always wanted something from him. This was no different. But it sucked he had to prove himself all over again with Mr. McElroy and the Phoenix fans. “At least I can’t get into trouble dog sitting. Wicksburg is the definition of boring.”
“Women—”
“Not here,” Ryland interrupted. “I know what’s expected of me. I also know it’s hard on my mom to read the gossip about me on the internet. She doesn’t need to hear it firsthand from women in town.”
“You should bring your mom back with you to Phoenix.”
“Dude. Keeping it quiet and on the down low is fine while I’m here, but let’s not go crazy,” Ryland said. “In spite of the reports of me hooking up with every starlet in Hollywood, I’ve been more than discreet and discriminate with whom I see. But beautiful women coming on to me are one of the perks of the sport.”
Blake sighed. “I remember when you were this scrappy, young kid who cared about nothing but soccer. It used to be all about the game for you.”
“It’s still about the game.” Ryland was the small-town kid from the Midwest who hit the big-time overseas, playing with the best in the world. Football, as they called it everywhere but in the U.S., meant everything to him. Without it … “Soccer is my life. That’s why I’m trying to get back on track.”
A beat passed and another. “Just remember, actions speak louder than words.”
After a quick goodbye, Blake disconnected from the call.
Ryland stared at his phone. He’d signed with Blake when he was eighteen. The older Ryland got, the smarter his agent’s advice sounded.
Actions speak louder than words.
Lately his actions hadn’t been any more effective than his words. He looked at Cupcake. “I’ve put myself in the doghouse. Now I’ve got to get myself out of it.”
The doorbell rang.
Cupcake jumped off his lap and ran to the front door barking ferociously, as if she weighed ninety pounds, not nineteen.
Who could that be? He wasn’t expecting anyone.
The dog kept barking. He remained seated.
Let Cupcake deal with whomever was at the door. If he ignored them, maybe they would go away. The last thing Ryland wanted right now was company.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY’S hand hovered over the mansion’s doorbell. She fought the urge to press the button a third time. She didn’t want to annoy Mr. and Mrs. James. Yes, she wanted to get this fool’s errand over with, but appearing overeager or worse, rude, wouldn’t help her find a coach for Connor’s team.
“Come on,” she muttered. “Open the door.”
The constant high-pitch yapping of a dog suggested the doorbell worked. But that didn’t explain why no one had answered yet. Maybe the house was so big it took them a long time to reach the front door. Lucy gripped the container of cookies with both hands.
The dog continued barking.
Maybe no one was home. She rose up on her tiptoes and peeked through the four-inch strip of small leaded-glass squares on the ornate wood door.
Lights shone inside.
Someone had to be home. Leaving the lights on when away wasted electricity. Her dad used to tell her that. Aaron said the same thing to Connor. But she supposed if a person could afford to live in an Architectural Digest–worthy home with its Georgian-inspired columns, circular drive and manicured lawn that looked like a green carpet, they probably didn’t worry about paying the electricity bill.
Lucy didn’t see anyone coming toward the door. She couldn’t see the dog, either. She lowered her heels to the welcome mat.
Darn it. She didn’t want to come back later and try again. A chill shivered down her spine. She needed to calm down.
She imagined Connor with a smile on his face and soccer cleats on his feet. Her anxiety level dropped.
If no one answered, she would return. She would keep coming back until she spoke with Ryland James.
The dog’s barking became more agitated.
A sign? Probably not, but she might as well ring the bell once more before calling it quits.
She pressed the doorbell. A symphony of chimes erupted into a Mozart tune. At least the song sounded like Mozart the third time hearing it.
The door opened slightly. A little gray dog darted out and sniffed her shoes. The pup placed its stubby front paws against her jean-covered calves.
“Off, Cupcake.” The dog ran to the grass in the front yard. A man in navy athletic shorts with a black walking-cast on his right leg stood in the doorway. “She’s harmless.”
The dog might be, but not him.
Ryland James.
Hot. Sexy. Oh, my.
He looked like a total bad boy with his short, brown hair damp and mussed, as if he hadn’t taken time to comb it after he crawled out of bed. Shaving didn’t seem to be part of his morning routine, either. He used to be so clean-cut and all-American, but the dark stubble covering his chin and cheeks gave him an edge. His bare muscular chest glistened as if he’d just finished a workout. He had a tattoo on his right biceps and another on the backside of his left wrist. His tight, underwear model–worthy abs drew her gaze lower. Her mouth went dry.
Lucy forced her gaze up and stared into the hazel eyes that had once fueled her teenage daydreams. His dark lashes seemed even thicker. How was that possible?
The years had been good, very good to him. The guy was more gorgeous than ever with his classically handsome features, ones that had become more defined, almost refined, with age. His nose, however, looked as if it had been broken at least once. Rather than detract from his looks, his nose gave him character, made him appear more … rugged. Manly. Dangerous.
Lucy’s heart thudded against her ribs. “It’s you.”
“I’m me.” His lips curved into a charming smile, sending her already-racing pulse into a mad sprint. “You’re not what I expected to find on my doorstep, but my day’s looking a whole lot better now.”
Her turn. But Lucy found herself tongue-tied. The same way she’d been whenever he was over at her house years ago. Her gaze strayed once again to his amazing abs. Wowza.
“You okay?” he asked.
Remember Connor. She raised her chin. “I was expecting—”
“One of my parents.”
She nodded.
“I was hoping you were here to see me,” he said.
“I am.” The words rushed from her lips like water from Connor’s Super Soaker gun. She couldn’t let
