Beauty and the Baller (Strangers in Love #1)(11)

He’d been drinking—okay, I’ll give him that—but the alcohol didn’t hinder his sexual performance, and he didn’t slur his words either.

You’re perfect. You’re safe with me. You’re mine . . .

We were effortless and natural, almost instinctive, two people sensing familiar souls, ones with cracks but not completely broken. And when he kissed me in the elevator . . . a long sigh comes from my lips. I wanted to be his.

My hands clench as I wrestle with my emotions. He really doesn’t remember me.

Skeeter slaps him on the back. “Ronan, this lady was the prettiest girl to ever attend Blue Belle High. We did some crazy shit together. Remember that time we put popcorn in the Huddersfield quarterback’s truck, Nova?” He glances at Ronan. “It was the night before our big game, and we popped about a hundred bags and dumped them in his car.”

I smile. “And our own cafeteria ladies let us in their kitchen to pop them. Five microwaves. We hit the jackpot.”

“I bet that jerk quarterback is still finding kernels in his car.” He chuckles as he glances at Ronan. “Me and Nova and Andrew. We got up to some trouble.”

I nod and smile. “Good times for sure.” But not all of them, especially with Andrew. I toss a quick glance around the pool area, a sigh of relief coming. He’s not here.

Ronan gives me his unmarred profile, his tone annoyed, seemingly uninterested in our reminiscences. “Ah, great. Look, Lois told me about the flower bed. Sorry. It was Jenny. She came in and made a scene—”

“Your girlfriend,” I state, my chin tilted up. “Young. Blonde. She said it was over, by the way, and she really meant it this time. She might have been chewing gum.”

He frowns and gives me his full attention. “Not my girlfriend. She showed up unannounced.”

“Tricky,” I reply. “What was she, then?”

His scowl deepens. “That’s none of your concern.”

I shrug. “Whatever. Sounds like a communication problem between you and her. I’d be upset, too, if I walked into this hen party.”

A long pause follows. “You’re angry with me.”

“Gold star for you.”

Hello. I don’t care that you’re a fancy-pants coach, nor do I care about your relationship status.

And . . .

Come on . . .

You don’t remember me?

Skeeter guffaws, his eyes darting between us. “Gotta give it to the boosters. If the party had been left up to me, we’d be out at the gravel pit shooting rattlesnakes. Maybe driving some four-wheelers through the mud.”

“That sounds like a real good time, Skeeter,” Ronan replies in a soft tone, but his gaze never leaves mine.

Whispering sweet words in his ear, I set Sparky down and cross my arms.

Ronan arches a brow as the cat sits at my feet and looks up at him.

“Look. Your Jenny in a Jeep took out my roses, just ran right over them, ones my mama planted for my first birthday and my sister’s. The yellow ones. She picked them out at the store in Austin, dug the holes herself, painted our names on a rock, wrote a sweet note to us, put it all in a little metal box, and then placed it inside with the bushes. Every birthday, we took a picture of us next to the roses. We have an album for them that sits on the coffee table.” I want him to know the significance. Every time I came home, I’d look at those lush, creamy blooms and know that no matter where I roamed or lived in the world, this was home. It’s where my life began. My roots are in those roses. “What are you going to do about it?”

He throws the towel on a lounger, and his hands go to his hips, his fingers clasping that V. “Lois said she’d take care of the flowers. Also, this party was a surprise to me. I don’t normally entertain. I’m sorry it inconvenienced you, all right? We good now?”

I smile tightly. “Absolutely. I see how it is. Send one of your boosters. Let everyone in Blue Belle bow and scrape to take care of your problems so you can keep on entertaining your guests and winning football games. I get why Mama never mentioned you. You’re a pompous jerk.”

Even though I kept my voice low, there’s a lull in the conversations around us, and I can feel heads turning, eyes lingering on us. Mrs. Meadows makes one of her squeaks. Clearly, she hasn’t let me out of her sight.

Skeeter clears his throat. “Wow. Nice night. And the stars are so bright. This pool is amazing. That waterfall, man, love it . . .” His words trail off.

Ronan’s chest rises. “I’m a pompous jerk?”

“Oh, you’re so much more than that, but children are present, so I’ll temper my language,” I say.

Skeeter’s forehead furrows as he looks around. “I thought this was an adults-only party.”

“She means the women,” Ronan says, his jaw popping.

“Oh, yeah, um, lots of them here . . . ,” Skeeter replies and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Think I’ll go get some chicken fingers. Be right back. Good to see you, Nova.”

He isn’t coming back.

Ronan shifts on his feet, then takes a step closer to me. He smells like summer, sun, and man. My heart does a flip-flop in my chest, but it’s because I’m pissed. Several moments tick by as we stare at each other.

“Perhaps we should talk in private, Ms. Morgan,” he says curtly.