The Woman in the News

by K. N. Casper

  The crowd went berserk. The Coyotes were ahead by a single point. Everyone was breathing hard. The Rams’s Slim Brenner had the ball. He dodged to the side and passed it to Stretch. Ty knocked the ball away. One of the Rams grabbed it and dribbled down the court. Slim was waiting, caught the pass, took two dribbles, spun to his right, spotted Stretch and hit him with a perfect bounce pass. Ty tried to block him, but his smaller six-foot-six opponent was quicker. Slim’s shot was launched with perfect rotation toward the rim. For an eternal minute the packed gymnasium was nearly silent. Then the ball ripped through the net, like a dagger through the hearts of the TUCS fans.

  Fifteen seconds remained. TUCS called their last time-out. Half the crowd cheered; the other half prayed.

  Ty inbounded the ball, then worked behind his teammates’ defensive screen. Slim was guarding him, holding him, and the referee let him do it. With a sharp elbow to Slim’s midsection, Ty broke away and took a pass from Tommy Remington. The clock was down to five seconds.

  The crowd was on its feet now and screaming.

  Ty decked Slim with a fake to the right, then darted left to the basket. He drew contact from Stretch and two other Ram players but got off a shot three feet from the basket. The ball bounced high, skipped off the backboard, then landed suspended on the front of the rim.

  The clock showed :01.

  The crowd lurched forward in hopes, in anticipation.

  Finally, as this moment in time evaporated, the ball fell in. TUCS had just won a thriller.

  The buzzer-beating basket caused an explosion. Fans jumped up and down in the stands. Voices shouted. Horns blared. Cowbells clanged. Men and women let out whistles that threatened to shatter eardrums. TUCS students flowed out of the stands onto the floor. Security was helpless to control them and after a few minutes stopped trying.

  Marlee climbed on top of her chair and waved to Wayne in the upper reaches of the stands to join her. He was already threading his way down, his camera and tripod hoisted on his shoulder.

  “Come on,” Marlee yelled, as soon as he arrived.

  She pushed her way through the mob and crossed the court toward the Coyote locker rooms. Everybody was shouting and screaming. Turning her head only enough to make sure Wayne was still behind her, she circumvented the compact mob that had gathered around the jubilant team.

  The narrow passage between the locker rooms was only slightly cooler, as air was sucked through ventilation ducts.

  “Position yourself at the end by the exit. No, wait.” She ran into the unused ladies’ locker room, searched around and grabbed a folding chair. After dragging it outside, she braced it in the corner near the back door at an angle, so it was unlikely to get knocked over. “Climb up on this. I want you to catch the team as they come toward the locker room.”

  Wayne stowed the tripod on the floor against the wall and quickly mounted the creaky wooden chair. “Gotcha.”

  “Do you have a fresh tape in?”

  He heaved the minicamera onto his shoulder and fiddled with the Nikon lens to get the focus just right for the narrow area. “I put one in just before the final play.” He looked through the viewer. “Lighting’s not very good. I’ll have to use my halogen.”

  “Whatever. This isn’t the big shot, anyway—just a diversion. I wonder if the lights in the men’s locker room are better than in the women’s.”

  Wayne’s eyes went wide. “You’re not considering—Marlee, I don’t think that’s a real good idea.”

  She wouldn’t be the first woman to barge into a men’s locker room. The Coyotes just weren’t used to being treated like pros.

  “Stay close to me when we go in and keep your camera rolling. We can edit out anything that—”

  A change in the volume of the noise cut off her last words. A moment later, a long line of adrenaline-hyped males streamed into the congested passageway.

  “Now,” Marlee said, just loud enough for Wayne to hear.

  She moved forward and had to practically shout into her wireless microphone. “There’s no denying the euphoria that possesses this team or the adulation they have for their star player. Ty Jameson saved the day in the last two seconds of this crucial game against the Angelo State Rams, their traditional conference rivals, and no matter what the future may bring, this day is his, and his alone.”

  Coach Dreyfus brushed along the wall as the players hurried past him.

  “Are you satisfied with the game your boys played this evening, Coach?” she called out.

  He hesitated. His place was with the team, but few public figures could resist the allure of a camera. He turned on his smile, genuine, not plastic, and beamed at her. “You bet.”

  “Do you think you have a shot, then, at the conference championship next week in Abilene?”

  “No doubt in my mind. None whatsoever.”

  The brief exchange gave a newspaper writer and the sports reporter from the San Angelo TV station time to join them and follow up with a series of questions. Marlee didn’t even hang around for the sound bites. She skirted the pack, dragged Wayne with her and slipped into the alcove leading to the locker-room door.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Wayne didn’t sound happy.

  Sure? No, she wasn’t sure, but she was determined. Renn told her to be bold, aggressive and dramatic.

  “Roll ’em” was her only reply.

  Prentice shook his head, took a deep breath and put his finger on the trigger. She placed the flat of her hand on the door and pushed.

  The noise inside was every bit as loud as the cacophony outside—until someone saw her.

  “Jeez, lady.” The room went quiet as everyone turned to face her. There was a sudden flutter of white towels as naked males scrambled to cover themselves.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Ever heard of the ten-minute cooling-off period?”

  “Can’t you read? This is the men’s locker room! You’ve got no right to be in here. Get the hell out.”

  The guy she was after was only a few feet away, imposingly tall, his dark, broad-shouldered body glistening with sweat.

  “Ty,” she said with a coolness she certainly didn’t feel. Actually, she didn’t want to dwell on what she was feeling at that moment. She’d never gone in for beefcake pinups, but what she was looking at was definitely not two-dimensional. “You played a fantastic game this evening, the perfect end of the season. What do you—”

  “Speaking of perfect—” another player moved in front of her, a towel immodestly dangling at his hip “—if you’re writing a feature article, sweetheart, and want an exposé—” he grinned lecherously “—I’m your man.”

  She gazed up at his face and slowly scanned down his bare chest, his flat belly… Oh, yes, he had a very impressive physique. Her breathing caught and funny things were happening inside her. When her roaming eyes finally reached his knees, she reversed course. Everyone else, it seemed, had stopped breathing, too. She smiled sweetly at him. “Are you sure you want your shortcomings made public?”

  “Oooh,” chorused his teammates.

  “So that’s why they call you Tiny,” one of his buddies wisecracked. “Tiny” was nearly seven feet tall.

  He blushed all over, spread his towel strategically and attempted to withdraw to the back of the locker room, but his buddies refused to cooperate.

  “Hey, Tiny—” the one next to him drawled out the nickname “—that’s my towel.” He snatched it away and held out a washcloth. “Here. This ought to be enough to cover up your shortcomings.”

  Ribald guffaws and whistles sent the naked player scurrying red faced toward the showers.

  “Ma’am,” Ty muttered, as he looked down at her, “you really shouldn’t be in here.”

  The sincerity of his concern and the note of protectiveness touched her, but she ignored his polite invitation to leave and the embarrassment of some of his team members. At least, she tried to. It wasn’t easy.

  “You scored forty-se
ven points in the game tonight, breaking the TUCS record set by Gibson Turner in 1989. How do you feel about that?” She held up the mike for his reply.

  “I wasn’t thinking about any records,” he said modestly. “I just wanted to play my best.”

  “Still, you achieved a tremendous victory.”

  He smiled humbly, boyishly. “I didn’t do it alone, ma’am. Everyone on the team won tonight.”

  Was he intentionally trying to make her feel old by calling her “ma’am”? “Your next game is with Abilene. They were the conference champions last year with a record of sixteen and one. How do you think you’ll fare against them?”

  “We’ll win,” someone behind him called out. They all had towels held or knotted at their slender waists now and were hovering around Marlee. She felt remarkably at ease, as if they were all protective brothers, a strange sensation she didn’t fully comprehend, since she didn’t have any brothers. But the warmth infused her with a kind of elation.

  She looked up at Ty. “What about Conover?”

  “He’s tough,” the muscular twenty-one-year-old acknowledged. His broad flat chest was smooth and hairless. “Which means we’ll just have to play harder and smarter.”

  “Was the game plan to get you the ball tonight?” Marlee asked as a lead-in to her next question.

  “What the devil’s going on here?”

  Everyone turned to see Coach Dreyfus standing in the doorway. Barely six feet, he, too, was dwarfed by the strapping young athletes. His outstretched arm held the door open. Wayne doused his floodlight and took his finger off the Record button.

  “Lady,” Dreyfus barked, “you have no damn business being in here. There’s a mandatory ten-minute cooldown period for a reason. You’ve just violated a hard-and-fast conference rule by barging in here. Now, get the hell out before I call security.”

  “Just wanted to congratulate your team on their stunning victory tonight, Coach,” Marlee said, pasting a friendly smile on her face.

  He wasn’t impressed. “Out.” He stepped aside to let her pass.

  She moved unhurriedly. “Thanks for the interview, guys. And good luck in Abilene next week. We’ll be covering the game, of course.”

  “Or uncovering it, eh, Tiny?” someone quipped.

  The scowl on the coach’s face prompted her to maintain her forward momentum. “You can be real proud of them,” she said as she glided by. He didn’t soften.

  She left the locker room and heard the door close swiftly behind her.

  “Boy, is he ticked,” Wayne muttered, as he lowered the camera from his shoulder.

  “Is KNCS going in for skin flicks now?” Charlie Haskell, a sports reporter from San Angelo’s TV station sniped. He was one of a snickering group of people in the hallway, all male. She was tempted to retort with a cute comment about the guys in there being real gentlemen, until she realized he had his camera trained on her. Taking advice she was glad most people didn’t, she said nothing, didn’t even crack a smile.

  Realizing his taunt hadn’t worked, Charlie signaled his cameraman to cut.

  “Hey, Marlee, did you get any hot flashes…er…news flashes in there?” a print reporter asked in a loud voice.

  Chortles surrounded her, but she refused to acknowledge the ribbing.

  “I think I’ll check out the women’s locker room after the girls play Sunday afternoon,” someone in the crowd said.

  Marlee involuntarily stiffened. Surely her going in the men’s locker room wasn’t the same kind of threat….

  “We’ll take up a collection for your bail,” another guy called out.

  “The hell with bail,” a third person objected. “I just want to know how much he’ll charge for a copy of the tape.”

  “If the cops don’t confiscate it.”

  They all laughed, then settled down to wait for the team to emerge so they could interview them. Having beaten them to the punch and gotten what she needed, Marlee led Wayne out the back door.

  “Did you get everything?” she asked when she was sure they were out of earshot.

  “Except for the coach’s colorful language when he threw you out.”

  “He didn’t throw me out,” she countered, as they approached their van. “He invited me to leave.”

  Wayne was mirthful. “I have to hand it to you, Marlee. You got…well, the biggest pair of anyone in there. Pure shiny brass.”

  She had to laugh. “Gee, Wayne. You say the nicest things.”

  He smiled and grew serious. “The big question is what’s the boss going to say when he gets wind of this.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THAT SAME NIGHT, Faye took a satisfied breath and rested her head deeper into the fluffy down pillow. Beside her, Tag’s heavy panting slowed. In a minute he would be asleep. He was an energetic lover, sometimes a bit rough, even frightening, but that was part of the thrill. There definitely wasn’t anything soft about Tag Taggart. Yet it was at these moments, when he was spent and just a bit vulnerable, that she enjoyed most being with him. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  He smiled, content with himself. “What was the matter tonight? You didn’t come with me.”

  That he’d noticed surprised her. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken the trip by himself.

  She shrugged. “A little stressed-out, I guess. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.” When he didn’t respond, other than to fondle her left breast, she added, “Renn Davis wants to give Clark’s job to Marlee.”

  Tag stopped his kneading but didn’t remove his hand. “He’s been here what…six months? You’d think by now he would have figured out the pecking order.” He flicked his thumb over her tender nipple and opened his eyes. “It’s a no-brainer, Faye. You’re his boss. Tell him it’s me or no one.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  He propped himself up on one elbow and slid his hand between her legs. “We’re good together, Faye.” He smiled when she admitted his probing finger. “But I’m not going to play second fiddle around here anymore, certainly not to Marlee Reid. It’s my popularity that’s been carrying the sports segment. I’m the one who should have gotten the anchor job two years ago when Clark’s contract was up. Instead, you renewed him for another five years.”

  She was having trouble concentrating on egos and business negotiations when all she could relate to was his touch and what it was doing to her. Tag could be so good with those big strong hands of his when he wanted to be.

  “Clark was here a long time. An institution,” she managed to gasp. “He had a following…beloved by viewers.” She pressed herself harder against his palm. “He also had powerful friends. There was nothing… I couldn’t just…usher him…out the door…even for you.”

  Tag leaned over and captured her left nipple between his teeth and used his tongue to toy with the sensitive tip, while his finger invaded deeper. Her respiration hitched. Her heart pounded.

  He withdrew his hand. “There is now.”

  Air rushed out of her lungs, leaving her gasping.

  “The show’s worked well for both of you,” she reminded him after she’d caught her breath. “You’ve been paid very handsomely for twenty-seven minutes of airtime a week.”

  He banded a leg over her, pressing his restored arousal against her thigh. “Baby,” he murmured as he suspended himself above her, his lips curled, his eyes gleaming, “you know I’ve been worth every penny.” He probed against her. She guided him in. “You’ve gotten your money’s worth out of me.”

  Thinking was difficult with him filling her, moving almost languorously, building a spark into a fire, a fire into… She inhaled sharply when the first explosion burst inside her. He smiled, increased the tempo and pounded with renewed force that bordered on the painful. She cried out and tightened her grip on his back when the second wave nearly drowned her. He grunted a long guttural sound as he emptied himself, then collapsed on top of her. For a moment, his hard-toned body threatened to suffocate her, and she felt the
weight of panic. He let out an exhausted sigh and rolled off her.

  Again, they lay side by side. She wanted to curl up in the crook his arm, but this time he established distance, and she knew there would be no more physical intimacy between them—at least not for a while.

  “I’ve brought a lot to KNCS,” he said a minute later, and laced his fingers behind his head. “I’ve got firsthand, behind-the-scenes experience in the world of sports. I’m not just some spectator who talks the talk while second-guessing the guys who walk the walk. I’ve been there, done that. And I’ve taken awards—”

  Faye threw her legs over the side of the bed. For a moment, she’d thought they had been making love. Now she acknowledged it had been merely sex. Damn good sex, but…

  She shouldn’t complain. She knew all too well that lovemaking was a fantasy, that for men it always came down to the physical. And Taggart was all man, physically and temperamentally.

  “You don’t have to remind me.” She reached for the silk dressing gown on the chair by the window and flung her arms angrily into its sleeves. “I’ve heard it all before.”

  “Faye,” he called out, as she made her way to the bathroom.

  The edge in his voice had her involuntarily turning. He had his knees raised and spread enough to capture her attention. Oh, yes, definitely male and damn proud of it.

  “If you want me to hang around—” he grinned “—you’ll get me the anchor job.”

  “You agreed to stay on board for three years,” she reminded him, matching the stridency in his tone.

  His amber eyes squinted above the smile on his lips. “I don’t have a written contract, Faye. You’ve been around long enough to know a handshake doesn’t mean diddly in this business.”

  Was that a subtle hint about the six-year difference in their ages? Probably not—not consciously, at least. There wasn’t anything about Tag Taggart that was subtle. Unfortunately, what he said was true. Their unwritten agreement constituted intentions, not promises. If he chose to leave, there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could legally do about it.