Text Appeal by Lexi Ryan

his pocket. He slid the ring from the case and took her hand.
    “Riley,” he said, sliding the ring on her finger, “be my wife.”
    Her hand shook. “I can’t,” she whispered.
    “ Shh .” He put a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to answer yet. You’re confused. I understand that. You don’t have to say yes yet, but don’t throw this away by saying no .”
    She wriggled the ring off her finger and offered it to Chaz . “This ring is a promise,” she said.
    “It’s my promise to you.” He closed her fingers around the hard rock and platinum band. “I might not be as exciting as a world-traveling poker player, but I can give you a good life.”
    “Wearing it is a promise too, and I can’t promise you anything in return,” she said softly. “Not right now.” The words hurt. They tore at the heart of the little girl inside her—the little girl who’d lost her only family at twelve and had to move in with a man she didn’t know, the little girl who wanted only to be loved unconditionally and have the stable family she’d only dreamed of.
    “He might be exciting, but you know what I am? I’m patient, Riley. I’m willing to wait for what I want.”

Chapter Nine
     
     
    No matter how hard Charlie went at the bag in Grand Escape’s state of the art fitness center, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just been royally screwed.
    Why had she invited him there? Had she known Chaz would be proposing? Had she wanted him to see? When she’d looked at him over Chaz’s shoulders, there had been something in her eyes that had made him draw up short. She’d had the look of a deer in the headlights—frozen, unsure whether to run or fight, and doing neither.
    He punched the bag harder, sweat dripping down his forehead and off his chin, but it didn’t change the fact that Riley hadn’t told Chaz no.
    “Need someone to hold that for you?”
    Charlie glanced over his shoulder to see a kid in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Dark, long, and lanky, he reminded Charlie a lot of himself as a teen. Charlie rolled his shoulders back. If he weren’t already wiped, he’d have refused the kid. He’d have to pull his punches so the teen could keep hold of the bag. “Sure.”
    The kid exuded confidence as he stepped behind the bag. The way Charlie had been whaling on the thing, it’d be smart to show a little caution. “What’s got you so pissed off?”
    “What?” Charlie wiped his brow and realized his knuckles were sore. He’d been going at the bag bare-fisted because it was more satisfying, but he’d pay for it later. “Why do you think I’m pissed? Maybe I’m just working out.”
    The kid arched a brow. “I’ve seen guys hit the bag before. Sometimes it’s just a bag, and sometimes the guy wishes it was someone’s face. Pretty easy to tell which is which.”
    Charlie threw a test punch at the bag and nodded in approval as the kid held it steady. Jab, cross, jab, jab! “You’re perceptive,” he said, stepping back. Jab, cross, kick, jab! “And pretty strong for a kid.”
    “I’m sixteen,” the kid said.
    Charlie raised a brow. Jab, cross, uppercut .
    “It seems young to you now, but you didn’t think of yourself as a kid when you were my age. You were only a year older than me when you ran off to LA.”
    Charlie stepped back and rubbed his knuckles. “What do you know about me?” He stepped around the bag and nodded for the kid to take a turn. Charlie held the bag while the kid threw steady and intentional punches.
    “You’re Charlie Singleton,” the kid said after a round. “‘The Devil,’ right? I know a lot about you just from watching ESPN2.”
    Charlie frowned. The Devil. He hated that damn nickname. “Well, don’t believe everything you see on TV.”
    “I heard you’re being sued for child support.”
    Charlie shoved the bag and stepped back. “What’s it to you?”
    The kid lifted a shoulder. “Do you think he’s yours?”
    “Anything is possible.”