“Do I want to know whose house we’re going to? If you say Oprah, I will have a heart attack, Ryker. I’m not kidding.”
“Not Oprah.” He’s laughing now, and I want to sock him in the nose. “Leo Nash.”
I’m certain I’ve heard him wrong.
“Leo, Grammy winner, lead singer of the iconic rock band Nash. That one?”
“He’s the only one I’m aware of.”
“Oh My God! I would have had hair-and-makeup people come to me, Ryker!”
“Why? You’re fucking stunning. You look amazing. Listen, I know this could get boring—”
“Boring?”
“—and as soon as you’re ready to go, you just tell me, and I’ll whisk you out of there.”
“You think it’s going to be boring?”
He smiles that huge, full-on smile that I love so much and eases off the freeway onto an exit ramp. “I love it when you get all worked up, Trouble.”
“I’ll hand it to you. When you decide to surprise a girl, you go all out.”
“I try.”
He’s still chuckling when he turns onto a driveway and shows his tickets to the security guard at the gate. We’re given instructions on where to park, and before I know it, I’m walking around a massive stone house to an area that looks like something out of my wildest dreams.
A rich-people dream.
Puget Sound is in the background, calm and blue as the sun sets behind it. Tables are covered in pretty pink linens and place settings, and people are already seated and talking, or wandering around, mingling.
Servers walk through with trays of champagne, and I can’t ignore the little stage set up with instruments and microphones, andI am so out of my element.
But there’s no time to be shy, because Ryker’s recognized immediately, and we’re drawn into conversations about his retirement.
I’m surprised by how many people offer condolences about Ray.
And Ryker never leaves my side.
“Ryker.” Will Montgomery himself approaches us, his arm wrapped around a pretty redhead—I assume his wife—and shakes Ry’s hand. “Congratulations on your retirement. I wasn’t expecting that. What are your plans now? Aside from what we’re doing, of course.”
What are they doing?
“I have a ranch in Montana that needs my attention,” Ry replies and glances down at me. “And excuse my manners. This is Willow, my girlfriend.”
“Hello.” I shake Will’s hand.
“My wife, Meg,” he says, and I shake her hand too.
“I’m a fan,” I tell him unapologetically. “You lead in and continue to hold the record for all-time passing yards, passing touchdowns atfifty-twoin one season, and, well. I could go on, but you already know your stats.”
Will’s smile spreads over his face, and Ryker squeezes my hand.
“Great, his head’s about to get really big,” Meg says, shaking her head with an amused grin.
“I like your girlfriend, Ry.”
“I do too,” Ryker says with a smile in his voice. “Her mind is a steel trap for stats.”
