The Baller (6 page)

Drew.

I reached over to my bedside nightstand and picked up the small, oval-framed picture taken in middle school. Even though it was always there, I hadn’t really looked at it in years. Drew was wearing his football uniform, and the eye black under his sweet brown eyes was smeared from wiping sweat during the game. I smiled, thinking back to how a look from those eyes gave me butterflies growing up.

Lying in bed in the dark, I tried to make sense of my fascination with Brody. But in the end, I decided maybe I simply had a thing for football players. After all, my father was a football player. I’m sure Freud would have had a thing or two to say about that.

***

I sat in the back row at Wednesday’s scheduled press conference. The dais held five men. From left to right sat the director of team operations; head coach Bill Ryan; Chargers wide receiver Colin Anderson; the Steel’s offensive-line coach; and to the far right, Brody Easton. As rumored, Coach Ryan confirmed that Tyrell Oden, one of the team’s key offensive-line players, had received a season-ending injury. They also confirmed a rare mid-season trade to replace him. Colin Anderson was to join the Steel this week.

A friend of mine had tipped me off about the trade yesterday, and it had given me time to do a little digging. Although it had never made it onto the media’s radar, Colin and Brody apparently had a tumultuous history. They’d attended the same college. Brody’s last year before being drafted, they were even on the same offensive line. Apparently, the two didn’t get along and there’d been multiple off-the-field fights. I doubted any of the reporters knew about it since I’d only found out because I happened to have a friend in common with Colin. Division One schools kept internal conflicts very quiet. They didn’t want to taint a prospective draftee as a troublemaker.

After the announcements, Coach Ryan opened up the floor for questions. Brody caught my eye and winked. Like an idiot, I smiled back. His flirtations were so overtly over-the-top, it was impossible not to find them at least a tiny bit amusing.

Every hand in the room went up. The coach called on a well-known reporter in the front row. I watched Brody scribble something on a piece of paper and slide it down to the coach.

Before the next question, Coach Ryan glanced down at the paper, then scanned the room. He hadn’t even found me in the crowd when he said my name. I stood to ask my question anyway.

“My question is for Mr. Easton.” Brody looked momentarily pleased. “Are you concerned about the chemistry between yourself and your new receiver?”

Brody folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “What were his stats last year, Ms. Maddox?”

“Hundred and eleven catches, fourteen-point-three average yards, eleven touchdowns. Second best in the league.”

“You have your answer. Do you have any other questions, Ms. Maddox?”

A few men snickered. But I wanted an actual answer. “The question wasn’t how capable of an athlete he is. We all know he’s quite talented. My question—perhaps I should repeat it—was are you concerned about the
chemistry
between you and Colin Anderson?”

Brody’s jaw tightened. “I’m not planning on dating him.”

More snickers.

“I didn’t think so. But considering the two of you didn’t get along in college, might there be a concern for you?”

His answer was curt. “No. As long as he does his job, I’m not concerned.”

“Thank you.” I sat and the room began to buzz with chatter.

Brody stared at me with a gleam in his eye for the remainder of the interview. It made me question if I had just poked a lion. Colin, on the other hand, was sporting an evil grin, and it appeared he was enjoying our interaction.

I didn’t mill around socializing after the conference ended. I had a hot date with a month’s worth of laundry that I’d stood up on multiple occasions. I was texting Indie while walking down the long hallway toward the exit when a hand at my elbow startled me.

“Nice find. Did you have to call my entire dorm to dig up that little piece of information you just unleashed in there?”

“I’m sure if I interviewed your entire dorm, my ears would be bleeding.”

“You realize that every journalist will be watching every interaction between that asswipe and me now?”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

I stopped walking. Brody was still holding my arm.

I turned to him and shrugged. “Okay. So maybe I’m not. So what?”

He squinted at me.

“Oh. By the way. My station wants me to ask you to do a sit-down interview with Phil Stapleton for the
Sixty with Stapleton
show.”

“You're going to ask me for a favor after you just screwed me in there?”

I tilted my head and gave a sugary-sweet smile. “You sabotaged my first locker room interview and then asked me out.”

Easton’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re getting even with me?”

We reached the front doors of the stadium, and Brody opened one and followed me out. “Are you going to follow me all the way home?”

“Is that an invitation?” He shot me a damn cocky smile.

I shook my head and kept walking. Neither of us said a word until we’d crossed the parking lot and arrived at my car. I unlocked the door and got in. Easton stood outside, holding the door open. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do the sit-down for
Sixty with Stapleton
.”

“You will?”

“Under two conditions.”

“And they are?”

“You do the interview. Not that old jackass Stapleton. He has guest interviewers all the time. They want me, you’ll be the guest interviewer.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“Wow. I’m sure Stapleton won’t be happy about it. But Mr. Cu—my boss will.”

“Then it’s settled.”

My eyes narrowed. “Why are you being nice to me now, when I just unleashed what will probably turn into a media shitstorm on you?”

“I like you.”

I shook my head. “I’ll talk to my boss and then call your agent to set it up.”

“Sounds good. Can I borrow your cell? Coach is probably wondering where I disappeared to.”

I handed him my phone. He dialed a number, hung up and handed the phone back to me without bringing it to his ear.

He read the confusion on my face. “You didn’t ask me what condition number two was.”

I’d gotten so excited he was going to give me an interview, I’d forgotten he’d said there were
two
conditions. “What’s the second condition?”

“You have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“That’s right.”

“Does dinner mean sleeping with you?”

“Hopefully when it’s over. But if you want to switch things up a bit and get to the fucking first, I’m happy to oblige.”

“No thanks.”

“Relax. I’m joking. Dinner means dinner. You know, I take you out to some overpriced restaurant where we share a meal and I tell you how great I am.”

“Gee. How can I turn that invitation down?”

He winked. “That’s what I thought. I am sort of irresistible.”

“If you don’t say so yourself.”

I was pulling out of the parking lot and still wondering what the hell I’d just agreed to, when my phone buzzed.

Brody: Wednesday night. I’ll pick you up at your office at 6. Wear something sexy.

Delilah

“What the hell are you wearing?” Indie arrived just as I returned to my office from the ladies’ room on Wednesday evening.

“A new outfit. For my date tonight.”

“You’re dressed like a sixty-year-old grandmother of nine about to go to church.”

I totally was. Some of it I’d actually had to purchase just for the occasion. The Goodwill store on Seventy-Second Street was perfect—a bag full of granny goods for under twenty bucks. I caught my reflection in the glass window. Oversized navy corduroy blazer. Navy elastic waist polyester pants (pretty damn comfortable). Cream-cotton-and-doily-lace button-up blouse, buttoned up to the top, of course. A string of fake pearls. Hair pulled back in a tight bun. Worn penny loafers. (Okay, so those might have been mine.)

I patted my bun and rolled on some bland, mauve lipstick, purposefully swiping some on my front tooth. “You don’t like my outfit?”

“Seriously? You look a little insane.”

I smoothed my jacket down and picked up the giant dowdy brown church-lady purse. “What? You don’t think I look sexy?”

“Are you wearing bloomers under there?”

I flipped off the light switch in my office. “And a nursing bra.” I actually had a G-string and a demi cup bra on, but the appalled look on Indie’s face was worth the little white lie.

She followed me out of my office. Luckily, the building was already mostly empty, or I might have gotten some strange looks. I really did look a bit nuts.

“Did you get that crap from wardrobe?” Indie asked.

“Nope. I bought it for my date.”

“You bought that getup?”

“Sure did.”

“I think you’ve been under too much stress lately.” She kissed me on the cheek before jumping on the up elevator to head back to her office. “Breakfast in your office at eight. I can’t wait to hear all about this date.”

Ten minutes later, I exited the glass turn-style door of WMBC and saw a fancy car double-parked right at the curb. Brody got out and walked around the car to open the passenger door. As his eyes swept me up and down, his brows drew together. Then he blinked repeatedly. “Hi.”

I gave him a goofy ear-to-ear smile. “Hi. Where are we going?”

“Um . . . to the . . . um . . . the restaurant at the Regency.”

It was everything I could do to not crack up. He had no idea if my outfit was serious or a joke. Although he earned a point for being polite enough not to say anything. I couldn’t resist screwing with him a little more after we settled into the car.

“You look nice.” He was wearing a hunter-green cashmere sweater that fit him well, snug across his broad shoulders, but not too tight, and simple black slacks.

He glanced at me and back at the road. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure if I liked him more or less because he didn’t lie and feed me a compliment back about my outfit.

“You look different with your hair up. I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. It’s sexy librarian.”

“Sexy librarian, huh?”

“I’ve always had a thing for librarians. You know . . . unpin her tight hair, let it loose down her back. And then make her moan between the stacks.”

“How romantic.” I shifted in my seat at the visual he painted.

“I don’t think women want romance as much as they think they do.”

I cackled. “You don’t know women very well.”

“Oh, but I think I do. I think most women, especially women who work hard and have a lot on their mind, prefer a man to come home, lift her off her feet and take her against the wall rather than hand her some bullshit flowers and pussyfoot around with sweet gestures all night.”

“We like bullshit flowers and sweet gestures.”
Though I could use a good wall banging.

“Then you haven’t been fucked properly against a wall.”

“Let me guess. You could demonstrate?”

“We could skip dinner.”

“Big of you. But our deal was dinner for an interview.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

We arrived at the Regency, and the valet who opened the car door for me knew Brody by name. “Usual time in the morning, Mr. Easton?”

“Actually. I’ll probably be using the car again tonight. Why don’t you keep it close by?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Easton.”

Brody walked around the car. His hand went to the small of my back.

“Probably?”

“A man has to hold on to his dreams.” He winked.

As we walked through the lobby, more employees greeted him by name. He was a household name, but they spoke to him with the familiarity of a frequent visitor. “Do you come here often? Dinner at a hotel? How convenient for dessert.”

“I live here.”

“You live at the Regency?”

“During the season, I do. The field is less than an hour from here, even with traffic.”

“Where do you live in the offseason?”

“I have a cabin upstate. I stay there mostly.”

“A cabin? In the woods?”

“Yes. I’ve been working on it for a few years now in the offseason. I figure it should be done in about . . . I don’t know . . . twenty or thirty years.” He chuckled.

“Sounds like you work fast.”

He steered me down the hall toward the restaurant and leaned into me as he spoke. His voice was raspy. “Actually, I like to take my time.” The timbre of his voice made my toes curl in my
sensible shoes.