I wedge my six-foot-two frame into the small chair at an even smaller table of a roadside diner. At two hundred and twenty pounds, I ain’t the world’s smallest guy, but this furniture feels like it’s been made for third graders. With mismatched tablecloths and a hodgepodge of 1800s Gold Rush memorabilia clinging to the walls, this place is too hillbilly chic for my tastes.

An androgynous figure draped in a palette of pastels sits on a stool in one corner, strumming a guitar and crooning a folksy tune that most of the patrons ignore. I gulp from my glass of ice water. I want a beer, but this place doesn’t serve alcohol. With live talent singing hit-or-miss songs, that’s probably a good idea.

I rub my damp palms on the thighs of my jeans.

Why am I so nervous?

Because you’re about to ask for help from someone you treated like stink on your shoe.

I did what was best for me at the time.

I shake my head as my good and evil consciences battle on each shoulder. I would approach this like I did everything else in life—with strategy, confidence, and a backup plan if things went south. Today, I had no backup plan. I’m flying by the seat of my overpriced chinos.

I’d picked a table near the door. Gusts of warm breezes infiltrate the cool interior of the diner every time the door opens. I’d forgotten how blistering Nevada summers were. But they were no match for the hottie walking through the door now. She looks around, spots me, and strides toward my table like she owns the place. My heart skids to a stop as I ogle her short skirt and long legs.

The yellow shirt tied at her slim waist complements her milk chocolate skin. My eyes flit from the top of her unruly dark curls to the pale polish on her toenails. The vee of her plunging neckline redirects my focus to her ample cleavage.

I swallow hard. I’m not prepared for this older, sexier version of my ex-wife. The girl I’d left behind was sweet sunshine and morning dew. This woman before me is a scorching sunset on the Fourth of July.

I jump to my feet as she approaches.

The voice coming from her full, glossy lips brings back memories I’d thought long forgotten. “You haven’t changed at all, Colt.”

“It’s good to see you, Shayla.”

I move to hug her, but then think better of it. After all these years, I’m not sure if she’ll embrace me or slap me. I pull out her chair instead.

She sits down and crosses one shapely leg over another. The memory of those legs wrapped around me hits me like a gale force wind. Pulling me into her core, urging me to go faster. Harder. Deeper.

The sudden arousal in my trousers perturbs me. I reclaim my seat. “Thank you for coming.”

Arms folded over her delectable chest, Shayla leans back in her chair. “You said you had something important to talk about. What is it?”

I don’t blame her for getting straight down to business. I’d already asked a lot by insisting she meet me. She’d picked this place, and I’d flown out on the first flight from L.A. this morning. “You look… Amazing.”

“Thanks.” Her dark gaze rakes over me, a look of regret flickering in those chestnut eyes. “So do you.”

Many women had complimented me over the years, but nothing felt as good as hearing praise from Shayla’s lips. “I try to stay in shape. You know, it’s a requirement for the team.”

Of course, she knew it was a requirement. When we were dating we’d spent countless hours talking about not only football, but our hopes and plans for the future. She’d always been a great listener. I’ve missed her friendship and advice.

An emaciated waitress approaches our table. “Something to drink, hon?”

Shayla shakes her head. “No thanks. I don’t plan on staying long.”

The waitress shuffles away and the singer begins belting out a new song.

“You have somewhere else to be?” I ask.

Her red-tipped nails drum the blue and white checkered tablecloth. “A previous engagement. I do have a life, despite what you may think.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your plans.”

“I have a few minutes to spare.”

I nod. “I guess you’re wondering why I contacted you.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“Shayla, something life-changing has happened to me.”

Lips that moments ago appeared lush and tempting now stretch downward into a smirk. “Let me guess. You have three months to live.”

“Uh, no. Dang, where did that come from?”

“You’re bankrupt?”

“Fat chance.”

“Sex change operation?”

I glance down at my lap. “And put all this talent to waste? I don’t think so.”

“Ump.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she is disappointed that I haven’t suffered any of the afflictions she mentioned. I know we didn’t part under the best of circumstances, but the frosty undertones in her replies make me wonder if she still gives a damn about me. Beneath all these layers of hostility there must be some trace of the old Shayla who used to love me.

I retrieve my cell phone from my back pocket and scroll through my photos until I found the one I want—a picture of Cee sleeping on my couch. She’d thrown off the covers in the middle of the night. A sudden, strong parental instinct sweeps through me. I’ve already begun to think of her as my kid. She looked so vulnerable dwarfed in the sweatshirt I’d given her. Blue-black ringlets surrounded her head like a dark cloud. How symbolic of her life. I intend to get her out from beneath that cloud and show her the silver lining.

Shayla slides to the edge of her seat, craning her neck to look at my phone. “Who’s that?”

“Someone I’m kinda responsible for.”

“That’s your kid? You knocked somebody up?”

“No.” That would have been much simpler. If Cee were my child, I’d make damn sure she was loved and taken care of. “We met a few days ago. The same day I got cut from the team.” A bittersweet lump lodges in my throat. That day was a new beginning for me in so many ways.

Shayla responds with the politically correct amount of empathy. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as me. But if Coach wouldn’t have cut me, I’d never have driven home early and never met Cee.” I chuckle. “Well, met isn’t really the right word…”

The entire time I recant my meeting with Cee, Shayla’s chocolate eyes stretch wide with disbelief. I have her undivided attention. Her full lips part slightly and I resist the urge to tug the bottom one with my teeth.

“Oh, my God. Did you call the police?”

“Oh, the story gets better. She’s a runaway from an abusive home. Her mom is on drugs. Her dad has been beating on her. I’ve been letting her crash at my place ever since.”

“Whoa. Let me get this straight. This little girl tried to rob you at gunpoint and now she’s your roommate?”

“It was a water gun. And she’s not a little girl. She’s fifteen.”

“When I was her age, I was on the freshman volleyball team.”

“We’re blessed, Shayla. We had loving parents who believed in us. Cee has no one in this world she can trust. I want to change that.”

“You have no idea how to take care of a child.”

“I agree.” No use denying it.

Shayla gazes at the photo. “Is she mixed?”

“She’s Puerto Rican, but I don’t see color, Shayla. I see a kid who needs help.”

“You may not see color or social status, but the rest of the world does. You’ve always been that way. Living in your own fantasy world, glossing over obstacles, and thinking your charm can solve every problem.”

“Shayla, I’m not the same guy you—”

“Married?”

“Yes.”

“Frankly, I’m still trying to figure out why you divorced me.” She aims a stare at me that would make most men think twice about opening their mouths.

I’d expected some talk of our divorce. I’m ready, armed with the prepared speech that I’d spent hours in front of the mirror practicing. “Well, we were growing apart and…”

“Bullshit.”

She’d said the word much like she’d given the answer to a math equation—as a solid fact that could not be logically disputed.

“I, ah… First of all, it wasn’t a divorce. It was an annulment.”

“I’ll say what you don’t want to admit. You let yourself be deluded by two ogres who feared that a girl like me from the wrong side of the tracks would be bad for your career. It was cool for you to fool around with me in the back of your daddy’s pickup truck. But when it came to marrying me, those two set you straighter than an arrow in cement.”

The two ogres she’s referring to are my brothers, Wesson and Ruger. “Shayla, I loved you. That was why I married you.”

“I don’t doubt that, Colt. I wouldn’t have agreed to marry you if I didn’t think you loved me. But why did you divorce me? You never answered my question. Not now, and not nine years ago when you broke it off via text. You didn’t even have the decency to call.”

There was no excuse for my behavior. I’d listened when my brothers suggested the annulment after only two months of marriage. My star was rising. I’d just been drafted. Wesson convinced me I didn’t want to be saddled with a wife—not when there was so much pussy to be had. Ruger argued that if Shayla loved me, she would wait around. He insisted that if I felt the same, I could reconnect with her later.

Soon, I got caught up in my new world with new faces and new friends. I never forgot about Shayla, but she became a part of my past, not my future.

“You’re right,” I admit, not wanting to start our reunion with a fight. “I allowed myself to be manipulated. I was young. And I was a jackass. I ended up sending you a text because I wasn’t man enough to tell you to your face.”

Shayla’s pretty brown eyes shimmer with the very tears I’d been afraid of seeing years ago. My heart drops to my stomach. I feel lower than a worm on the sidewalk. I deserve this treatment and worse. I’ve never given her closure.

I place my hand atop hers, surprised and excited by the volt of electricity that sparks through me when our fingers touch. “Even though our relationship is dissolved on paper, my feelings for you never went away, Shayla. I know I hurt you bad. I’m sorry.”

I tune out the murmurs of the other diners and the silverware scraping against plates. I know the singer is singing, but my ears no longer hear the music. My mouth goes dry as I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants for what seems like the hundredth time today. I lick my lips, take a deep breath and then plunge ahead, before losing my nerve. “If I could take it back, and start all over, I would. Divorcing you was the single biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

My hand shakes as I pull a black velvet box from the front pocket of my pants and flip the lid open to reveal a three-carat diamond solitaire in a platinum setting. “Shayla, will you marry me—again?”