Fair Play

by Mia Ford

  “See, Katie Holmes, Playboy Magazine. I’m a serious journalist.”

  She scoffed at the card. “Sure you are, honey. And I’m Oprah Winfrey. Pleased to meet you.”

  I tucked the card back into my purse and pushed the dark sunglasses to the top of my head. “Pleased to meet you, too, Oprah. You look amazing in person.”

  She smiled at me. I noticed the baby she was holding was suckling her breast, which she had pulled out from under the Kings t-shirt she was wearing.

  “That’s a beautiful baby,” I said. “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy,” she said, wincing. “That’s why he can’t just suck my nipple. He has to chew on it like a damn mouthpiece.” She stuck out her free hand for me to shake. “Monique Broyles. Soon to be Monique Lewis.”

  “Oh, are you marrying someone on the team?” I asked, shaking her hand. I wasn’t just asking to be nice. A story was forming in my mind. Football baby mamas…

  “I’m marrying Leon Lewis, number 10” she said, nodding at a very large black man who was looking our way. “This is our third son, Leon Junior.”

  “Wow, congratulations,” I said.

  “Congratulations on having three kids with him or on finally convincing his big ass to marry me?”

  I blinked at her. “Uh, congrats on both, I guess?”

  “Thanks.” She rocked the baby and eyed me for a moment, as if she was assessing if I were friend or foe. “Are you really doing an interview? Or are you just looking to add Sean to your fuck-it list?”

  “I’m sorry, my what…?

  “Your fuck-it list,” she said, giving me a snarky look. “You know, the list of famous men you wanna fuck?”

  I started to stammer. “Um, well, see, I don’t have a fuck-it list.” I gave her a goofy smile. “Should I?”

  “I did, and look where it got me,” she said, giggling. “Look, honey, it’s none of my business what you do, but Sean Donovan has enough women crawling up his leg to get to that big old cock of his. Sean’s a good guy and Leon’s best friend, but if he’s not careful, his fucking and partying is gonna get him kicked off the team.”

  My mental note-taker kicked into high gear. I took on a concerned look and asked, “So, he parties a little too much and it’s affecting his game?”

  She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Does Oprah eat too much bread?” she asked. “That boy is out every night at the clubs, drinking, smoking dope, doing coke. He goes home with a different woman every night. It’s a wonder he ain’t done died of AIDS or OD’s or something.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Wow, I had no idea it was that bad…”

  “That ain’t the half of it, honey.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You did not hear this from me, but if Sean doesn’t straighten his ass out and do it quick, they’re gonna give Denzel Lockett his spot and trade Sean off to Minnesota or someplace.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, hoping she would agree to be a quoted source in the article that I was already writing in my head.

  “Like I said, Leon is Sean’s best friend and he tries to look out for Sean. The coach told Leon that Sean’s job was on the line, hoping Leon could get him to straighten up.”

  “So, if Sean Donovan doesn’t stop partying and sleeping around…”

  “He’ll be freezing his long cock off in Minnesota before the season even starts,” she said, giving me a definite nod. She put a finger to her lips. “But you did not hear that from me.”

  Kate

  Katie Holmes was almost busted!

  I was waiting at the back gate for Sean to appear when I saw Madge Sinclair, his PR rep, pulling into the lot. I knew if Madge spotted me, my little ruse would be over and my chances of getting to know Sean better would be gone.

  I mean, my chance to do the exposé on him…

  Not get to know him better…

  Fuck…

  Whatever!

  I ducked quickly ducked behind a black Cadillac Escalade and held my breath until she passed. I peered around the back of the SUV just in time to see her talking to Sean, who had emerged from the clubhouse carrying his workout bag. They hugged and chatted for a moment, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  Shit, if he told her he had an interview lined up she’d want to tag along. Or she would kill the interview outright.

  I listened to my heart beating in my ears as I spied on them. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, they hugged again and Madge walked on into the team offices while Sean headed my way.

  I blew out a long breath and tried to recover from the mild panic attack I had while watching them. By the time Sean emerged through the gate, I had regained most of my composure. I stepped out from behind the SUV and gave him a little wave.

  “Hey, sorry about that,” he said with a smile. “You ready to go?”

  “I am,” I said happily.

  “Good, my truck is over there,” he said, pointing with his keys in his hand. “Follow me.”

  I followed him to a brand new, black Ford Raptor pickup that looked like something out of Terminator. It had huge tires and chrome rims, and a grill that looked like it could eat its way through traffic.

  He threw his bag into the truck bed, then pressed the keyfob to unlock the doors. He opened the passenger door and took my hand to help me climb up into the truck.

  I got myself situated in the seat, which felt like a plush leather recliner, and snapped the seatbelt. Sean came around to climb into the driver’s seat. He started the truck and drove slowly out of the lot. The truck growled and threw me back in the seat when he pulled onto the highway and put his foot to the gas.

  “This is some truck,” I said, looking around the cab, which was a hundred times nicer than my Honda Civic.

  “I’m from Texas,” he said, flexing his eyebrows at me. “We love big trucks.”

  “Obviously,” I said with a smile. “Was that Madge Sinclair you were talking with?”

  “Yeah, do you know Madge?”

  I lied, just a little. “I know of her. Did you tell her you were having lunch with me?”

  He frowned and shook his head.

  “No, Madge doesn’t like me talking to reporters,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If I told her I was having lunch with you she would have wanted to tag along. And I wanted to have you all to myself.”

  “Well, that’s… nice,” I said.

  I was having a hard time focusing on the topic at hand because our pseudo-sex from the night before kept running through my mind. I decided to address the 800-pound gorilla to get it out the way.

  I said, “Listen, about last night…”

  “I’m really sorry about that,” he said with an embarrassed sigh. “I was drunk and I got carried away. I hope you can forgive me. I’m usually not like that… Well… I am, but…”

  “I was going to apologize to you,” I said with a grin.

  “You were?” He chuckled and slapped his palms on the steering wheel. He held out his right hand for me to shake. “Well, I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine.”

  “Deal,” I said, shaking his hand. Every nerve in my body sat up and took notice when his fingers closed around mine. I slowly tugged my hand from his and looked out the windshield to change the subject.

  “So, where are we going?” I asked.

  “Before I tell you that,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I have to ask a question. And I need an honest answer.”

  “Okay…”

  “Why do you want to interview me?”

  “Well, it’s more of a profile piece,” I said quickly.

  “Okay, why do you want to profile me?”

  “Because you’re Sean Donovan.” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but it was all that I could come up with on short notice. I cleared my throat and searched my brain for a better explanation.

  “I know I’m Sean Donovan,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road in the heavy traffic. “But do you know how many interviews I’ve done? And how many pro
files have been written about me?”

  “No…”

  “Fucking hundreds,” he said. “And they all said the same thing. Sean Donovan is great on the field, but a total train wreck off the field. All they wanna talk about is how much I drink and how many women I fuck and how many bar fights I get in.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’m the one doing all that stuff and it bores the fuck out me. Why would Playboy’s readers want to read a rehash of the same old shit they can see on TMZ or ESPN any night of the week?”

  He glanced at me and closed his mouth to let me know it was my turn to speak.

  “Well, I thought that…” I stopped speaking because I realized that he was right. Sean Donovan’s exploits were given more press time than Donald Trump’s hair. What was I thinking? There was no need to write an exposé on Sean Donovan because, as I’d contemplated in Walter’s office, there was nothing left to expose.

  He spoked without looking at me. “You thought that I would let you follow me around for a few days to personally eyewitness what a train wreck my life is. Is that it?”

  Jesus, I didn’t expect this guy to be so smart…

  “Well, I…”

  I heard him blow out along breath as he shook his head.

  “You saw the train wreck last night, Katie Holmes. Fuck, you got to witness it first-hand. I go to clubs, I get fucked up, I try to screw beautiful women, then I get up the next day and do it all over again. And if I’m not too hungover, I run down the field and catch balls Matt Murphy throws at me. If you’re looking to write an exposé, knock yourself out, but you won’t be telling the world anything it doesn’t already know.”

  “Does the world know that your drinking and partying is about to cost you your job?” I asked bluntly.

  He frowned for a moment, then opened his mouth wide. “Ah, you talked to Monique.” He chuckled under his breath. “I saw her up there feeding number three. I guess she told you everything Leon told me.”

  “She said the coach is going to play Denzel Lockett if you don’t sober up and get your life back on track.” I studied his handsome face for a moment. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Is that true?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that the story you want to write?” he asked. “The rise and fall of Sean Donovan?”

  I thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’d like to write the story of how Sean Donovan got his life back on track and took his team to the Super Bowl.”

  His handsome forehead wrinkled as he stared out the windshield. Quietly, he said, “I’d like to write that story, too.”

  “We could write it together,” I said. “If you’ll let me.”

  He thought about it for a moment, then glanced at the side mirrors and cut across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit. I grabbed onto the dash to keep from sliding sideways into the door.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You want to write about the real Sean Donovan?” he asked. “The one that the public doesn’t care about because it’s not headline news?”

  I blinked at him. “Yes, I would.”

  “Okay, Katie Holmes,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Kate

  I stood at the back of the room with one of the nurses who worked in the Children’s Cancer Center, watching Sean make his way around the dayroom, passing out hugs and little stuffed footballs to the sick children seated there.

  The kids ranged in age from a few years old to early teens. They were all in pajamas and little bathrobes. Some didn’t have hair. Some wore knitted caps with the Kings gold crown logo sewn in. Some smiles, others didn’t seem to have the strength. They were all very sick little boys and girls.

  Some of them knew who he was, but most didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter to Sean. He was clearly not there to stroke his own ego or have someone like me document how loving and kind he was. He was there because he wanted to be.

  “How often does he come here?” I quietly asked the nurse.

  “At least once a week,” she whispered back. “He always brings stuffed footballs or Kings t-shirts or caps to pass out to the kids. When he’s finished handing out goodies, he’ll either read them a story or play something on his guitar.”

  “He plays guitar? I had no idea.”

  “He plays beautifully,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you his girlfriend?”

  “No, I’m a journalist,” I said. I found it flattering that she thought someone like Sean Donovan would be interested in someone like me. I tried to sound professional rather than enamored of Sean.

  I said, “I’m doing a profile on Sean for a magazine.” I’m glad she didn’t ask which magazine. I’m not sure she would have been as friendly after I told her I (supposedly) worked for Playboy.

  I glanced over at her. She was watching Sean with a look of respect and admiration, nothing like the way the women were looking at him in the club last night. Of course, the man I was watching now was a far cry from the man who had humped me so flagrantly on the dance floor.

  That was one side of Sean Donovan.

  This was another.

  I wasn’t quite sure yet which one I liked better.

  “When you write your story make sure you mention how much money he has donated to this program,” the nurse said quietly. “I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, and all his donations are done anonymously, but I think it’s around a million dollars.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I’ll remember to ask him about that.”

  “He’ll deny it, I’m sure. Such a humble man.”

  A humble man?

  Sean Donovan?

  Seriously?

  I realized at that moment that I didn’t know Sean Donovan at all. I knew the Sean Donovan I’d watched on the football field, and the Sean Donovan that I had read about online and in magazines, and the Sean Donovan I’d see in viral sex videos.

  Oh, and the Sean Donovan that made me cum on the dancefloor. But the man I was watching now was a new Sean Donovan, one I had never seen or heard about before.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the real Sean Donovan, or just another side to a man I hardly knew.

  I used a napkin to wipe ketchup from my lips and picked up the chocolate shake and gave the straw a good tug. Sean was attacking the double cheeseburger like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. He barely took time to breath between bites. He caught me looking at him and smiled.

  “Good, huh,” he grunted, chewing with his cheeks full. He swept his eyes around the little hole-in-the-wall burger joint he’d brought me to and smiled. “Ernie makes the best burgers in the city. Make sure you give him a plug in your article.”

  “I definitely will,” I said, munching on the end of a French fry. “Can I ask you something?”

  “It’s your interview,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “Why did you take me to the children’s hospital?”

  He leaned back and probed his cheek with his tongue for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Have you ever read anything about me passing out toys to sick kids before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Do you know how many writers I’ve taken with me to that hospital?” I shook my head and he held up one hand with his fingers splayed. “At least five. Probably more. Writers from Sports Illustrated, ESPN, USA Today… And do you know how many of those writers mentioned my time with those kids?”

  “Zero,” I said quietly.

  “Zero,” he repeated, rolling his fingers into a fist. “I’ve had writers shadow me at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, soup kitchens… And do you know why those writers never write about that stuff?”

  “Why?” I bit my lip and fixed my eyes on his. I could see a look of hurt in his eyes as he spoke.

  “Because Sean Donovan at a children’s hospital doesn’t sell as many magazines or get as many online hits as Sean Donovan drunk in a club with a strippe
r on his lap.” He picked up his vanilla shake and brought the straw to his lips. “People don’t care about that stuff, Katie. They just want the dirt. What’s that old Don Henley song, Dirty Laundry? Look up the lyrics online. You’ll get what I’m saying.”

  “The nurse told me you’d donated a lot of money to the cancer center over the years,” I said. “Care to confirm the amount?”

  He picked up a french fry and swirled it around the ketchup on his plate. He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know the amount. And please don’t think I took you there so you can write a puff piece about how caring and giving I am. I really don’t give a shit what the public thinks of me. And I’m not trying to get anyone’s sympathy.”

  “Why did you take me there?” I asked warily.

  He bit the end off the fry and let his shoulders go up and down. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to make you see that, yes, I’m a hard partier, but I’m also a human being. There are more sides to me than you see on TMZ. The public just doesn’t give a flying fuck about those other sides.”

  “And you’re hoping I can make the public see that there’s more to Sean Donovan than just the famous bad boy?”

  He looked me in the eye and shook his head. “No. I’m hoping you can see that for yourself.” He pushed the plate back and gave me a smile. “You wanna see who the real Sean Donovan is? Come with me.”

  Kate

  We left Ernie’s just after three o’clock, and maneuvered our way onto Interstate-95 headed north out of New York City. Sean wouldn’t tell me where we were going. He would only give me a sly smile and say, “You’ll see.”

  We chatted like old friends for a couple of hours. I learned everything there was to know about him, from his childhood days in upstate New York to his college days at Clemson to the years he’d spent with the Kings. I grilled him on old girl friends and lost loves, then he turned the tables and started grilling me.

  Only he wasn’t grilling Kate Asher

  He was grilling Katie Holmes.