by Abbey Foxx
“Come on I’ll show you to your room.”
Three.
Lucy
Talk about an identity crisis, or personality complex, or whatever you want to call it. Talk about throwing your toys out of the pram when things don’t go your way. What an asshole, I mean, seriously. I’m Alex Vann Haden, I’m the most famous quarterback in the world and I don’t like being in the public eye because people say nasty things about me. Boo hoo. Me me me me me. If he wasn’t such an asshole, if he didn’t threaten press, get into fights at nightclubs, disrespect his manager, get banned for violent conduct, and bed hop quite as much as he does, there wouldn’t even be a problem. Now he’s realized that taking himself out of the public eye makes him lonely, he wants to give up the sport entirely. I mean, come on. Grow the fuck up. If you want to be a football player, your whole life is going to be scrutinized. You can’t think you’re the whole team, even if you are, you can’t act like you’re untouchable, because no player is like that.
Twenty-seven years old and he still wants to go out and party, fuck as many women as possible, be rude and arrogant and immature and have the whole world love him for it. Alright, not for the last five years. Not since he basically told them all to fuck off because they were saying nasty things about him. I can’t say he doesn’t deserve it. If he’s lonely, it’s his own fucking fault. And now he wants me to convince the world he’s not an asshole, that he wants me to write some kind of super article about the real Alex Van Haden so he can be resurrected like Lazarus and come back to claim his title as the golden child of football.
And then drink and screw his way to retirement, with every single press reporter writing glowing reviews about just how brilliant he is, based solely on my shitty magazine’s article. Either he really has changed and he’s keen on a comeback or too much time alone has made him deluded. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of convincing to make the world think that he’s changed his ways.
This is the player that was banned for eight weeks for trying to get into the white house. He was almost shot for that and lucky that he wasn’t. This is the player who has had not one but two pregnancy claims by former high-profile female celebrities both of which ended in expensive payouts and press coverups.
This is the man that’s nicknamed The Rhino, not just for his physique, but mostly because of his gigantic horn, that is constantly hard and constantly erect and which he seems to lead with into most of his often very short relationships.
No-one else in the history of football has had such a bad reputation. Not even his home fans can stand him, despite the fact he’s led their team to three Superbowl wins. He was only given MVP because there was no one else even close for the four years he won it.
There is no doubting he is the best player playing currently in the football league but even more clear than that is the fact that Alex Vann Haden is arrogant, dislikeable and always constantly in trouble. And that’s saying something for a man who is never seen in public apart from when he’s on the football field.
This is the man that wants me to write the truth about him. This is the man that ignored me in college, that has shunned journalists for years and has now invited me to his private residence. And beyond all of that, and despite who he is and what he has done, this is the man that makes my insides go all gooey and my brain and other delicate parts of my body all fizzy.
Typical isn’t it? I seem to have a tendency to go for bad boys and terrible men. He’s slept with so many women he has to be infected. I don’t want that. Why do I want that? Yet I can’t stop thinking about The Rhino’s horn. I can’t stop thinking about who he really is underneath his bad boy exterior, and whether he’s actually serious about retiring, or threatening it at least, or serious about being lonely, or whether this is a gigantic fuck you to the press after five years of silence, just because it’s a game for him.
I don’t doubt he’s capable of that. The first interview in five years just to throw people a hooky ball. Bad boys don’t change, I’m old enough and wise enough to know that. Leopards don’t change their spots, and Rhinos don’t lose their horns, unless someone comes along and saws them off.
My room is bigger than my apartment. It has a wall of glass that gives a panoramic view of the sea, a retractable roof, a bathroom with a bath big enough to swim in, a bed that I don’t want to get up from, and a piece of artwork hanging on the wall I think is an original Picasso.
I get the tour. Bedrooms after bedrooms, none of which look like they’ve ever been used, bathrooms, reception rooms, kitchen, cinema, swimming pool, gym, terrace and patio, the works. The works +1 actually. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Alex shows me his room too, just so I know where to come if I want to find him. I’m momentarily surprised to see it clean and ordered, but then realize there must be a team of waiting staff to fulfill his every desire. I expect he has a legion of women at his disposal whenever he feels a little horny too.
The whole building sits in a complex with landscaped gardens, Alex suggests we explore over the coming days, on a rock that is big enough to not be able to see from one side to the other. I am casually informed there are beaches that disappear gradually into clear blue water and the fact that I haven’t brought my bathing costume is not a cause for concern. I assure Alex that skinny dipping is definitely not on the cards, and he gives me that we’ll see look he pulls off so well.
I shower, and then I get in the bath as well, just because I can’t resist it. It’s been a long day already and having the warm water soak into my skin feels every bit as luxurious as it sounds.
Here, as I begin to relax into the heat of the water, I start to think about my interviewee.
Alex Vann Haden. The Rhino. The meathead, star athlete asshole. It would be a shame for the world of sport if he retired, even for those who openly hate him. Maybe the key is finding a balance. Maybe what Alex really needs to do is stop being such a dick and hope the world embraces him. Bad boys are fine. We need bad boys. I love bad boys. Assholes are not. Nobody needs arrogant alpha holes in their life, not even lonely reporters who might struggle with their advances. You know, if they were, in the unlikeliest of all scenarios, to make advances upon them.
Maybe he just needs someone serious to keep him on the straight and narrow. Sex is one thing, a relationship is another, and this girl does not suffer fools gladly, no matter how thick their arms are, how sexy their eyes, how cute their bum or how big and hard and insistent their horns.
Alex
Women are so transparent sometimes. They think they’re not but they are. I wouldn’t consider myself an expert, but I don’t think you have to be. This isn’t a work environment so there’s no need to be formal, yet Lucy’s dressed up. She’s put on something special for dinner, something I know she thinks that I’ll like. She looks good too, really good.
“Are we beginning?”
“I thought we already had.”
“It’s just, I’m a little lost without my notepad.”
“It wouldn’t suit the dress.”
“This is your plan?”
“I don’t have a plan.”
“Bombarding me with compliments so I change my opinion of you.”
“One compliment isn’t a bombardment, unless, and I hope this isn’t the case, that nobody ever compliments you, and two, reporters shouldn’t have already formed an opinion about someone they plan to write an article about.”
Lucy jabs her fork at me accusingly.
“It’s not going to work.”
“This job?”
“Your charm offensive.”
“You’ve got me mistaken.”
“It’s going to take more than a few compliments and posh looking food to convince me of that. What is this by the way?”
Lucy pushes the bluefin tuna around her plate.
“Fish.”
She slices into the succulent fillet and delivers the forkful to her mouth, barely needing to chew. Watching women eat is sexy. Some peopl
e probably think that’s weird but it’s always turned me on. Lucy does it well. She’s got plump lips I’d call full fat that look like they’d be fun to kiss, even more exciting wrapped around my cock. She’s only been here a few hours and she’s already making me think like that.
“So, The Rhino.”
“I’ve never liked that nickname.”
“Coming from you, that surprises me.”
“You know why they call me it?”
“I always thought it had to do with the size of your, what’s it called, brain.”
I smile, while Lucy delivers another tender slice of tuna to her mouth.
“But I know why they really call you it, so don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Everyone knows it’s because you’re rarely seen in the wild anymore.”
“That’s funny.”
Lucy smiles at me with her gorgeous round eyes.
“This is good.”
“I have a good team.”
“They don’t mind living here, in the middle of nowhere?”
“Not with the amount I pay them.”
“You like it then. This.”
“It has its ups and downs.”
“I can’t do this honestly if you don’t answer honestly.”
“I told you we should start tomorrow.”
“So what do we do tonight?”
“Why don’t you tell me about you.”
Lucy has to hold back a laugh. “Uhuh. That’s definitely not going to happen.”
“I need to know I can trust you, there has to be a bit of give and take, surely.”
There’s that look again. The narrowing of the eyes, the quick decision about whether she can trust me. She pauses dramatically to drink from her glass of wine and I take the opportunity to fill the gap in conversation.
“I want this to flow like a natural conversation between two people who are getting to know each other.”
“One, this article is about you, not me, and two, this isn’t a date.”
I lean back into my seat, smiling.
“You know that’s a classic tell.”
“What is?”
“Saying this isn’t a date.”
She rolls her eyes. “Alright. What do you want to know?”
“Just like that?”
“Ask away.”
I’m blocked. I don’t know what to ask.
“See. It isn’t easy is it?”
“Alright. Why did you come?”
“Because you asked me to.”
“You could have refused.”
“Refuse a week’s paid holiday? No chance.”
“Is that what this is for you?”
“What this is for me is an opportunity, I’m not blind to that. What I don’t understand is why you picked me, of all the journalists across the States, you chose me, a nobody.”
“I admire your work.”
“My fascinating interviews with non-professionals.”
“I thought you might be honest.”
“That could be dangerous for you.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon.”
“I have a question.”
“You never stop working do you?”
“Have you ever brought a girl here you didn’t intend to fuck?”
Wow. Either that wine is stronger than I thought or her will is. Nothing like getting to the point straight away, I like that.
“Would you think I was an asshole if I told you no?”
Lucy tilts her head at me and smiles.
“No, I’d just think you were lying.”
“You mean you?”
“No, I don’t mean me.”
I’m almost certain she’s going red.
“Lots of women want to fuck me, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“If your plan is to make me think you’re not an asshole, you’re going in the wrong direction.”
“So, deny it.”
“I’m not playing this game.”
“That’s not an adequate response.”
“I’m not the one with inadequate intentions.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“You brought me here because you intended to fuck me?”
“I brought you here so you’d write an article about me, I can’t help it if women find me irresistible.”
“If this was a date I’d leave right now.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Are you even aware how arrogant you sound?”
“Sorry, I’m a little rusty with the outside world.”
“Conceited.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not here because I want to fuck you.”
“Then I guess you’ll be famous as the one who managed to refuse.”
“It’s not easy to refuse if you’re paying them.”
“Ouch.”
“I don’t find you attractive anyway.”
“You don’t like big men?”
Lucy gives me a look she disguises as dismissive.
“I like big men, but I wouldn’t describe you that way.”
She’s had her eyes all over me since she got here.
“How would you describe me?”
“Lost. Immature. Rude.”
“That’s no way to treat your host.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“Well hopefully we can change your opinion of me.”
“That might be hard if you continue trying to hit on me.”
“You’d know if I was hitting on you, this is just us having a conversation.”
“This is how you conduct all of your conversations? You’ve been on your own way too long.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“I told you, I’m not your therapist.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m not your date either.”
I let that statement hang in the air while I refill her glass with wine.
“I’m going to make a bet with you”, I say.
“Reporters don’t make much money. Nowhere near as much as football players.”
“I make less than I did now that my sponsors have pulled out.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“You’d understand if they were camped outside of your house every day.”
“You know I’m one of those people.”
I smile. “Scum of the earth.”
“Someone’s got to do it.”
“By the end of this week, your opinion of me will have changed.”
“That’s it?”
I shrug. “That’s it.”
“We’ll see.”
“You know, I can’t change a closed mind.”
“You’ve got a hell of a lot of work to do to convince me.”
“What did I ever do in the first place to make you feel so strongly one way or the other?”
Lucy leans back in her chair. “Oh, you mean beyond the threats to colleagues in my profession?”
“You can’t hold yourself accountable for the protection of journalists worldwide, as though they're a protected species under your sole care. You know, like rhinos.”
I get rolled eyes at that before she ignores me and continues anyway.
“You’ve never endeared yourself to me.”
“You’ve never made an attempt to get to know me.”
Lucy’s eyes go wide and she leans towards me over the table. “You haven’t exactly made access easy.”
Two glasses of wine and I’m feeling ready to break the ice here. I was going to leave it a little longer, but now feels like the right moment to do it. She might be pleading to go home tomorrow after all.
“You have never been that interested.”
“Please.”
Now I’m the one leaning. “You don’t remember me do you?”
“Remember you?”
Lucy gives a stifled laugh, looks away and then back again and her
eyes tell a story of a million words.
“What’s there to remember? An asshole jock so self-involved he pushed everyone else away.”
She does remember me. Fucking hell. I’m not the only one with a secret here. I lean back in my chair and let the truth manifest itself between us. I’m a little shocked. Quite a lot shocked actually. This could be good, or it could be very bad indeed.
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me coming from you.”
“I didn’t think-.”
“Is that why you brought me here?”
“Are you upset with me?”
Lucy’s shaking her head. “I can’t believe you knew.”
“What difference does it make if I did?”
“All that time.”
“It’s a long time ago, maybe you’re misremembering.”
“I wasn’t the one who spent it in a drunken haze.”
“You were too busy with your nose in your book to pay attention to what was going on around you.”
“I was working hard on my career, Writing about you actually.”
“You were shutting yourself away.”
“Says the man who lives on a private island in the middle of nowhere.”
“At least I have an excuse.”
“Yeah, that you’re an arrogant and conceited asshole that thinks the world has nothing to offer them.”
Wow, now I’m definitely sure that’s the wine talking.
“Can I quote you on that?”
“You could if you talked to anyone in the real world.”
“Thank you for being honest.”
“Isn’t that what you brought me here for? Or was it really to see if you could fuck me? What are you doing, going through the yearbook one by one and you’ve finally got to the last person still standing?”
Lucy almost can’t resist laughing at her own joke.
“You look cute when you're angry, I remember that.”
“You’re thinking about someone else.”
“Not right now.”
Those hands go up in the air again, so quickly she almost knocks over her wine. “First line, Alex Vann Haden, notorious womanizer, still hasn’t changed his ways. This reporter had to fight him off only hours after their first meeting.”