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words.”
    “You’re on. But I warn you—I was a hell of a Little Leaguer.” He paused. “And I played college baseball on scholarship.”
    Even better. I knew there was a reason I liked him. I had a thing for baseball players.
    “What position did you play?”
    “Guess.”
    “First base.”
    “Bingo.”
    We discussed the finer points of baseball and softball, stats, our favorite teams and players, and the merits of serving garlic fries at stadiums.
    When the discussion heated to the point of becoming a no-win argument, he changed the subject. “What do you do now?”
    “I’m vice president of sales and marketing for 3D Sportswear.”
    I told him about the company. How we’d started out making athletic gear for women. Our ace in the hole was a line of sports bras for full-figured girls.
    “Most sports bras only support up to a C cup,” I said, giving him my spiel. “We make comfortable, moisture-wicking, well-supported bras for the D cup and beyond. No woman wants to be a joggler.”
    “Joggler?”
    “A jogger who jiggles.”
    Talk about breasts and a man will naturally be tempted to look. I couldn’t help noticing Van’s gaze flicking between mine and my face. And, yep, I was a double-D cupper myself.
    “Double D, I get,” he said. “Where does the third D in 3D come from?”
    I smiled. Boys!
    “The three musts for an athlete—drive, dedication, determination. Those are our three Ds. Yours is a common misperception.”
    He didn’t even have the good grace to look embarrassed. “When are you going to confess to being the 3D Sportswear Girl?”
    I laughed and stared into my daiquiri. “I was the 3D girl. No longer.” Since the scandal with Ket, I’d been forced behind the scenes. I left the thought there and tried to forget about the scars.
    “ Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition two years ago. Your 3D ad was opposite the first page of the swimsuit spread. Straight up I thought you should have been the centerfold.”
    I smiled down into my watery drink and stirred it idly with my straw to hide my embarrassment. “Thanks. Paid ads don’t make the centerfold.”
    “They should.”
    I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out, “You think I’m pretty!”
    I remembered the ad he referred to all too well. The picture was a side shot of me squatting. I was wearing a red sports bra and boy shorts. Very tiny boy shorts. And tennis shoes. And glistening with the glow of exercise. My hair was pulled into a high ponytail. My right side faced the camera.
    And for good reason. My left arm bore a bruise the exact replica of Ket’s handprint, so clear a crime scene investigator could have dusted it for prints. My left eye was black, covered by makeup, my hair, lighting, and the angle of the pose.
    “Reilly?”
    I hadn’t been aware I’d been lost in reverie. “Sorry. Just reminiscing about my glory days. You’re the second guy tonight to remember me in SI .”
    He regarded me silently, ignoring my reference to Huff. “Playing softball and modeling for endorsements, that’s some life.”
    I suppose it sounded that way to a math professor.
    “Yeah, a real fairy tale.” I came off too bitter.
    He cocked a brow, obviously surprised by my reaction.
    “Sorry.” I laughed to cover. “That came out wrong. Modeling for 3D wasn’t really an endorsement, not like the big athletes get. I just sort of fell into it.” Back when my life was charmed.
    “How does one just ‘fall into’ an international modeling campaign? A talent scout for the Ford Agency showed up at the diamond one day?” He was ribbing me, probably thinking I was being falsely modest.
    “Almost right. My neighbor did.”
    Van looked like he was expecting an explanation. You know me, I fill silences.
    “Before she founded 3D, Dara Light lived across the street from my parents,” I said. “She was a big fan of mine when I played for Kentwood High School.” Thinking of Dara, I smiled. “Dara’s a lady jock, a buxom fireplug