The Baller (8 page)

“Did you call for a reason other than to tell me what I want, Mr. Easton?”

He groaned.

“What?”

“I like the way ‘Mr. Easton’ sounds coming from your mouth.” He groaned again.

“What?”

“Now I’m thinking of your mouth.”

I laughed. “You’re not very good at this friend thing, are you?”

“Told you that you’d be the first. It’s harder than I thought.”

“I bet it is.”

“Are you flirting back with me, friend?”

“You have my head spinning. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m not even sure what you called for yet.”

“Shit. Okay. Yeah. Right. I want the interview done in my hotel suite.”

“Your hotel suite?”

“Don’t sound so worried. You’ll have a crew with you. I can’t attack you in front of them.”

“That’s true.”

“I’ll have to wait until they leave.”

I was still standing next to my desk, so I hitched a thumb at Indie to tell her to get out of my chair. “What day?”

“Saturday. Late afternoon. Our game is home on Sunday, so we have practice until two.”

“How about five?”

“Works for me.”

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you doing this. My boss is going to be thrilled. And he’s pretty much always miserable, so that’s saying something.”

“Glad I can help.”

“I’ll messenger over advance questions by tomorrow night.”

“Actually, why don’t you bring them, and we can do a dry run.”

“At your hotel?”

“Afraid you can’t control yourself?”

“Of course not.”
Maybe.

“Seven. I’ll order dinner up.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Delilah?”

“Yes?”

“You can leave your grandmother’s clothes at home. It’s not going to stop me from wanting to fuck you up against the wall.”

The phone disconnected, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. When I finally regained my wits, I held my hand out to Indie, palm up. She placed the small florist’s card in it.

Delilah. These don’t smell half as good as you. Michael Langley.

“Who are they from?”

“I shouldn’t even tell you after you just did that on the phone.”

“What? I assumed they were from Brody. You went out with him last night, and he was calling first thing this morning.”

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

“Bet Brody was jealous.”

“I don’t think so.”

Indie plucked the card from my hand. She read it and scrunched up her nose. “Michael Langley.”

“What? He’s a nice guy. We talked at the fundraiser. We have a lot in common.”

“You know what he’s missing?”

“What?”

“He’s not
Brody Easton
.”

“I think
you
should go out with Brody Easton.”

“I would. But I follow girl code.”

“Girl code?”

“You don’t sleep with men your best friend wants to do the dirty with.”

“I do not want to do the dirty with him.”

“Do too.”

There was no point in arguing with her. “Did you at least bring me something good for breakfast?”

“Two eggs over easy, bacon and cheese.”

“Thank God.”

“If you had slept with Easton, you wouldn’t need crappy food this morning. You’d be wanting yogurt or some other stupid healthy food.”

“So sleeping with Easton is actually healthy, then? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Absolutely.”

***

Later in the afternoon, I searched the company directory for Michael Langley’s telephone number. His secretary answered on the second ring.

“Michael Langley’s office.”

“Hi. This is Delilah Maddox. Is Michael available?”

“Oh, hi Delilah. No. Actually, he’s out at a meeting this afternoon. Can I take a message?”

“Sure. Can you . . . ” Brody’s comment replayed in my head. “Actually, I was calling to thank him for sending some flowers. But I probably should actually be thanking you. I’m sure he had you send the beautiful arrangement that came today.”

“I can’t take all the credit. He did tell me what to put on the card.” She chuckled, innocently acknowledging something that shouldn’t have mattered. Yet, it did for some reason.

“Well, thank you, and please let him know I called to thank him as well.”

“I’ll let him know.”

I sat in my office, staring out into space for a while after I hung up. A knock at the door startled me.

“Delilah Maddox?”

“Yes?” The deliveryman held a large white box wrapped with a giant blue-and-yellow bow.
Long-stem roses now?

“These are for you.”

He placed the box on my desk and left. I slipped off the bow, taking note that the colors were the Steel team colors. Unwrapping the white tissue paper inside, I expected to find a dozen long-stem roses. Instead, the box was filled with long
sticks
—tree branches—a dozen or so, tied by a bow that matched the one on the outside. The card that accompanied the delivery was in Brody’s handwriting. I recognized it from the message he’d left me on the footballs.

In case you want to make s'mores.

Thinking of you. ~Brody

(P.S. The thoughts are dirty)

Delilah

I felt like I was going on a first date. I glanced at the clock almost as many times as I changed my outfit Thursday evening. The thing was . . . it wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. With a guy I’d already flat-out declined an invitation for sex from. A guy I couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to have sex with. What exactly was the right wardrobe for such an event?

Giving in to my wild hair, I left it down, unruly curls tumbling halfway down my back. I ransacked my closet, searching for something that was business-smart, yet attractive without being overtly sexy. Settling for a black pencil skirt and a red form-fitting button-up shirt, I added a few chunky bracelets, slipped on a pair of strappy sandals that wrapped around my ankles and took one last look in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. The weather was still warm enough for bare legs, and the high heel of my open shoe extended my already long legs, making them look even longer. I liked what I saw. Who knew I could pull off smart with a touch of sexy? Now if only I could pull off pretending I wasn’t attracted to the arrogant ass.

Right at five, I lifted my hand to knock on the penthouse suite, and the door swung open, leaving my knuckles rapping on air. A beautiful young brunette greeted me wearing a very cropped shirt and second-skin leggings. Half of her tiny waist was on display, and her voice was cheerleaderish peppy. “Hey,” she yelled over her shoulder, bouncing on her heels, “your appointment is here, Brody. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Still smiling, she stepped aside for me to enter and left me with, “I wore him out pretty good, hope it doesn’t mess up whatever you plan to do with him.”

Confused, I hesitated just inside the door as it closed behind me. Brody walked into the room, looking freshly showered in low-hanging sweats and no shirt. His hair was wet and slicked back.
Damn.

“Hey.” His eyes made a slow sweep of my body, and he stopped in his tracks a few feet away from me. “Wow. You look—”

My body grew warmer from the heat in his eyes. He unabashedly took his time before lifting his eyes to meet mine. “So, how does this work? Friends can’t tell friends how they look?”

“Of course they can. Friends can give compliments.”

His eyes gleamed. “Good. You look good enough to eat.”

God, it really has been too long.
My body tightened, and I had to swallow my breath to keep a small gasp from slipping out. Pink rose on my cheeks at the picture he’d just planted in my brain. I could visualize myself looking down at those broad shoulders as he
ate me.
Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be slow and tender licking and sucking. No, this man would
devour
me whole.

“I didn’t hear you come in. I needed a quick shower after Brittany. That woman might be small, but she’s demanding as shit. Worked me over good today.”

Abruptly, the switch flipped off
. Nothing like talking about his sexcapades with another woman to cool off my raging libido
. “Wonderful. I’m glad you’ve taken care of your needs. Perhaps we can skip the games and go straight to work this evening, then?” My tone came out a bit snide.

Brody’s eyebrows knitted. He walked toward me, not stopping until he was invading my personal space. I was still just inside the suite, and the door was only a foot or two behind me. The urge to take a step or two back was great, but I held my ground.

“No games. There’s nothing more I’d like to do than take you up against that door right now. And the fact that you just got jealous of Brittany,
my physical therapist
, proves that I’m not off-base. You want me inside of you as much as I want to bury myself. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself . . . ” He craned his neck down so we were nose to nose. “Yet. But you will.”

I swallowed. For a change, I was at a loss for words. Eventually, he groaned and took a step back. Running a hand raggedly through his hair, he said, “We need to do this somewhere else. I don’t trust myself in this hotel suite alone with you.”

I thought he was joking, but a few minutes later he came out dressed with a baseball cap and sweatshirt on.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace where I can’t try to take advantage of you.”

Rather than have the valet get his car, he opted for a cab. “Amsterdam and 112th Street, please.”

“Morningside Heights? That’s where you can’t take advantage of me?”

“Yep.”

***

My eyes were glued to the vividly painted ceiling as we walked inside. “This place is incredible. I’ve passed it a hundred times before, but never come inside.”

Brody and I walked through St. John the Divine. He steered me down a long aisle on the left side of the church and waved to two priests sitting in a row, talking. At the end of the aisle, he opened a door and ushered me in first.

“Where are we going?”

“To the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. I come here sometimes. A friend of mine used to work here. He had a pigeon coop on the roof. When I was a kid, I would stop in and hang out with him all the time. It’s quiet. Most people go to the top of the Empire State Building or Top of the Rock to get a view. You can see the city just as good from upstairs.”

“And you’re allowed up there?”

“Nah. You might get arrested. I’ll be able to run when the cops come, but you’re going to be slow as crap in those sexy shoes.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding. It’s open to the public during tours. But I know most of the people who work here, so they let me come up whenever. Carl worked here for fifty years before he retired. I grew up next to him and his wife, Marlene.”

Brody wasn’t exaggerating. The view from the roof was pretty spectacular. Nestled between two of the church peaks was a cozy little seating area that looked out on the entire city.

“So what happened to the pigeon coops after Carl retired?” There was no sign of a cage—or a pigeon, for that matter.

“He kept up with it for a while. After he died, Marlene donated everything to the West Side Pigeon Club. There are a lot of pigeon people in this city.”

We stood along the brick rooftop rail, and Brody pointed out some buildings. He was pretty knowledgeable about the area and architecture.

“What was your major in college?” I asked.

“You mean you don’t have that memorized?”

“I’m better with statistics than actual words.”

“Engineering.”

“That’s right. Pretty difficult major while playing football at a Big Ten.”

“See. I’m not just a pretty face. Got some brains, too.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, is this where you take all your dates? It’s definitely not what I would’ve expected.”

“If this were a real date, we definitely wouldn’t be in the one place where I can’t maul you or tell you what I’m thinking of doing to your body.”

“So this is my safe place?”

Brody motioned for me to sit on the stone bench and then sat next to me. “It might be your only one.”

“Okay, then.” I cleared my throat and reached into my bag for my notebook. “Why don’t we get started? I’ll go easy on you.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t be going easy on you if this was my show.”

I shook my head. “How do you feel about the changes in coaching and management that are planned for next year?” Coach Ryan had been the Steel’s coach since Brody began his career. He’d cut Brody from the team, but also hired him back and gave him a second chance. Due to his wife’s health issues, Ryan was retiring at the end of the season.