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“Excuse me,” Melanie said, staring at her phone. “I’ve got to take this.” She walked away, the phone to her ear.
Ricky kept right on grinning as he leaned forward to whisper, “Pretty sure I’ll be staying around. Consider me the new-and- improved version.”
Emmy Lou did her best not to react. New and improved? If he hadn’t looked so serious, so confident, she would have laughed. Brock was their defensive line. A key player. The team’s defense had suffered without him, so getting rid of him wasn’t a good idea. And petty or not, this Ricky Ames needed to show some respect to someone like Brock.
But it was more than that. The Houston Roughnecks were Brock’s dream team. Even in high school, they were his pick. He’d wanted to play for them more than anything. The idea of him playing somewhere else felt…wrong.
This wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Ricky Ames wasn’t just highly ambitious; he was delusional. Still, his words were cause for concern. Ricky was Brock’s replacement? Permanently? Daddy would know. If he didn’t, he could find out—his friendship with the team owner went back years.
“Nice shirt.” His attention lingered a little too long in the boob area.
She glanced down at her blinged-out, pink “Houston Roughnecks Fangirl” T-shirt. “Thanks.”
“You okay taking a selfie?” he asked, pulling out his phone from a pocket in his athletic pants.
At least he was asking. “Sure.” They leaned together and smiled.
Holding up his phone, he did the whole pout thing, eyebrow raised, and head cocked. Clearly, he’d taken a selfie or two. “Cool. We look good.”
“Ricky,” someone called.
Ricky didn’t look; he just held up a wait-a-minute finger. “So, why is Emmy Lou King on my football field?”
She laughed, from surprise more than anything. “Working.” His football field? “Has anyone ever told you that you’re pretty sure of yourself?”
?
??No reason not to be.” He shrugged, then snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Oh, right. You’re singing the Sunday night football anthem? Making game night even better.”
“That’s me. We’re taping it tomorrow.”
“Ricky.” Same voice, impatient this time.
“Sounds like you’re needed.” Emmy was not impressed.
“I am.” He grinned but kept his focus on her. “Guess that means you’ll be here again tomorrow?”
“Ricky.” This time it was louder.
“In a minute,” he called out, staring at her. “We should have dinner. Have some fun.”
He was interested, she got that. A little too interested. With her hands on her hips, she said, “You know—”
“Ames.” Different voice—razor-sharp and biting.
She and Ricky both startled as they turned to see Brock headed their way. He wasn’t happy. Not in the least. Jaw rigid, eyes narrowed, and his game day don’t-mess-with-me scowl in place. She almost felt sorry for Ricky Ames. Almost.
Brock came to a stop an inch, maybe less, from Ricky and stared him down. “Did you hear Russell?” He gritted his teeth. “He shouldn’t have to call you more than once.”
Ricky’s reaction had Emmy Lou holding her breath. Instead of backing down, he bowed up at Brock and smiled. “I heard him. He’s not going anywhere.” He tilted his head her way. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
She frowned, beyond uncomfortable by Ricky’s proprietary stare—and Brock’s complete lack of acknowledgment of her existence. She mumbled, “I’m going—”
Brock cut her off, his every syllable edged with hostility. “When it’s time to train, you train. Russell expects one hundred percent of your attention and energy.”
“As long as she’s here, that’s not going to happen.” Ricky winked at her.
