Game On (A Bad Boy Sports Romance) (5 page)

              “Dating the press is dangerous,” he warned, and I nodded as I sat down on the bench, rolling my shoulders in preparation for the mountain of iron he’d be putting on me in a few minutes.

              “I know,” I said, “but it’s...kind of a complicated situation. I think I was a little too forward in that first interview. In a lot of ways.”

              “Kieran Michaels, the guy who paraded around the whole endzone in his last game’s winning touchdown, too forward?” Jamal teased, crossing his arms with a grin. “Can’t imagine.”

              I rolled my eyes. “Alright, alright, don’t sound too much like my Mom. Anyway, let’s just say she knows I’m interested. I still can’t believe she managed to put together a good article after the first time I talked with her. She was pretty much in her rights to smear me in public, but she didn’t.”

              “Surprising, for the press,” Andrei said, and I nodded.

              “Took a little advice from home and made today’s interview a little different, though,” I said. “And she seemed to appreciate it. Like, genuinely. I don’t know, but I didn’t imagine she’d be willing to even speak to me again after the first time so I figure...maybe there’s something there, you know? Anyway, I gave her my number, so I guess I’ll see how it works out. I’m thinking-”

              “You’re thinking of wowing her with all that football money and taking out on the most extravagant night of her life, complete with a club and a good time in the back of a sports car, aren’t you?” Jamal cut me off, and that knowing look he gave me drove me crazy, but shit, he knew me better than me after all these years.

              “Well, I don’t know about
all
that, but…” I smiled, trailing off, but Jamal laughed and shook his head.

              “Your heart’s in the right place, Kieran, I can see that. You just wanna give this girl the kind of time you wish you could have had before all this fame and fortune happened, right?”

              “Well, what’s the point of it all unless you can give it to someone else?” I responded, genuinely perplexed.

              “No, you’ve got the right idea,” Jamal said with a smile. Jamal was one of the very few people in my professional life who actually knew that I didn’t have as much money at the end of each month as even some of my less well-paid teammates. A ton of my money went to supporting my mom, so when I spent big, it meant something to me. “But you can’t lay on all that flash and glam right off the bat. Imagine how leery you’d be of someone if they’d offered you the world on a silver plate on the first date.”

              I bobbed my head thoughtfully, frowning. “Well, I don’t want to show her a dull time.”

              “First off, from what it sounds like, she’s just got your number,” Jamal said. “You can’t rush into things like this, Kieran. You’ve got a good heart, but romance isn’t a football field. Strutting around and throwing your fame up in the air for everyone to see is just gonna reel in more gold diggers like that last girl you went out with.”

              I raised my eyebrows with a nod at the unpleasant memory.

              “If this girl is a little cautious going forward,” he went on, “it sounds like you might have someone worthwhile on your hands.”

              “So what do I do?” I asked, looking up at him at a genuine loss.

              He smiled. “Just be yourself, man. Don’t sell the real you short. Take it easy, and have the kind of laid-back good time you’ve talked about wanting so much.”

              I gave a little laugh, but nodded, knowing him to be right. Maybe I should reel it in a bit. Worked for the interview, might work here, too. “Alright. Maybe I just will. Thanks, Jamal.”

              “All good,” Andrei spoke up, having been watching the exchange silently, “but for now, the ‘real you’ needs to work on his arms, and these weights won’t lift themselves. Let’s go.”

              “Okay, I gotta ask: what’s with all the interest in my personal life?” Kieran questioned, leaning back against the stadium wall. He looked like a damn marble statue, all sinewy length and bulging muscles. There was just the slightest sheen of sweat on his forehead, as he’d just finished a long, intense practice with the team. His blond hair has formed tight, adorable curly tendrils at his temples and forehead from humidity. His chest was still heaving slightly from the exertion of bolting endless laps around the football field.

I sat across from him in a fold-up chair, my legs crossed at the ankles. I looked up from my notebook to sneak another glance at his unbelievable physique and found that he was staring right at me, an expectant look on his gorgeous face. I felt myself blush.

“Well, you’re an interesting figure, you know,” I answered dodgily. “But everybody already knows your stats and what have you. I want to show more of who you really are. The guy behind the jersey number.”

Kieran tilted his head to one side and a bemused smile hitched itself to his tempting lips.

“You’re not trying to dig up dirt or anything, right? Not planning some half-baked exposé, are you?” he teased. I instantly relaxed, realizing that he didn’t actually suspect I would do anything to hurt him or his career. Still, I could tell he was genuinely curious. It probably wasn’t often that an interviewer cared more about his past than his future.

“Of course not. I just know you’ve got to have an interesting story. Anyone who can make it this far into the big leagues as quickly as you have has got to be hiding some great secret. You’ve got to pull all that strength and determination from somewhere,” I explained with a shrug. He nodded slowly, sizing me up.

“Well, I can assure you there’s no big secret. I’m much more boring than you seem to think I am,” he said with a chuckle.

“I never thought I’d hear
you
say something like that,” I commented, gently poking fun at his macho all-about-me public persona. “You’re surprisingly humble, Mr. Michaels.”

“Kieran,” he corrected me with a brilliant smile. I was still trying to get used to the fact that he wanted me to use his first name. I was on a first name basis with this fiercely talented, nationally recognized, rich, and powerful guy.

Oh, and he happened to be absurdly, impossibly attractive, too.

“Right, sorry. Still not used to that,” I replied, sheepishly tucking my hair back behind my ear. It was a nervous habit I’d had since I was a child, fidgeting with my hair. It was a dead giveaway to everyone around me that I was either stressed out or embarrassed about something.

“So, what was your original question again? I apologize for throwin’ us off track,” Kieran said, shuffling his feet and combing his curls back out of his face. I wondered if he was subconsciously picking up my habits. Messing with his hair. Apologizing too many times. We had been spending a lot of time together, to be fair. I was interviewing him multiple times a week now, meeting up with him at coffee shops, public parks, the Fighting Chance gym he frequented, and today at the stadium itself. It was an honor to be allowed in to watch the football team practice. I knew how much work went into keeping the team in tip-top shape and formation, but it was still a really humbling experience to watch them hard at work.

“Oh, right. It was…” I trailed off for a moment, referencing my notebook to jog my memory. “Yes. There it is. I asked you where you draw your inner strength from. What inspires you to work this hard and never give up? What-- or who-- keeps you going even when you’re exhausted and feeling burned out?” I asked, rephrasing the question almost for my own benefit rather than his. I made a mental note to remember that phrasing for the article. I liked how it sounded. I looked up at him and waited patiently for his response.

Kieran looked to be deep in thought, which was to be expected with a kind of loaded question like that. I was used to my interview subjects clamming up as soon as things get too mushy or sentimental. In sports, everything was about the numbers-- the records, the stats, the jersey numbers, the years of training and experience. But I cared more about the faces and minds behind those numbers, pulling it all together.

Finally, after ruminating on my question for a minute or so, he started out cautiously, “I’m not sure if I want you to print this… Don’t get me wrong, I do trust you. That’s why I gave you exclusive rights to interview me. I would never have done that if I didn’t think you had my best interests at heart. But I--I don’t know if I want my public perception to be altered by this.”

“I’ll help you decide how I should frame the answer. If at all,” I assured him. He gave me an entirely trusting look of relief. It warmed my heart to see him look at me that way. I felt my heart skip a beat.

“Alright. Well, to be perfectly honest, most of what I do, I do for my mom. I already told you a little bit about my family situation, but the thing is-- my mother was so badly injured in the accident that I have to take care of her now,” he said, sighing as though it were almost a release to talk about it. Sometimes with this job I felt almost more like a therapist than a reporter, which I didn’t mind at all. I loved watching my subjects finally open up to me. It was more rewarding than any of the money or attention I could ever garner from my work.

I leaned forward slightly, giving him my most attentive gaze, urging him with my eyes to continue. He chewed his lip for moment, hesitating, and then went on. “She--she requires ‘round the clock care and a lot of my money funnels back into making sure she gets to live the most comfortable and fulfilling lifestyle she can. It’s the least I can do after how much she’s supported me and my brother over the years. She’s the rock of our family, Dani. She’s what keeps me going. I only wish I could spend more time with her.”

He sounded as though he had a lump in his throat, like he was getting choked up talking about his mother. I felt my heart swell about three sizes instantly. I was continually amazed by how much of a sweetheart this guy was, especially in contrast to the tough-guy machismo he usually displayed in the public eye. Kieran was so much sweeter, kinder, and more down-to-earth than anyone really knew, and I was determined to show the world just how great he was. After all, wouldn’t it be better for young kids to have a role model who was a truly good guy, rather than idolizing some big-talking douche instead?

“Your mom sounds like an amazing woman. And she’s lucky to have you,” I remarked genuinely. Around the clock care was expensive. And stressful. When I was younger, my grandfather had to put into a nursing home (which was only slightly cheaper) because my parents couldn’t afford to pay for all his various nurses and caretakers anymore. It was horrible, having to ship him off like that, but we just simply couldn’t pay for what he needed. So I knew just how much it took out to look after someone who needed so much assistance.

“No,” Kieran said, shaking his head. “It’s me who’s lucky. I can’t imagine my life without her. I know I never would’ve made it this far without my mom cheering me on and pushing me to always be better and stronger. And she never lets me forget where I came from, who I really am. She won’t let the fame and money go to my head, if she has any say in it.”

He smiled fondly.

“So, you said she makes sure you remember where you came from. Where is that? Can you elaborate on what that means?” I push him, tapping my pen on the side of my notebook in a way I always did when I got excited about an interview, when I felt like we were really getting somewhere. But Kieran just laughed.

“You know what? I think we’ve gone far enough into my mushy-gushy feelings for one day. How about we leave that last question for next time?” he suggested, and my heart fluttered at the thought of there being a next time. I was really enjoying getting to spend time with him, both on a professional level and in a more… personal capacity. He was witty, passionate, and surprisingly gentle. I loved getting to peel away his layers of bravado to reveal the sensitive, genuine soul underneath.

And I couldn’t deny that I was beginning to feel something a little more than just professional synergy with him. Of course, despite all his silly flirtations, I knew there was no chance he could really feel anything more for me. That simply would not happen. Not to me. I wasn’t the kind of girl who could land a hot football player with a heart of gold. I was still the same girl who had to be picked up early from school because of the relentless bullying that broke my spirit and made me give up on finding friendship, much less love. It was simple: Kieran was a winner and I was a loser. He was a jock and I was a nerd. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how drastically I’d appeared to change over the years, deep down those truths would always remain.

Still, I could ride this playful little train for a little while longer, couldn’t I?

“Sure. Next time. But don’t think for a second I won’t remember the question and ask it again next time!” I teased him, standing up and holding my notebook to my chest. He rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I have no doubt you’ll come up with a thousand more ways to make me sound like an over-emotional mama’s boy by then, too,” he remarked with a laugh.

“I’ll be sure to write that one down,” I said, pretending to write in my notes. “Over… emotional… mama’s… boy. Got it.”

“Hey!” he laughed, nudging my shoulder with one huge but gentle fist. “So, when will be the next time? You still haven’t let me take you to any of those awesome restaurants I told you about. You know Vegas has more than just hole-in-the-wall hipster coffee shops, right?”

I bit my lip, pondering how to answer his question. On the one hand, it seemed less than professional to go to a restaurant with him, even under the pretense of a casual interview. Granted, I had been to restaurants with other interview subjects before, but nobody quite like Kieran. Those had been stuffy older guys who just wanted to reminisce about their glory days and talk about money and football politics. I had a feeling a dinner date with Kieran would feel quite different.

And then there was the matter of my heart.

It urged me in two different directions. In one direction lay the potential for a very fun and maybe flirty evening with a ridiculously handsome guy who, for some reason, at least feigned showing some mild interest in me. And in the other direction loomed the possibility of getting my heart shattered and stomped on. Just like what happened years and years ago.

I swallowed hard, gulping back the mounting insecurities that threatened to smother me at every turn. I couldn’t let my old fears from my past dictate what happened in my future. If I did, then I would never get anywhere. I would always remain the same scared, lonely little girl I used to be. My bullies would win.

It was time for me to win, for once. I would take the risk. I had to.

“Alright,” I agreed, nodding. “We’ll do it. I’ll go with you. So, where are we going?”

Kieran made a victorious fist and grinned. He looked like a giant goofball and I adored him for it. I couldn’t help but giggle. He swatted at me playfully for laughing at him, even as he laughed, too. “Don’t know yet. Let me review my options and get back to you. I’ll let you know before tonight, though.”

“Why tonight?” I asked.

“Because that’s when our next interview is,” he said with a wink.

“Well, I might need more time to come up with questions--”

“Nope. Tonight. That’s that,” he said, waving his hand with finality, as though sealing the date with some magical flourish. I grinned and shook my head in mock annoyance.

“Fine. You got it,” I relented. “Nothing too fancy, okay? Remember I’m just a lowly cub reporter. I don’t make as much as you do.”

“Why should that matter? I’ll be paying, obviously,” Kieran said, giving me a dubious look, as though I’d just said the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

“Well, that’s not really how it works. If you pay then it’s more like a… like a…”

“A date?” he suggested, smirking down at me smugly. I could feel my whole body turning pink.

Flustered, I struggled to find any string of words that would form a coherent statement, to no avail. I simply stared at him blankly, my mouth hanging open.