Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed spending time with you at the fundraiser last week and that I was thinking about you. I look forward to your month slowing down so I can take you to dinner. And I’m working on adding some interviews to my schedule. Best, M.
Such a sweet guy. Maybe I could end my cleanse a little early.
I kept my nose in my phone, catching up on work, until security opened the locker room for reporters.
Inside the guest team locker room, I interviewed a wide receiver and then headed over to Jennings Astor, a defensive lineman who’d had a key sack in the fourth quarter. Easton, as usual, had a long line. His locker was diagonally across from Jennings, and I could see he was finishing up his current interview. The next person in line was Sandra Halston, a reporter covering the home team. I was curious to watch the interaction between the two.
While Sandra was setting up to begin, the arrogant ass’s eyes caught mine.
He grinned wide.
I ignored him. Clarification: I pretended to ignore him.
From across the room, I studied Easton’s body language. He hadn’t dropped the towel for the gorgeous blonde reporter. In fact, he seemed to be treating her exactly as he treated the male reporters. No sexy smirk or sparkle in his eye as he made sexual innuendos. And he wasn’t showing off his Subway either. I wondered if Sandra had already gotten her fill of hazing. I really wanted to know if he had ever done the same thing to her, but I wasn’t sure why it was important to me.
After wrapping up all the interviews I needed, I headed over to Easton. I wasn’t nervous anymore. Instead, I think I was a little . . . excited.
While Nick set up the camera and lights, I said, “Thank you for the . . . balls today.”
Easton grinned. “No problem.”
“You did that just so I had to say thank you for the balls today, didn’t you?”
“Nope. But that was a total bonus. I did it so you’d take them home and every time you looked at them, you would think about me.”
“I know the perfect place for them.”
“In your bedroom?”
“In the basement, it’s creepy down there. Fitting.”
As usual, he ignored my insult. “Do you have them in your bag?”
“I do.”
He turned around, reached into his locker, and pulled out a Sharpie. “Let me have ’em. I’ll sign them for you.”
As he signed the second ball, Nick announced that he was ready to film. I shoved the balls into my equipment bag and attempted to tame my wild hair. “You ready?”
“For you? Always.”
I shook my head and shot off my first question. I expected him to drop his towel, but he surprised me by staying covered. In fact, he remained in his towel for the entire interview and answered every question without any sexual innuendos. Maybe my hazing was over.
After the camera shut off, I couldn’t resist. “Thank you for staying somewhat dressed today.”
“It was really hard to do.”
I chuckled as I packed away my microphone and notepad. “So, is it over? The hazing, I mean. I noticed you didn’t get naked with Sandra either today. Is that your thing, you treat the new female reporters to full-frontal nudity to embarrass them the first few weeks?”
“Seeing me naked was a treat. I knew it.”
“Your head is so big, I’m surprised you can get a helmet on it.”
He grinned. “Big head. Big helmet.”
“How has no one filed a sexual harassment complaint against you with the league yet?”
He shrugged. “I don’t do this with anyone else.”
My eyes narrowed. “You mean Sandra has never experienced the towel routine during an interview?”
“Nope.”
“Well, aren’t I the lucky one?”
“You are. Have dinner with me?”
“No.”
“No?” I sort of loved that he was shocked to be turned down.
“That’s right. No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t date players.”
“You went out with that kicker from the Saints last year.”
“I said I don’t date players, not I don’t date athletes.”
For once, Brody Easton didn’t have a witty comeback. I walked away, then stopped and turned back. “By the way, researching my dating history? Creepy. Your balls are definitely going down to the basement.”
I took the earliest commercial flight on Monday morning, rather than the late-afternoon team flight home. Mr. CUM didn’t care that I was halfway across the country; he still expected me to be at his mandatory Monday meetings.
When I arrived at JFK, a corporate town car picked me up at the airport, and I headed directly to the office. We made it less than a mile before we were stopped dead in traffic. I reached into the equipment duffle bag I’d carried on the plane to take out my notepad. A slash of black marker caught my eye. Brody Easton’s name was scribbled on the ball, but something was written above it.