Baker started to head back towards Emma with his now empty shoulder harness.
“You keep it. I’m going to get some of Emma’s cheese steak!”
Now I was alone in the hall outside the locker room, doing my own camera. I felt like such an amateur at that moment. I thought about just leaving and forgetting the whole thing. But then I thought about my dad and what a big sports fan he was and how he’d never pass up an opportunity like this.
“All right, Dad,” I said to myself. “But if I see a lot of penises today, it’ll be partially your fault.”
I opened the door to the Sea-Eagles’ locker room and it was chaos. There was a sea of green décor, of course, with images of the mascot everywhere. The players were in various states of undress. Most had already gotten out of the shower and were getting dressed, while some were still running around in their football gear.
Admittedly, I was intimidated. Some of the big time sports reporters were here for Sports Center, Fox Sports, CBS Sports— even the local newscasters, big names inside of Philadelphia, were here covering the event. Most of the sports guys were fast talking guys with an amazing gift to keep players talking about the same one or two plays over and over again.
Endless analysis was the order of the day. “How did that play make you feel?” “Did you think it was going to unfold that way?” “What does this say about how you’ll play next week?” and so forth.
I spotted Jackson Blake, the quarterback, wrap up an interview with the ABC local and headed right for him. Unfortunately, a woman from Sports Center intercepted me.
“I’m sorry, we’ve been waiting for Jackson,” she explained before I could even get in earshot. “We’re next.”
“Yeah, but I just wanted to ask him---“
“Why don’t you find your cameraperson? We’ll be a while,” she assured.
I tried to get to Carey Ellis and Kyle Fowler, but no way. They were both locked in interviews with at least two other sports guys waiting their turn. I didn’t even know who to ask. I just thought they went up to them and started talking. How did they schedule these things so fast? The Sea-Eagles’ center, Dirk Hamantop, flagged me down for an interview, but he had chugged an entire bottle of champagne and kept yelling, “Yeah, baby! Yeah! Super Bowl!”
After three attempts at trying to get him to say anything else, I thanked him for his time and moved on. Guess I looked kind of dejected, because the next thing I knew, Ron Ignola, AKA Ringo, walked over.
“Hey, you look a little lost,” said Ringo, smiling. “Perhaps I can be of assistance. They call me Ringo.”
Ringo was a Latino guy with a mustache. Not quite six foot, but solid muscle, Ringo currently had a towel around his waist, gold chain on his neck and a sports jersey draped around his shoulders. He had gotten out of the shower only a minute ago, but already look perfectly groomed. Handsome, but with a dangerous air about him, the guard was a talented player but caused problems for the coach and the team with his rowdy behavior off the field.
“I know you, of course!” I said, hoping not too awkwardly. “I’m Lexi Aaron from Sports Ring.”
“Oh, that new channel,” he said.
“You’ve seen it?” I asked.
“No, not yet. If a hotel doesn’t have it, I usually don’t see it. I don’t think you’re in a lot of hotels yet. But I’ve heard of it. Online, right?”
“Oh, sure. Who isn’t? Right?” I laughed nervously. “It’s not like we’re a YouTube channel or something.”
“Right,” he agreed. “So did you have a specific question or…”
“Well, I noticed they didn’t play you the entire game…”
Ringo bristled at the question and I sort of faded out and didn’t finish it.
“Ya know it’s kind of loud over here. Why don’t we move to the next row of lockers?” he suggested.
“Good call,” I agreed.
At that moment, I realized I hadn’t even turned on the camera. While I followed Ringo to the next row of lockers, I pressed the icon and we were rolling.
“Okay, let me try that again,” I said, restarting. “Coach Brenner brought you in and out of the game more so than during other games you played this season. Was that to keep the Hawks off balance?”
“Yeah, when you take out your star player, then the defense has to realign. Know what I’m saying?” explained Ringo with a wink, liking my rewording of the question.
“How are you enjoying your new position as guard? Do you miss being halfback?”
“Well, you know, the coach is the chess player, we’re just the pieces,” laughed Ringo, suddenly very charming. “I just get out there and do my thing, you know? That’s why I recovered two fumbles tonight.”
“Yes! Those would’ve been crucial turnovers for the Hawks!” I said. “That second recovery, especially, you just seemed to stretch your arm out right past the defensive lineman.”
“What can I say? I’m an amazing human being,” laughed Ringo.
I turned off the camera a moment.
“Some great sound bytes, Ringo,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “And speaking of amazing, may I say that you are an amazing human being as well.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said.
That’s when I got a bad vibe from Ringo. He wasn’t giving me an interview to be nice. He wanted to get into my pants.
Immediately.
“Why don’t we continue this interview back at my hotel suite,” said Ringo, turning on the charm. “There’s a great view of the Philly skyline from my hot tub.”
“Thanks, but I’ll have to pass,” I said, trying to keep the mood light. “I have to interview some other players.”
Ringo moved in closer. I backed away and found myself against the lockers. The room suddenly seemed small. I felt trapped and far away from the other players on the other side of the locker room.
“C’mon, Lexi,” said Ringo, mildly annoyed. “You just said I gave you some great sound bytes. At least have a drink with me.”
Ringo was a nice looking guy, professional athlete, but something about him just screamed “creep.”
“I’m sorry, Ringo, honestly,” I said. “Another time, maybe?”
He punched a locker, not enough to do damage it, but enough to startle me with the noise.
“Bitch, what’s wrong with you?” he snapped.
Ah. There it is. Creep.
“I’m about to win a Super Bowl and you don’t want to get with this?” he said, incredulous. “After I do you a favor? C’mon, now.”
“You just called me a bitch.”
“Well, stop being one and at least have the drink. Damn.”
“I think you’re very attractive, but—”
“Damn right I’m attractive! I’m a professional God damn athlete!” he pointed out, taking the shirt from around his neck. “Look at these abs. I am cut! Feel them muscles.”
“I don’t think I—”
Ringo grabbed my hand and rubbed it across his chest.
“You feel that? That’s some hard body shit! And you don’t want to get with this?!”
On the last sentence, Ringo moved toward me. It was really uncomfortable. Fortunately, Jackson Blake emerged from around the corner. The quarterback was the “old man” of the team. The veteran player had been in two Super Bowls, but had no rings. He was pushing himself past the limits this year. He wanted to end on a ring.
Jackson had what could only be described as “rugged good looks.” He was 31, white with brown hair and a full beard— in another time, he would’ve been a lumberjack or an explorer. He had started life as a small town farm boy, but made it big. There was still a lot of farm boy in him. He had a kind of soft spoken nobility that made most players listen to him.
“What’s going on here, Ringo?” asked Jackson, sounding like a scolding father.
“Fuck off, Blake. This don’t concern you,” Ringo said, visibly annoyed.
“This whole team conc
erns me,” corrected Blake.
“Yeah, well this ain’t high school. I don’t have to listen to your shit, QB.”
“I don’t want another incident, Ringo.”
Ringo exhaled in frustration, then turned around and got into Blake’s face.
“Yo, listen here,” started the angry Ringo. “I protect your ass out on that field, but I’ll damn sure kick your ass in here if you don’t get out of my face!”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” said Blake, standing his ground.
Things got tense for a minute, then Carey Ellis rounded the corner. After four seasons on the Sea-Eagles, he was now the star player. He was a massive African American with a completely bald head. At 26, he had the world by the tail and would let everyone know it, in a fun way.
“What’s going on over here, QB?” asked Carey, turning the corner. “Ringo stinking up the place?”
Kyle Fowler trailed in behind Carey. At 23, he looked like some college kid who had snuck into the stadium and stole a football uniform. Less gregarious than his colleagues, he hovered in the room, waiting for his moment. He was a lean black kid with a short fro and kind eyes.
“What is this? Gang up on Ringo Day?” demanded Ringo.
“Why you gotta do this?” asked Kyle quietly. “We on the same team, my brother.”
“You call me brother after what you did?” snapped Ringo.
“I told you, I didn’t know you were dating Tina. She came on to me,” insisted Carey. “You know how it is. We’re on the road, women throw themselves at us all the time, man!”
“C’mon, man,” added Kyle. “You need to move past this.”
“You move past it, Kyle!” snapped Ringo. “Y’all are against me, but I’m wise to you motherfuckers. Never forget, I’m the key to this team!”
“Last time I checked, I was the quarterback, Ringo,” said Jackson. “And Ellis is the star now.”
“Yeah, because of politics!” snapped Ringo.
“Oh, grow up, man! You had a problem. And you brought it on the field!” corrected Jackson.
“I was still performing!”
“Not like before,” said Kyle. “Stats don’t lie.”
“Is that why y’all gotta cockblock me with this honey?” said Ringo, gesturing to me.
“Look at her, Ringo! She’s scared of you. And she’s a reporter!” said Carey. “Sure, she’s hot, but you can’t date in the workplace, man.”
“We all know what you did to that cheerleader,” reminded Jackson.
“I was just talking to her!” insisted Ringo.
“Yeah, talking to her until she started crying,” said Kyle.
Attacked from all sides, Ringo finally decided to give up the ghost. He looked back at me, and, seeing that I still wasn’t interested, stepped away.
“Y’all whacked,” he concluded. “I don’t need this bullshit. Got plenty of ladies on my jock.”
Ringo brushed past his teammates as dismissively as possible. I was thinking at this point, I should probably just leave. The players looked pretty mad in my direction.
“Guys, I’m so sorry,” I began. “I’ll just go.”
“It’s fine,” assured Jackson. “It’s not you we’re mad at. Ringo’s always been a handful.”
“The guy just can’t get out of his own way,” said Carey, looking after Ringo and shaking his head sadly.
“Look, some of the stuff that’s said, you can’t print that or broadcast that,” Jackson said. “It would really hurt the team and Ringo’s already been punished for it.”
“I didn’t have my camera on. What I did film with Ringo was actually really good,” I said. “Would be great if I could get an interview with you guys too.”
“What network are you with?” asked Kyle.
“Sports Ring. My name’s Lexi Aaron.”
“Sports Ring? I never even heard of that,” said Carey.
“They’re new,” said Jackson, half laughing. “I don’t even know how they let you in here.”
“I’m tenacious and a huge Sea-Eagles fan. You guys, as my dad would say, are doing God’s work,” I added. “He is just about the biggest Sea-Eagles fan ever.”
“We should sign a ball for him,” suggested Carey.
“Oh, my God, that would be amazing!” I gushed.
“Why don’t we get cleaned up first? Can you hang?” asked Jackson.
“Yeah, great. Tell you what. I’ll buy you guys dinner, we can relax and do a laid back interview. Sound good?” I suggested.
“I’m starving and I can eat two meals at once on a bad day,” said Kyle. “You sure you want to feed three football players?”
“Sports Ring gives me a per diem,” I smiled. “It’s all good.”
“All right, then it’s a date,” said Jackson. “We’re gonna get cleaned up. Just hang out here and if Ringo comes back, we should be in shouting distance.”
“Is he that bad?” I asked.
“Not that we’ve seen,” assured Jackson. “He just acts very intimidating towards women sometimes.”
“I’ve seen guys like him before,” said Carey. “They’re all full of themselves, but insecure deep down. They gotta swing their, pardon me, dick around to impress everyone. But really, everyone’s just annoyed by them.”
“Yeah,” added Kyle.
As tense and as creepy as it was talking to Ringo, it was pleasant and relaxing talking to Jackson, Carey and Kyle. I was so caught up in the conversation, I almost followed them right into the shower. I quickly backed away before I embarrassed myself, although I caught a glimpse of Jackson’s magnificent ass as he threw aside his towel going into the shower. Professional athletes really just have the best bodies.
“You mind if I just look around out here?” I asked the guys.
“You can look, but don’t touch,” said Jackson. “My locker is the third down.”
I spotted Jackson’s cubby hole. It was neat, orderly and contained all equipment. Some of the guys had pictures of their wives and kids. Not Jackson— he had been divorced three years ago. His sweaty jersey was on the bench nearby. It was so close I got a wif of it. I knew it would seem weird to admit to anyone out loud— so I wouldn’t, but, it smelled amazing. God, it was addicting. Sweating. Manly. It filled my head and made me stagger a little.
“You okay?” asked Jackson from the shower.
I came to my senses while shaking my head. I was glad he couldn’t read my mind.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I assured him, taking a step toward the shower.
It was at that moment I really pushed my luck. I look a quick peek into the shower. There was a privacy screen, so all I could see were soapy feet and hard bodies from the chest up. Still, it was a good view. For a second, I thought Carey made eye contact with me, but I looked away and pretended to be interested in another locker. No way he saw me.
“Look at me,” I said to myself quietly. “My first professional gig at Sports Ring and I’m acting like a high school girl in the boys’ locker room.”
Being around guys my own age was a welcome change. I had been taking care of my father for the last five years, basically since I got out of high school. I guess this was the down side of being a virgin at 23. All the wildness and horniness I would’ve gotten out of my system in high school and college was finally bubbling up.
But we were all adults. It was fine to be attracted to good looking men, right? I wasn’t doing anything wrong by thinking that, was I? And it wasn’t like anything was going to happen at dinner. We were just going out as a group.
Chapter 2 – Carey
So I was in the shower after talking to this hot reporter from Sports Ring, right? As always, Ringo had to start some shit and Jackson had to calm him down. Kyle and I backed him up and, long story short, the hot reporter asked us all out to dinner. There was something about this girl. I had to get to know her and I was hoping she’d want to get to know me. Sure enough, early into the shower I caught her taking a peek at us!
“Yo, Jackson,
Kyle,” I whispered. “I think Lexi’s sneakin’ a peek at this.”
“No one wants to see your dirty old junk, Carey,” joked Kyle.
“I don’t want her to get scared and think it’s an anaconda,” I joked back. “But seriously, did you catch the vibe between us? I’m thinking maybe you guys do me a solid and forget about dinner.”
“Hell to the no,” said Jackson determined. “The vibe you’re sensing is between me and Lexi. That much is clear.”
“Pfff, you’d better get those glasses checked, old man,” I said, half joking. “Did you see that hair flip? That hair flip was in my direction.”
“Uh, not at the angle I was standing,” insisted Jackson. “Besides, we just told her a story of how you were fighting over a girl with Ringo. She has to assume you’re still with her.”
“No one’s gonna make that assumption,” I insisted. “That’s stupid. That’s a stupid assumption.”
“C’mon, the implication is clear. If you were fighting over a girl?”
“But that was Ringo.”
“She don’t know Ringo like we do.”
“You’re trippin’ Jackson,” I insisted. “What makes you think she’s into you?”
“First off, I’m the quarterback. That’s like being the lead singer of the band.”
“I’m the star halfback. That’s like being the lead guitarist!”
“Yeah, but that’s not the order,” assured Jackson. “It’s lead singer first, then guitarist.”
“What am I?” asked Kyle.
“You’re like a… drummer,” said Jackson.
I had to laugh at that. Jackson could be funny when he wanted to be.
“A drummer? Are you shittin’ me?” said Kyle, sounding a little outraged.
“What? Drummers get pussy all the time,” assured Jackson.
“No, way,” said Kyle.
“All right, you’re gonna stand there and tell me that the drummer for Metallica doesn’t get chicks?” asked Jackson.
“Not over the singer and the guitarist!” said Kyle. “I’m like the last guy left in the band!”
“No,” I pointed out. “That’s the bassist. No one gives a shit about the bassist. Except Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers.”
Triple Pass: An MFMM Reverse Harem Romance Page 68