Ryan sounds genuinely impressed with me, which is a novelty. My ex... well, let’s just say he called my business a little hobby that I happened to make money doing.

Ugh. In hindsight, I’m not sure why I ever wanted to marry Dean. Except he didn’t start out a jerk, he ended up as one. That I couldn’t have seen coming at all. Reason number six million why I can’t trust my judgment when it comes to a guy like Ryan.

“I sound rotten, right?” I ask.

He gives me a look. “For working hard and becoming successful? Yeah, so rotten.”

My cheeks heat, as do the rest of my body. He hasn’t stopped that slow glide of his over my wrist. Goosebumps cover my skin and my nipples are hard. So hard he has to be able to see their outlines through the thin material of my bra and dress.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice breathless. It can’t be helped, and since we’re out in public, he can’t say much about it.

“Would I like to be your next project?” He rubs his jaw with his free hand. “Would I like for you to work on me for hours...?”

My eyes round and my face flushes hot. “No. Oh my gosh, that’s not what I meant.” But it can be what I mean. Shut up, I tell myself. I don’t date football players, and this date for charity doesn’t count.

He lets go of my hand, and I want to pout. POUT. What’s wrong with me? “Relax, firecracker. I know what you mean.” He takes a drink of his beer. “Besides, you already know what I do for a living.”

“Not for a while I didn’t. I thought you did crossfit or something. Since then, honestly, all I know is what I’ve read about you, and what I’ve seen on television.” I tilt my head to one side. “Then there’s the billboard on 540 that popped up two weeks ago.”

The bridge of his nose flushes. “I wish they’d take that damn thing down. The guys give me so much shi—er... grief about it.”

“How so?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not telling you.”

I place both hands on the table. “Yes, you will. You can’t just say something like that and then refuse to tell.”

“No comment.”

Poking out my bottom lip, I bat my lashes. “C’mon, Ryan. I won’t tell anyone.”

He grumbles something under his breath about my mouth and eyes.

“Please.” I bat my lashes harder.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but if I do, I get something in return.”

“Like what?”

“My choice.”

“I don’t get to know ahead of time?”

“Either you want to know what they did, or you don’t,” he says lightly.

I never can resist a bet. “Deal.”

His eyes widen slightly, like he’s surprised. “They crossed out my last name on my locker and wrote Beckham over it, then they papered it with every image they could find of me shirtless at practice, in my board shorts at the beach, and all the shots from my campaigns.”

“Wow, that sounds harsh.”

“Honey, that’s men.”

“You mean that’s mean.”

“I’m a big boy. I can take it,” he insists, and I let the subject drop. If there’s one thing I do know about men, it’s their ego is important to them. He just shared something he considers to be hurtful.

I shake my head. “I don’t get you at all.”

One side of his mouth lifts. “In what way?”

“You’re not cocky, stuck on yourself, or only worried about the next game or season. You care about other people, and want to know about them. And you rescue pit bulls.”

His dark eyes gleam. “Ah. So, that’s it.”

My stomach flips. “What’s it?”

“You’ve been burned by an athlete. Most likely a football player,” he surmises.

Am I that easy to read?

I smash my lips together for a moment as the old hurt claws its way inside of me. “I was more than just burned,” I say. “He left me on our wedding day to go play for the Heat. Said he was doing me a favor. Wasn’t that kind of him?”

“Fuck,” he mutters.

The server brings our food, refills our water goblets, and makes sure we don’t need anything else before she leaves the table.

“Geez. I’m really bringing the mood down, huh?” I say, bowing my head to stare at my food. Why did I reveal all that to him? It’s none of Ryan’s business, and after one more date, I’ll never see him again.

“I’m sorry, Ashley,” he says, his voice low and rumbly.

I jerk my head up. “It’s no big deal.”

“I think it’s a very big deal,” he disagrees.

“Have you ever been stood up?” I ask.

His jaw works for a moment. “Right now, I want to lie to you so you won’t feel worse, but I don’t want to patronize you.”

I let out a sniff. A stupid sniff that comes out of nowhere. “Patronize away.”

“Dozens of times. So many that I’ve lost count,” he says, and ridiculous happy/sad tears fill my eyes.

“What do I owe you for telling me about the mean guys on your team?”

His gaze bores into mine. “Not one damn thing.”