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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.

Oh, how stupid is that? Who cares if I look pretty? Ryan has seen me dressed down, dressed sort of up, and business casual. It didn’t seem like he minded what I wore to puppy-parenting classes.

Why start worrying now?

After smoothing down my blue sundress, I check the belt to make sure I haven’t missed a loop. Then, I fluff my hair one last time and make a face at my reflection.

“This will have to do,” I tell Bluebelle.

Bluebelle just stares at me, then huffs before closing her eyes.

“Gee, thanks.”

The doorbell rings as I make my way to the living room. My heart speeds up, and those crazy butterflies return. Ryan’s here. At my door. Waiting on the other side to take me out and—

Do what exactly? I’m still not sure why he wants to go out with me of all people. Does he think I’m a sure thing, or maybe my obvious difference from the women he usually dates makes me more exotic to him? And yes, I did sneak more than a few peeks at him on Google, his Instagram feed, and the Raleigh Renegades website.

I roll my eyes. If Ryan ever finds out, he’ll probably do a victory dance and slap my butt. Not that I would mind the slap on the butt...

“Control yourself,” I mutter.

He’s just a guy, a really hot, sexy guy, but a guy nonetheless. And I refuse to get played by him. So, tonight, I’ll go out and have a great time. Then I’ll do it again, and V-Squared will have its donation.

It’s a win-win in my opinion, and veterans like my brother will benefit from my sacrifice to the dating gods.

The doorbell rings again.

“Coming,” I call out, moving to unlock the front door. I open it a crack, finding Ryan on the other side. All my former blasé attitude about him being just a really hot, sexy guy flies out the window. He wears dark jeans, a button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of sunglasses.

“You look amazing,” he says, taking off his sunglasses. He runs an appreciative eye over me, and I flush. “Gorgeous. Holy shit. I’m at a loss for words, Peaches.”

Firecracker. Peaches. What’s with him and nicknames? “Don’t sound shocked,” I reprimand. “Judging by your reaction, you were expecting me to answer the door in a ratty old pair of sweats and—”

“It didn’t cross your mind?”

My cheeks heat even more. “Once or twice.”

He smiles. “An honest answer—I might not like it, but I can respect it.”

Suddenly, Bluebelle comes bounding into the room, tail wagging. “Here’s my guard dog, protecting me from you.” Smiling, I scratch her behind an ear. “What a good girl you are.”

Ever since I rescued Bluebelle from the pound, the dog has been terrified of the doorbell and hides out in my room whenever she hears it. Lately, however,, it seems like she’s coming out of her shell, which makes me more than a little excited for my sweet dog.

Bluebelle shakes all over, wags her tail, and sniffs Ryan’s boots. “She’s smelling Gunner.” He kneels on the front porch, and scratches Bluebelle behind the ears. “G-Dog is gonna be so jealous I got to see you, pretty girl.”

Bluebelle’s tail wags faster—not that I can blame her.. “I meant what I said about getting them together, Ryan. They were buddies for so long it seems wrong to keep them apart.”

Ryan peers up at me through lashes so long and thick I’m jealous. Mine are almost nonexistent without mascara. “I agree.”

In that moment, I know Ryan doesn’t just mean our dogs. He means us, too. I clear my throat, then give Bluebelle the command to go back inside the house. My dog, the sweet girl, listens almost immediately.

“Let me get her a treat, grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go,” I say, already walking to the kitchen, but I freeze when I hear a familiar crunching sound.

Looking back at Ryan and then at Bluebelle as she eats, I ask, “Did you give her that?”

“Might have,” he replies.

I glance up in time to see him dig into his pocket and pull out two more treats, one in each hand. He’d thought of Bluebelle. My heart softens, despite knowing it’s the wrong thing for it to do.

“That was sweet of you to think of her,” I say.

He shrugs. “It was nothing.”

Grabbing my purse, I cross the room and put my hand on his arm. “You don’t like it when I compliment you about the things you do—off the field.”

“I don’t know how to respond.”

This sexy man, so confident on the field, in interviews, and when asking me out, doesn’t know what to do? “Saying ‘thank you’ is more than enough.”

He stares into my eyes, his gaze so smoldering I’m surprised my clothes aren’t smoking. “Thank you.”

I move closer to him. “By the way, I read how much money you raised for V-Squared, and what you had to do on the mud run. If I had known the extent of it, then you wouldn’t have had to bribe me to go out with you.”

There, I’m being honest.

“I would have given more, if it hadn’t been enough for you,” he says quietly.

“Money has it uses, but that’s not one of them for me.”

“So, you would have gone out with me if I hadn’t done anything more than happen to run into you at the hotel?” His head dips, bringing those full, soft lips so close to mine that I dig my nails into his arm. His powerful, muscular arm.

Oh, sweet Lord.

“Ryan, I—” I lick my lips.

That’s all the invitation he needs, because before I can take another breath and start again, his mouth is on mine.