Dear Jane by Kendall Ryan
I broke her heart ten years ago and left town.
She hates me, and rightly so. It doesn’t matter that the rest of the country loves me, that I’m a starting quarterback with a multimillion-dollar contract. Because when I look in the mirror, all I see is a failure who was too young—and too afraid—to fight for what I wanted.
But I’m not that guy anymore, and all I need is one shot to convince her.
He has no idea what happened after he left. And now I’m supposed to work alongside him like we don’t have this huge, messy history?
But I’m older now, wiser, and I won’t let anything stand in my way of doing a good job for this league. Not even one overpaid, arrogant player who thinks we’re going to kiss and make up.
News flash, buddy: I am over you.
Excerpt Dear Jane by Kendall Ryan
It’s ten thirty and I’m about ready to call it a night when there’s a knock on my door.
Did I order room service and forget? I kind of hope so. I wouldn’t say no to a late-night snack, even if I am halfway through brushing my teeth. I spit toothpaste foam into the sink, turn off the faucet, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” a male voice says.
My heart leaps in my chest. Wes. He’s cutting it close to curfew, and I’m not exactly looking like a beauty queen in my pajama shorts and oversized Hawks shirt, but the thought of seeing him sends a tingle of excitement up my spine.
When I open the door, I’m reassured to see that Wes is rocking his PJs too—baggy black sweatpants hang off his lean hips, and his round biceps bulge out of the fitted sleeves of a Hawks tee, a match to the one I’ve got on. It’s part of the standard swag bag all new players and Hawks employees get. His is still new compared to mine, which is so faded you can hardly make out the team logo anymore.
“Nice shirt,” I say.
“You too. Can I come in?”
I frown, trying to read the expression on his face. “What’s going on? Pregame jitters?”
Wes shoves his hands into his sweatpants pockets and looks down at his socks. “Something like that.”
My gaze darts up and down the hallway. No coaches or other players are in sight, so I guess there’s no harm in letting him in for a bit. I open the door the rest of the way, motioning him in as I head to the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth.
I study my reflection as I swish mouthwash between my cheeks. Messy bun, no makeup, the last freckles of summer sprinkled over my nose and cheeks. It’s a far cry from the perfectly tousled waves and full face of makeup I had on for our bowling date. Still, despite my escalated heart rate, the girl in the mirror looks calm and collected, not at all like there’s a professional football player lounging on her bed. Let’s hope Wes is fooled too.