In the End Zone: A Sports Romance (7 page)

"Bye, Ms. McMinn!" The
peppy girl named Missy called out from her intern's desk.

Morgan waved half-heartedly,
then leaned over to Dryer. "Good luck with that," she whispered.

Dryer rolled his eyes a bit but
said nothing.

As soon as the pair was in the
elevator and headed for the eighth floor, Dryer looked at Morgan curiously.
Morgan had cared for her boss since the very beginning of her internship. He
reminded her so much of a fatherly figure that she could not help but revere
him. "Everything okay?" Morgan asked. She could read his expression.
It was one of concern.

"Morgan," he began
with a sigh, "I know."

Something heavy and cold fell
into the very pit of Morgan's stomach at Dryer's words. He knew? How long as he
known?

Dryer answered her questions,
even though she did not ask them. "Coach Boss and I have both known for a
while. I saw the way that you two looked at each other on your very first day.
Boss saw how Larson looked at you when you went in for the first interview. And
rumblings from the janitorial staff sealed the deal for me." Dryer looked
down hard at Morgan. "I know that it is not my place to say anything, but
Larson has a... well, a reputation around here, and..." Dryer's eyes
looked sympathetic. "I don't want to see you get hurt by a playboy."

"Oh, Mr. Dryer, it isn't
like that!" Morgan insisted. "We talked and this is something
different." She looked at Dryer and desperation rose up in her throat,
"I love him, sir."

Dryer sighed and looked at
Morgan as though he was studying her. Just before the elevator doors opened to
reveal the eighth floor, Dryer said, "Just guard your heart my dear."

Chapter Thirteen

Morgan McMinn struggled to hear
the chatter on her headphones as the crowd around her cheered and screamed as
the Caimans locked in another win. Morgan knew that her senior producer,
Sydney, was giving her orders, but no matter how much she shouted, Morgan just
could not hear. Instead, she tried her best to direct her cameraman as she
tried to interpret the shouts that Sydney called out in vain.

The cameraman, Gary, panned over
the fans, grabbing great shots of their happy faces and cheering sounds. Then,
Morgan pointed to the team and together they caught the perfect shot of the
players all jumping to dog pile on Brent Larson, who just made the game winning
touchdown.

Morgan had watched with pride as
the game unfolded in favor of the Caimans. She stole glances at her handsome
boyfriend in the number 93 jersey, and he never failed to make her heart race
when their eyes locked. And when he had scored that last touchdown, he had
looked right at Morgan and pointed to her, then his heart.

"INTERVIEWS!" Sydney
suddenly shouted into Morgan's ear through the headphones.

Morgan had jumped and gasped as
Sydney invaded her mind. "On it," she responded. She grabbed her
cameraman Gary's elbow and pulled him toward the Caimans.
"Interviews!" she hollered at the bewildered older man.

Gary, who was famous for never
speaking, nodded and raised the camera to his shoulder. Morgan grabbed her mic
and held it up and at the ready. Her eyes began frantically scanning the
players. Who would she catch first? Brent Larson seemed to materialize in front
of her. He pulled off his helmet and grinned down at her. "Hey!" he
said, his voice filled with jubilation.

"Hey, sailor," she
greeted him using one of the pet names that they called each other when they
could not be open about their love, "Want to talk for a moment?"

Brent nodded and pushed his
sweat-soaked hair back from his flushed face. Morgan held up the mic and said,
"I am here with Brent Larson, star quarterback of the Caimans. Brent, how
are you feeling after making that game winning touchdown?"

"Well," Brent said,
leaning into the mic, "I'd just like to thank god and my late Mama for
always believing in me. And my best one for keeping me on my toes."
Brent's eyes glittered down at Morgan. His words were meant for her. "That
was a fantastic game and this team is incredibly solid. I couldn't have done it
without Smythe and the rest of this killer team."

The crackling voice of Morgan's
senior producer said into Morgan's ear, "Ask him about the mystery girl
that the tabloids are reporting on. Is he dating someone?"

Morgan's face flushed a dark red
and she was thankful that she was not on camera at the moment. "Brent,
word has it that you have been seeing a mystery girl. Want to address the
rumors?" Morgan rolled her eyes as the question came from her, but she was
safe behind the camera.

Brent's eyebrows waggled at
Morgan and he said, "I don't kiss and tell, Miss McMinn."

"Alright," Morgan
turned to the camera and said, "Thanks for speaking with us, Larson. Back
to you in the booth."

"Clear," Gary the
cameraman grunted and he lowered the camera from his shoulder.

Sydney was still squeaking in
Morgan's ear, but she ripped her headphones out. "Sorry," she said to
Larson, who looked down at her with confusion,

"What was that?" Brent
asked after Gary had wandered off to record more b-roll.

"Don't ask me, it was
Sydney," Morgan smiled up at Brent. "Congratulations, baby! I love
you!"

Brent leaned over and whispered
into Morgan's ear, "We're heading to the Blue Ridge Bar after we get
cleaned up. Meet me there?"

***

Morgan walked into the Blue
Ridge Bar and the excitement inside the bar could be heard a block away. The
bar was hopping, filled to the brim with happy football fans who were elated to
rub elbows with the Caimans. Drinks were free flowing and everyone seemed to be
having an amazing time.

Brent materialized at Morgan's
side and he bumped her with his hip good-naturedly. "Hello,
beautiful!" he shouted over the noise. "Beer?"

Morgan took one of the two
bottles that Brent was holding. "Thanks, babe!" She wasn't a big fan
of beer, but she drank a sip politely. "You come here often?"

Brent waggled his eyebrows at
her and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild locks.
"Are you trying to pick me up, Ms. McMinn?"

It took Morgan a moment, but she
soon realized the implications of her question. "Ha, I'll pick you up
anytime!" Morgan said flirtatiously, wrapping her free arm around Brent's
waist.

They joined a little knot of
players and girlfriends, and Morgan felt herself loosening up and having a
really great time. Brent was a few beers in when he leaned over and started
nibbling on Morgan's neck. "Want to get out of here?" he asked,
pulling Morgan's hand into his lap. She gripped his hard cock and her pussy
throbbed with excitement.

"Well, well, well," a
loud, cocky voice hissed above their table, "If it isn't Brent
Larson."

Brent pulled back from Morgan
and he looked up, his face contorting with an ugly sneer on his lips. Morgan
turned and saw a large hulking man leaned over them. He was a lumpy, ugly sort
of man with a huge, muscular figure that seemed to dwarf everyone around.
Morgan could practically feel herself shrinking next to him. She could not take
her eyes away from him. Morgan took in his bald, shining head, his eyes that
glittered a dangerous blue, and his thin lips that held a smile that was
certain to have no good intentions behind it.

"Levitt," Brent said,
nodding. Morgan felt Brent's whole form stiffen next to her and she could
practically feel the hatred oozing out of Brent's pores.

"
Pissy
little show you put on today, Larson." The guy leaned against the table,
his muscles bulging to the point where Morgan thought that she could see the
blood moving in his veins. "I could have played better in my sleep."

"Fuck off, Levitt."
Brent took a long swig of his beer and looked away pointedly.

Even though Brent was doing a
great job of trying to ignore the hulking creature, Morgan could not. She
stared at him, her eyes slowly narrowing, and anger was rising up in her.

"Who do you think you
are?" she asked angrily, "He did a great job out there today."

The man named Levitt looked at
Morgan for the first time and his grin changed from the cocky one that he threw
at Brent to a salacious one. Morgan knew instantly that he was thinking dirty
thoughts about her. "
Ahh
, and who are you?"
Levitt looked at Brent and said, "I like this flavor of the month, Larson.
Send her my way when you get done with that worn out pussy. I'd like to take a
crack at her."

Morgan's face flushed hotly, but
in an instant, Brent looked back over at Levitt, ready to kill him. "What
the fuck did you just say, Levitt?"

But the guy just leaned down
next to Morgan. "You know; I make Larson's dick look like a little acorn
hidden in a forest." Morgan wrinkled her nose, but the guy kept on
pushing. "If you want a really good fuck, just give me a call."

Brent jumped up from his seat
and his chair tumbled to the floor behind him. "You want to go, Levitt?
'
Cause
I will fucking take you
right now where you stand."

Morgan ducked as Brent lunged
for the hulking man. The pair tumbled to the ground in a flurry of fists and
Morgan screamed, the sound rippling over the noise of the bar. Morgan stood and
backed away as her boyfriend laid into the giant beast of a man, both looking
as though they were enjoying throwing blows at each other.

"Brent! Brent, stop
it!" Morgan cried out. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.

More people were starting to
gather and watch the men brawl, but it wasn't until two of Brent's defensive
linemen jumped in did they separate. "
Hol
' up,
boys!" One of the grunted, pulling Brent back by the scruff of his neck.

"Back off, Levitt,"
the other grunted, wrapping his muscled arms around the bald man and jerking
him away.

Brent's chest heaved as he
struggled to catch his breath. A strong red mark on his jawline told Morgan
that a punch had landed there squarely. She looked over at the other man, who looked
murderous.

"Got to get your boys to
tear me off of you, huh?" he taunted, "Well, we will just see who
comes out on top on the field."

Brent raged. "Get the fuck
out of here, Levitt."

But the bald man just smiled,
gave Morgan another
look
up and down her body, then he
sauntered off and out of the bar. The quiet hush that had fallen over the place
when the blows started landing was slowly giving way to chatter, and Brent
shook off his team mate. He grabbed his fallen chair and sank down in it,
looking more agitated than Morgan had ever seen.

"Are you okay?" she
asked, sitting next to him gingerly. He nodded but did not look at her.

A few other guys from the team
began to gather around Brent, each offering words and pats on the back.
"That Levitt is a jackass." "You got a few good knocks in."
"Save it for the field." Sam appeared out of nowhere with a fresh
beer and a small bag of ice. Brent took both without saying anything, drinking
deeply from the brown bottle and holding the ice to the bruise that was
steadily forming on his jaw.

Morgan looked up at Sam who was
quietly staring down at Brent, his eyebrows knitting as though he was in
contemplation of him. "Sam, who was that guy?" Morgan asked, her
voice feeling meek and tiny.

"Erik Levitt," Sam
said. He paused to drink his own beer before saying, "He played with us in
college. Second best running back I ever played with. But he was vicious and
had an incredibly bad temper, plus a penchant for being the best. Biggest
asshole on the planet, but damn can he run."

Brent piped up from his seat,
saying, "I've always bested the bastard and he cants stand me for it. He
broke records? I broke them faster. He made a touchdown? I made three. He laid
a gal? I had seven. He fucking hates me."

Sam clapped his dark hand on
Brent's shoulder. " The best thing that ever happened to our college team
was the day he was cut for failing classes."

"He got picked up by the
Blue Kraits the next year," Brent said, his face looking disgusted.

Morgan nodded. Even though she
grew up with it, she knew very little about football. But she did know that the
Blue Kraits were the second best team in the league. The Caimans had a
long-standing rivalry against the Blue Kraits, and it seemed that the war
between their star running backs only helped to fuel the fire.

"We're going to kick their
ass in two weeks, bro," Sam said, squeezing the back of Brent's neck.

But Brent did not respond. He
was nursing that awful-looking bruise, plus his regular aches and pains from
the game, and Morgan had a feeling that he was also soothing a cracked ego. Sam
walked off without another word and Morgan took her place next to Larson,
wrapping her thin, tiny arms around her massive, muscular boyfriend as she laid
her head against his shoulder. Neither of the lovers spoke, choosing instead to
sit in silence, cocooned inside the roar of the happy little bar.