatever is raised, the veterans outreach program will make over six hundred thousand.

  “Nice. Makes my sore ass worth it.” Slowing my truck down, I turn in the hotel’s drive. I stop right in front of the entrance, then put the engine in park.

  “Just your ass?”

  Before I can reply, I get a glimpse of a familiar face. It’s Ashley, wearing a robe and heels. Her hair is done, but she’s not wearing any makeup. What is she doing here and why is she dressed like that?

  My heart speeds up and before I know what I’m doing, I’m already out of the truck and striding up to her. I catch her before she makes it inside. “Hey you.”

  “Ryan?” she gasps, her pretty blue eyes widening.

  Oh yeah, not only remembers me, but she’s also happy to see—

  “Oh my gosh! Did you get attacked?”

  Wait. What? “No.”

  Her nose wrinkles. “Then why does it look like you’ve gone two rounds in the ring with a heavyweight champ?”

  “Because he went fifteen miles to raise money for Victorious Veterans,” Dallas says, punching me in the shoulder and I suppress a grunt. My sore as fuck shoulder, but I can’t let Ashley know.

  Mostly because manly men don’t show pain.

  Also because I’m an idiot.

  “You did?” Ashley says, her voice full of the familiar awe I’ve come to expect from fans. This time, it makes things awkward because it’s not about a game I played. I don’t want her fawning over me for helping the men and women who serve to protect our country.

  It feels wrong. “Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.”

  She frowns.

  “I mean, the charity is a big deal, just not my part in it,” I clarify. That brings back her smile and those killer dimples.

  Tears fill her eyes and she gives me a big hug, one so tight that her full breasts are flush against my chest, her silky robe sticking to the parts of me that are still wet. I can’t help my body’s reaction—it gets all tight and hard at the same time, even as I try to give her a decent, respectable hug back.

  “My brother Rhett lost his leg in Afghanistan, and V-Squared has been helping him with all the VA red tape,” she says softly. “If it wasn’t for those guys, he’d still be waiting to get therapy and a prosthetic. Thank you so, so much.”

  As she lets go of me and steps back, I clear my throat. “It’s the least I could do.”

  She beams. “So nice seeing you.” Then she begins to walk away.

  “You’re losing her,” Dallas says, shoving his hand into my back to propel me forward.

  “Hold up.” I jog to Ashley. She turns around, her dimples no longer flashing and her eyes wary. What is it about me that makes her so skittish? Or rather, makes her so skittish now. We’ve spent five weeks together—the first four flirting and getting to know one another via our dogs. Unless... shit. “I’m not that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “Typical jock.”

  She rakes her gaze over me, taking note of the mud-stained clothing and shoes. “I disagree.”

  Excellent. “Then go out with me.”

  “No.”

  “If you do, I’ll donate another one hundred thousand to V-Squared, in your brother’s name,” I say, taking a gamble this is the right move.

  Chapter 4

  Ashley

  Of all the people to meet on my way inside to get ready for Laurie’s wedding, Ryan Turner isn’t even in the top ten.

  Or top one hundred.

  But here he is, standing in front of me with puppy-dog eyes and an offer I can’t refuse. Although I should refuse him... but unlike the egoistical jocks I’m used to, he offers to make a donation in my brother’s name—not his own. So, no extra publicity for Mr. Sexiest Man Alive for this year.

  I blow out a breath, and his crooked smile grows bigger, like he just knows I’m going to say yes, and because I have a hundred thousand reasons to do so.

  Plus, Laurie never let up on me and I finally agreed to say yes to the man. Sure, I thought there wasn’t a chance, yet here we are and he’s not only not taking no for an answer, he’s offering up cash to the very organization that is dear to my heart.

  So much for my plan to pretend like our parking lot run-in never happened.

  “Fine. One date. I’ll meet you at the restaurant of your choice.”

  “Two dates, and I’ll pick you up,” he says.

  I watch as his friend pumps his fist in the air before heading inside the hotel. Figures he’s in on it. I narrow my gaze. “Did you really compete in a charity run?”

  He holds up two fingers, seemingly amused by my question. “Scout’s honor. Plus, you can look it up on the website. And as Abraham Lincoln said, the Internet never lies.”

  I laugh, unable help it, because it reminds me so much of how he was at puppy-parenting classes. “Fine. Two dates it is,” I agree. “You can quote me on it.” It won’t be that bad. It can’t be that bad. Who doesn’t want a little attention from a guy like Ryan? He’s sexy, confident, and supports a charity close to my heart.

  He rubs his hands together. “Give me your number and address.”

  “Why?” I ask, immediately wary again.

  His dark brow cocks. “Generally, that’s how this works. I get your number, we flirt over texting, and then when it’s date night, I pick you up.”

  “There won’t be any flirting,” I say tightly, but I do dig into my purse to pull out my business card. “You can contact me at this number. I’ll text you my address whenever we decide on a date for our... er, date.”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  My mouth drops open. That soon? Panicking, I try to think of an excuse and only come up with the lamest of reasons. “I can’t.”

  “You can. Wouldn’t you rather go ahead and get this over with?”

  Well, when he puts it like that... “You read my mind. Tomorrow night, then at Beauregard’s. Bring Gunner.” I shake my card a little, and he takes it.

  Flipping it over, he scans the back. “Hmm.”

  Hmm? What does that mean? “What time?”

  “You pick, firecracker.”

  The nerve. He doesn’t know me well enough to give me a nickname. “Seven.”

  His gaze meets mine, all deep brown like my favorite chocolate. “I’ll pick you up at six fifteen.”

  Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and I almost press my hand against it. Or maybe they aren’t butterflies. Maybe they are crows, warning me this is a really bad idea.

  “Bluebelle will be happy to see you,” I say.

  He laughs. “I think Gunner’s moping over her.”

  “Poor doggie,” I say sympathetically. “They should really have a play date.” Oh, that’s it. A play date at Beauregard’s will totally satisfy the date requirement. Then I’ll only have to come up with a second very public, nonromantic place to go. It’s a win-win for my poor, romantic heart.

  “Nope. Doesn’t count,” he says, forestalling any more planning of dates that won’t actually require us to be alone together. “If you want to get together at Beauregard’s at a later date, then Gunner and I will meet y’all. But that’s for them, not us.”

  There is no us, I want to snap. “Ar
e you tell me that you’ve been waiting around, hoping against hope that we would somehow run into each other like in a romance novel or something?” He gives me a pointed look, and I throw my hands into the air. “I’ll concede the romance novel-like meeting, but there’s no way you’ve been waiting around for me.”

  That cocky grin I’ve grown to love-hate reappears on his face as he leans in. “Babe, you have no idea just how worth waiting around for you are.”

  I blink up at him. My knees wobble, and I have to lock them into place to keep from swooning. “Yes, well,” I say, all flustered. “See you tomorrow night for dinner.”

  “No goodbye kiss?” he teases.

  “Don’t push it, buddy,” I say, because kissing him seems like a really good idea. Especially with him so close. Only my voice is more teasing than anything.

  It’s not fair. He shouldn’t smell this good after a fifteen-mile workout. He should smell like wet dog or stinky butts. He should smell like something other than his masculine lick-me-up-and-down scent.

  Yeah, I really need to leave while the getting is good.

  “I’m looking forward to our date, Ashley,” Ryan calls out, and I want to sink into the floor when everyone stops to stare.

  Face flushing, I reply with a saucy, “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” and quickly duck inside the hotel.

  What’s gotten into me?

  Not a what, but a who.

  I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to find Ryan still standing there, big grin on his face. He looks pleased as punch, and honestly, I find that flattering and confusing.

  I’m confused. I’ve never dreaded while looking forward to something like this before in my life.

  Chapter 6

  Ashley

  Ryan texts me three times. Once to let me know it’s him. The second to ask for my address. The third to show what very nice manners he has by thanking me and expressing how much he’s looking forward to our date.

  He is the perfect southern gentleman and good grief, he makes me want to swoon. He also makes me nervous as anything.

  Bluebelle sits at my feet, head on her paws, staring up at me while I put on the last of my makeup. As a redhead, I don’t have but so many choices—it’s either screaming harlot or innocent powder puff. I like neither, and hope to God I look confident and—and pretty for my date.