by Julia Blake
“Well, you see, I was dancing with this girl at a bar,” he said.
“What kind of bar?” she asked, pulling her iPad from her purse, flipping the keyboard open, and setting it up next to a ketchup dispenser.
“Maybe bar is a little generous . . .”
“So you were in a strip club. Drunk?” He paused, so she pushed. “Just tell me. I can promise you it won’t be half as bad as some of the shit I’ve cleaned up in the past.”
“Okay then. The stripper—er, lady—and I danced our way to the club owner’s bathroom. We were getting real friendly when this guy came smashing in. That’s when the fight broke out.”
Rachel squeezed her eyes shut as the buzzer sounded through the concourse, signaling the end of the game. “You’re telling me that you got into a fight with a stripper’s boyfriend in a club while you were drunk because you were having sex in a bathroom?”
Her tone must’ve scared him because he answered with a proper, “Yes, ma’am.”
Fans started to stream out of the stands. She tucked her phone between her ear and her shoulder and typed a quick message to Kevin on her iPad telling him to meet her at the condiment stand.
“Is anyone injured?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Brock slowly.
“Anyone dead?”
He sputtered. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
“Information,” she snapped. “Hospital?”
“The boyfriend’s probably got a concussion.” Brock actually sounded proud. “A couple black eyes, and I think Cheney’s finger might be broken.”
“Cheney was with you?” The 315-pound center was Brock’s best friend and as gentle as a teddy bear off the field. Until Brock did something stupid, apparently.
“You should’ve seen him throw this bouncer—”
“No. You do not get to brag about anyone throwing bouncers. Where are you?” She was going to kill him if he didn’t manage to do it himself before she got to Texas.
“Where am I, boys?” she heard him ask slightly off microphone.
Her spine stiffened. “Brock?”
“Apparently I’m on I-30 heading to Baylor Medical,” he said.
“What? Do not tell me you’re in the back of an ambulance.”
“I might have cracked a rib. Doc’s going to check me out just to be on the safe side.”
“That is what you lead the conversation with, Brock!” she practically shouted. “Arrest or injury! We’ve talked about this!”
She could hear the cringe in his voice when he said, “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I’m your agent.” She was loud enough that she was drawing glances from a couple of fans. “This is what you pay me fifteen percent to do. I manage your career and run interference for you, and I can’t do that unless I know all of the details. Being in the back of an ambulance isn’t a detail. It’s a fucking headline!”
A long pause stretched over the phone. “I can see why you’re mad.”
“You think?” Brock had been one of her first running back signings nearly six years ago. He was now twenty-nine and getting toward the end of his career, but he still was an incredible blocker with the ability to slip through the smallest holes in any defense. And, despite his being an impulsive womanizer, she kind of liked the guy. When she didn’t want to strangle him.
Brock coughed. “You should also probably know that I might be arrested once I get out of the hospital.”
“You might be arrested?” she asked as Kevin walked up.
“An officer mentioned something about it,” said Brock.
Rachel snapped her iPad closed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get on the first plane to Dallas. In the meantime, I’m calling Shelley.” Brock groaned at the mention of the team’s head of communications. “You will do as she says, which includes but is not limited to keeping your paid-too-much-for-his-own-good ass in the hospital until I get there. If you can even leave. For all I know, you might be handcuffed to the bed.”
“But—”
“You will speak to no one except your doctor and your nurses, and then you will only speak to them about medical terms. No photos. No autographs. No bullshit. There’s no way video of the brawl hasn’t hit social media yet, but we’re going to try to contain and spin this as much as possible.”
“Does it really have to be Shelley?” he whined.
Kevin was watching her with wide eyes. She gave him a little half smile, but it was rendered useless by her next threat into the phone. “If you do not do as I say, I swear to God I will personally bring your mother down from Louisville. I’m sure a pastor will enjoy hearing her son explain what he was doing in a strip club brawl.”
Kevin’s eyes got even wider.
“Do you understand me, Brock?” she asked.
“I’ll do everything you say, just don’t let my mother find out and don’t let the team trade me.”
She hung up without another word and glanced at Kevin. “There’s a situation.”
“Did Brock Ward get into a fight at a strip club?” he asked, a little awestruck.
She grabbed him by the elbow and steered him toward the doors leading to the arena’s warren of private halls and offices. “Something you will never, ever do. Let’s start walking down.”
“But don’t you have to get to Dallas?” he asked.
She nodded as she dialed her assistant. Nathan answered on the second ring.
“Good, you’re up,” she said as she showed her pass to a waiting guard who waved Kevin and her through. “I’m sorry to do this, but I need to be on the next flight to Dallas. I don’t care which airport or where I sit on the plane, just get me there.”
“Got it,” he said without question.
She hung up and scrolled through her contacts until she got to Shelley Brier’s number.
Shelley picked up after one ring. “I just saw the video. Brock is an idiot.”
“Of the highest degree,” Rachel agreed.
“What do you need to me to do?”
Finally, someone who understood getting to the point and getting the job done. If only more of the sports industry were run by women.
“Brock’s on his way to Baylor Medical. The EMTs think it might be cracked ribs. Police are already talking about a bedside arrest.”
The other woman groaned. “Are you serious? I literally just put dinner on. Can’t these athletes do stupid things during business hours?”
“Tell him he owes you for ruining your night. Maybe he’ll flirt less when he’s on pain meds,” she said.
Shelley snorted. “That’ll be the day. Anything else I should know?”
“Stripper. Boyfriend. Cheney’s a little battered from the fight too.”
“Just what I need,” Shelley said with a sigh. “My whole weekend’s probably shot.”
“Like I said, they owe you one.”
Right as she hung up with Shelley, a text from Nathan popped up on her screen:
I got you on a flight out of Teterboro in three hours. Connect in Atlanta.
Quickly she texted back:
Have a courier grab my go bag. I’ll be at the airport by midnight.
When she looked up from her phone, Kevin was staring at her, worry etched on his face. “We don’t have to do this if you have to go,” he said.
She shook her head. “I’ve got thirty minutes. Let’s introduce you to Schneider. I think you’ll like him.”
Kevin perked up a bit. “It was awesome seeing him score the game winner.”
“I’m sure it was.” If only she’d seen it.
They turned into the locker room that smelled of many sweaty men—though Rachel hardly noticed anymore. There were still a few reporters hovering around some of the bigger-name guys, including Schneider. She stopped a few feet away from his scr
um and waited to catch his eye.
It only took a moment before the right winger gave her a nearly imperceptible nod. “Okay, guys. That’s all I’ve got for you tonight. My daughter’s waiting at home.”
Reporters started turning off their mics, and photographers lowered the cameras off their shoulders.
“Hey there, Rach,” Schneider greeted her with a gappy smile. He was missing two teeth—each knocked out in separate fights this season—and he’d already told her he had no plans to get them fixed until after the playoffs.
“Joseph, this is Kevin Loder,” she said. “He’s the NFL prospect I was telling you about,” she said.
Schneider stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
Kevin clasped his hand and pumped it a couple of times. “Great goal.”
“Thanks. It’s always good to wrap things up clean. Overtime can be a bitch.”
“I’ve got a couple calls I need to make,” she said. “Why don’t you guys talk for a bit while I step outside?”
The locker room was nearly empty of press when she slipped out and around the corner to lean against the gray-painted wall. As soon as she pulled her phone out, it started vibrating. She picked up the call before it could properly ring. “What’ve you got?”
“ESPN and all of the local stations and the newspapers are calling,” Shelley said by way of a greeting. “One of my team is trying to contact the person who posted the video to YouTube.”
“A cease and desist probably won’t do us any good at this point if it’s already everywhere,” she said.
“Way to look on the bright side, Rachel.”
She hooked her hair back behind her ears, wishing she had a band to pull it off her face. “Just being practical. I’ll be in the air around one a.m., but send what calls you need my way until then. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I’ll handle things. Just get yourself here.”
“Can’t wait,” she said before hanging up.
She checked her watch. 10:42 p.m. She needed to be on the road in a few minutes.
Her hair slipped into her face again, and she swatted at it. All of a sudden, a thin blue rubber band appeared before her eyes. She looked up. Nick.
“You again,” she said without even thinking of how rude it sounded.
He barked out a laugh. “Me again. And a rubber band. Looked like your hair was bothering you.”
She stared at it for a moment before gingerly plucking it out of his fingers. “Do you carry these around?”
“Sometimes they’re helpful when mics start slipping on podiums.”
“Does that make you the MacGyver of TV?” she asked.
He grinned. “Probably.”
She combed her fingers through her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. “Thanks.”
“Trouble with a client?”
Her eyes slid over to him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“I didn’t hear anything, if you’re worried about that. You just seem agitated.”
“If I tell you what’s going on, you have to report it, right?”
He nodded. “Unless it’s off the record.”
“But that won’t stop you from going around and trying to find another way to confirm whatever I tell you. Drum up a couple other sources, and suddenly I find one of my clients in an NYSN breaking news alert.”
“If you told me something newsworthy off the record, I’d stick to that, but you’re right,” he said. “I would try to figure out another way to report it.”
“In that case, new topic. What are you doing here?” she asked.
All that got her was a shrug. “This place is practically my second home.”
“I meant what are you doing lurking around in hallways? Shouldn’t you be in the locker room doing interviews?”
He looked away only for the briefest of moments, but it was enough.
“You aren’t working tonight,” she said. “You’re here because you thought I’d be here with Kevin.”
He spread his hands in front of him in a gesture of admission. “Guilty as charged. I was hoping to see you.”
“Why?” But then she shook her head. “You know what, don’t tell me. I have a million and one things going on and”—she glanced at her watch—“now I’ve got about ten minutes before I have to get in a car to the airport.”
“You’re leaving town?”
The disappointment in his voice pulled her up short. “Why do you care?”
His eyes narrowed, and he stepped into her personal space, sending her flush up against the wall she’d leaned one shoulder against.
“I care. I know you don’t trust me when I say that, but I do,” he said.
He was close enough that she could feel his breath hot against her lips. Standing over her like this, he was inescapable. Not that she wanted to escape. What she really wanted was to let her head fall back and enjoy the soft, heated kisses he could trail along her neck. She wanted him between her legs, his hard chest pressing against her, surrounding her completely. She wanted him to help her forget everything for just a moment. Turn off.
“I don’t trust reporters,” she said.
His lips twitched. “And I don’t trust agents, but I want to trust you.”
“Nick . . .” But the rest of her words fell away. She knew this was a bad idea. Anyone could round the corner at any moment and find her caged between the arms of a man at what was essentially her office away from work. That he was a reporter would make it even worse, especially given his reputation for dating a lot of women.
And yet she couldn’t move a muscle if she wanted to.
“I want to ask you something,” he said, his deep voice roughened.
She pressed her right palm flat against the concrete wall, desperate for something to ground her.
“What is it?” she asked.
He smiled again, his fingertips brushing back a strand of her hair she hadn’t swept back into her ponytail. “You won’t like it.”
“When has that stopped you before?”
He chuckled. “True. Will you go on a date with me?”
She started. “Nick. I—”
“I told you, you wouldn’t like it,” he said.
“Then why ask at all?”
“Because it’s what I want, and I think if you’ll let yourself be completely honest, it’s what you want too,” he said.
She was opening her mouth to reply when her phone rang. Nick’s hand fell to his side. She slid under his arm and away from him before blindly picking up her phone. “This is Rachel.”
“The courier has your go bag. He’ll meet you at the airport,” Nathan said on the other end. “I already ordered you an Uber and I got one for Kevin too. They should be waiting for you outside of the arena.”
She turned back to see Nick with arms crossed and watching her.
“Great,” she said to Nathan, her eyes never leaving Nick. “Get some sleep if you can. It’s going to be a long week.”
Nick tilted his head as she hung up the call. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine.”
He shook his head. “I’m here, and you’re over there, and that’s not fine.”
She stared at him, clutching her phone to her chest. “You can’t do this, Nick.”
He turned dark bedroom eyes on her. “Do what?”
He was going to make her name it. Say it out loud.
“You can’t take me out for dinner or kiss me on the street. You know that as well as I do,” she said.
“I’m asking for one date, Rachel. Just one.”
She smoothed a hand over the front of her dress, straightening invisible wrinkles in an attempt to delay the awkwardness of this conversation. “We work in high-stress industries. We’re bound to form some attachments that aren’t
really—”
“Stop.” The word tumbled from his lips, strangled and a little desperate. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know there’s something going on here. That kiss on Thursday night was not just stress or letting off steam or whatever you want to call it.”
Her lips parted just a fraction, but she couldn’t make herself say it—that it was nothing, just a kiss. Because he was right. The kiss had been soul stirring, fire stoking, lightning striking, monumental. It was the sort of kiss that teenage girls dream about when they’re lying in their rooms at night. It was what grown-up women give up on finding after they’ve kissed one too many frogs.
Approaching her cautiously, Nick put her hand in his. The press of his fingers against her skin felt good—too good. She itched to reclaim her hand and restore some of that armor she always wore around her, but giving in to that instinct would show him just how much power he had.
“Let me take you on a date. One that both of us agree is a date before it starts. Dinner. Wine.”
She arched a brow. “Conversation about something other than sports and work?”
He laughed, the fluorescent lights of the hallway catching some of the gold in those strands of hair. “We could try. What do you think?”
He was serious. Completely and utterly serious about a date. With her.
Yeah, but for how long? Louise’s story was still fresh. Nick dated around. He kept things casual. He didn’t take big leaps.
“No.” The word came soft and low from her lips, but there was steel behind her words. “I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration easy to read. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to keep her tone light. “Besides, how much trouble could you get into at work if you asked me out?”
“If I felt like I couldn’t fairly report a story, I’d hand over all the editorial decisions to my producer, Mindy,” he said.
“And your news director would be okay with that? Would Mindy?”
She could tell that he was struggling with the truth. She suspected that if he was honest with himself, it’d pose a real problem. If his judgment was clouded, he’d likely have to give the story to another reporter entirely.