Game On (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (4 page)

              His tone was emphatic. Pointed. He knew about my moonlighting at the paper. Granted, Chuck knew about it, too, and had given it his reluctant blessing. But if Brett wanted to cause trouble for me he could raise hell about the ethics of my working for another publication while I was steadily employed here. He could easily pull together some kind of coup if he really tried.

              “None of your damn business, Brett,” I said quietly.

              His paunchy face split in a smug grin. “Oh, but we’re coworkers. Team members. Your business is literally my business. Unless you’re working for some
other
business, that is.”

              “Leave me alone. Why don’t you go work on your own stuff? If you spend all your time here pestering other people while they’re working, no wonder you don’t get anything done,” I commented coolly, trying desperately to remain somewhat professional. His face went beet-red and he opened his mouth as though to unleash a string of expletives, but at just that moment Chuck came hobbling into the office. Brett immediately pulled away and gave the boss a big smile and wave. Chuck furrowed his brow slightly, confused, but kept walking by.

              To my relief Brett finally shrugged, deciding to bide his time, and went back to his own cubicle across the floor. After an appropriate amount of time had passed to cause everyone’s attentions to turn back to their own work, I quietly slipped away to the pitiful little women’s bathroom to make a call.

              My thumb paused over the call button after dialing the number for Kieran Michaels’s manager. I bit my lip, considering what it would mean to acquiesce to such an offer. It could make or break me. If Mr. Michaels decided to actually work with me, I could really get far with a private interview contract with such a high-profile up-and-comer. But if he just wanted to string me along… it would be a colossal waste of time. And time was something I simply didn’t have enough of already.

              Still, I couldn’t keep hammering away at this dead-end job surrounded by nasty sexist men either, and if I never took a risk I might never get out of my current situation. So I pressed the call button and held the receiver to my ear, shaking slightly. When the manager answered with a casual “Y’ello?” I answered: “Good morning, this is Danielle Allen. Mr. Michaels offered me a chance to be his private interviewer from now on and I-- I would like to accept.”

              “Family was a big part of what got me here,” I said, keeping my voice steady and professional as I watched Danielle write things down on her pad. “Still is the biggest thing keeping me here, I would say. Absolutely.”

              Danielle nodded before looking up at me as though asking for more. “Tell me a little bit about them--how have your parents been a support system for you over the years?”

              “Well,” I said, “for me, it’s ‘parent.’ I lost my dad to a car accident about ten years ago now. He was a firefighter, and he did all that he could to support the family, and now, my younger brother Carter takes after him in the same career.” I smiled faintly at the thought of him out there, trying to fill Dad’s shoes. “It’s funny, he works with some of the department veterans who knew Dad like they were brothers. To hear some of them talk, it’s like he’s a smaller version of Dad running around with them.”

              For the first time, I saw what looked like a genuine smile from Danielle, and that gave me the greatest ego boost I could have hoped for. I’ve been making a real effort to seem more professional this time around, and it’s been paying off.

              I thought Danielle sounded hesitant when I offered her exclusive rights to interview me, and it showed when she arrived for the second interview today after I promised to talk some more about my background. But that changed when I introduced myself with a simple smile and a handshake, and things went uphill from there, I thought.

              It felt kind of ingenuine for my professional persona, though. I was known to be a show-off, and I didn’t pretend that I wasn’t. I liked being who I was, a lot, and that came out well on the cameras...or at least, I thought it did. I wanted to share my enthusiasm with the world, and at the last interview, maybe that enthusiasm really did come off the wrong way when combined with my first impression of Danielle. But I wanted to make that right. Even if it made me feel kind of awkward, as if I were practicing a speech in high school.

              “You sound like you admire him a lot,” she remarked, and I nodded.

              “He’s a real hero, my brother. He and all the servicemen down at the fire department. It might not be as flashy a life as mine,” I said, restraining myself, “but the men and women who put their lives on the line to save others every day deserve more credit than I could ever give, even with as much sway as I’ve got around town,” I add with a cocky smile, and Danielle seems a little more willing to forgive that, given the circumstances.

              “So, you implied that your mother has been the one taking care of you all for the past ten years? Since you were seventeen, right?”

              “And since my brother was fifteen, that’s right,” I said. I wasn’t going to let slip just yet how much Mom depended on my income. I don’t know if she was even ready to admit that, and that didn't bother me--the family being happy was what I was much more interested in. Maybe keeping them in mind was what kept my ego in check today. “She was hurt in the accident, and I think the whole thing was a reality check for my brother and I. But nobody kept it together like Mom. I admire her strength a lot, and I don’t think I could be where I am today without her support, even if she does worry. Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t let myself get hurt too bad out there,” I added, and Danielle grinned a little as she jotted down my shoutout.

              “Alright,” she said, “I think I’ve got enough for a pretty substantial follow up here, especially after the cliffhanger we left the last one on.” She looked up at me with an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Mr. Michaels.”

              “Great, but really, I’d rather go by Kieran,” I said. “Being formal kind of makes me uncomfortable, so I’d like to get that out of the way if we’ll be working together long-term.”

              She tilted her head back and forth thoughtfully for a few moments before conceding. “Alright, I can work with that, Kieran.”

              “Anyway,” I said, leaning forward as she put her pen and pad away, “I think we might have gotten off on the wrong foot last time we met.” She gave me a look with raised eyebrows, and I could tell she was agreeing with me silently. Maybe that stubbornness was what was keeping me from giving a straight-up apology. “But I mean, if you were able to slap tog- er, write out such a good article with what little I gave you last time, I’d love to see what you can do with a genuine interview.”

              She gave a small smile. “Well, I like to think I earned my position. But thanks, I appreciate it,” she added sincerely.

              I stood up along with her, taking a few steps closer. “And look, I know you’re busy--you’ve got to be, if your job is to keep up with guys like me--but hey, if you really think we could end up working together for a long time, I think it would be good to meet up sometime outside of work.” That caught her off-guard, and she stopped packing her things to look up at me with a blinking expression. Those bright green eyes of her looked even more hot when she was wide-eyed, I thought.

              “What do you mean?” she asked in that same prodding tone she used so much in her interviews, and I smiled a little, feeling like she was testing me to see how much I’d ask of her.

              “Just that you really seem like someone I’d like to get to know on a personal level,” I said. “It’s your whole job to have conversations with me, right? Why don’t you just think of this as a way of brushing up on interviews with me, if you really want to keep it professional,” I added, and I could see her restraining the urge to roll her eyes, but there was something in those eyes that seemed to be considering what I’d offered with a little more serious than she might have last time. “I mean,” I continued, “you seem to be getting to know a lot about my background. Personal stuff, you know?” I gave a boyish grin. “Only fair if you do the same favor for me.”

              “I…” she started, slinging her pack over her shoulder and looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully before I took a piece of scrap paper from the table and jotted down my number and held it out to her, to which she blinked.

              “Here,” I said, “take my number. I know you’ve already got me on caller ID, but consider this an offer to call me up anytime. I know a few restaurants around town that aren’t half-bad.”

              She bit her lip as she looked at the number, then reached out to take it, tilting her head back and forth, her indecision teasing. “I’ll think about it,” she said at last, and her tone told me she knew exactly what I was implying.

              “Or hey,” I added jokingly, “if you change your mind, you could always sell that number off. Plenty of people would kill to have a pro football player’s personal number.”

              “Plenty of people would kill to get an interview with one, too,” she said back with raised eyebrows, “but here we are.”

              “You must be better than plenty of people, then,” I said, and my heart felt a skip of triumph as I saw I’d managed to evoke a little color in her cheeks.

              I walked out to her car with her, and as she unlocked her vehicle, she glanced back at me with a curious expression. “So I have to ask, why the change in heart, Kieran?”

              “What do you mean?”

              “After last time, I honestly figured we wouldn’t see each other again, for better or worse. I don’t see change happen this fast in most sports personalities like you.”

              A smile tugged at my lips. “You could say I took some good advice,” I said before adding with a wink, “and I’m not the kind of guy to leave someone hanging after the first date.”

              Danielle’s eyes regarded me carefully before she climbed into her car with a coy smile and a wave. “We’ll just have to see how far that gets you, then.”

              “Take it easy, Dani,” I said, and she pulled away and out of the parking lot.

              I took a deep breath, feeling a swarm of mixed emotions in my chest. Fuck, I had it bad. But I think that went better than I’d imagined it would. Maybe there was a time to hold back on the showmanship, after all. It was just so bizarre to me. Everything I did on the playing field and in interviews in the past had rewarded acting out like I did. This was a world of big personalities, big emotions, and big action. Acting like I did around my family was going to make things feel...well, I wasn’t sure how it made me feel yet.

              But when Danielle would call me back, I’d be ready to dazzle her. Now that she saw I was capable of being more of a down-to-earth guy, I figured it would be good to show off all the benefits that could come from hanging with a football star. I had a few upscale restaurants in mind, but maybe that bar that had me hungover at our last interview would be a good place to start.

              I mulled the ideas over while I got into my own car and headed out. It was a crimson sports car, the kind I’d dreamed about when I was a kid. There were a lot of things within my reach now that I’d only considered distant dreams as a kid, including my career. My car, my looks, my fame, and especially my ability to support my family.

              Sometimes, though, my mind drifted to the idea of supporting a family I myself started, like Carter. I wondered what it was like to come home to a loving wife instead of an upscale house. Not that I could complain.

              And as I made my way towards Vegas proper, I started wondering what kind of childhood dreams Danielle would like to see become reality. I shook my head. There was that crush-driven imagination again. But now, at least, maybe there was the possibility of finding out what kind of person she really was.

              Right now, though, there was another dream that I was driving towards. I felt a familiar sense of home-away-from-home wash over me as the sign of the Fighting Chance gym came into view, and I pulled up in the parking lot. Gym bag in hand, I headed inside, smiling around at the sights and sounds of the place, and a familiar face greeted me on his way to the reception desk.

              “Kieran, was wondering if you were gonna make it today!” Jamal Carson made his way over to me and clapped me on the back as I came in for a bear hug.

              “Wouldn’t miss it, man, just had to wrap up an interview.”

              “You’re kidding! Same one that ran the last one about you a few days ago? Me and Andrei were just talking about that, the interviewer made you look good. Real good.”

              “Yeah, well she knows a few things about looking good herself,” I said with a grin, and Jamal raised his eyebrows at me.

              “Now that’s the kinda talk we need to save for the bench. Come on, Andrei said he’d spot you when he got in today.”

              Jamal was my martial arts trainer. The short dreads he’s sported since college have been seen at the Fighting Chance for a long time, but now in his mid-thirties, he only teaches, these days. He used to be a hell of an MMA fighter, and he still might be, but a nasty head injury put him in a coma for a month. Scared his wife and kids out of their wits, and worried all of us here at the gym to death--even those of us where were new meat at the time, like I was. He made a full recovery, save for a few light-sensitive migraines that made him wear those sunglasses indoors more often than not, but he promised his family he wouldn’t fight anymore, so he moved on to teaching people like me.

              And that was something I didn’t mind at all. Football was my lawful wife, but martial arts were my mistress. It had been a dream of mine since I was a kid to be able to master martial arts. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take the skills into the ring, but I knew I wanted to have them. And Jamal was just the man to make that happen.

              Today was weight training day, though. I approached the bench and saw Andrei standing there, checking something on his phone. He looked up at me and gave me a nod as I approached. That mountain of Russian wasn’t much of a talker, but I knew he meant well under all that bulk and surliness.

              “Kieran,” he said in his light accent, “well done landing that interview. The article was good.”

              “Our man just got back from Interview #2, in fact,” Jamal said with a smile, “and it sounds like he’s a little more interested in the what the reporter has to say than what she has to write,” he added with a meaningful look to Andrei, who glanced to me with a hint of a smile.