Looking to Score(19)
She was beautiful with long dark hair and bright green eyes; it wasn’t a mystery why she had Oakley biting his bottom lip like a cat in heat. She wore a University of Texas tee shirt with cut off shorts and wedges. She was hot. I could appreciate a pretty girl. I hated how I instantly compared myself to her. It wasn’t healthy. In fact, it was something the old Amanda would have done. I shook my head and approached them both.
“Hi, Sara. I’m Amanda Matthews, Oakley’s publicist. It’s nice to meet you.” Intentionally called her the wrong name. Damn, when did I become a jealous, petty bitch? Double damn, when did I become jealous? I really needed to get my shit together. Green was not my color.
“It’s Brooke,” she corrected me with a sour expression on her face. Oakley smirked at me, apparently finding the whole thing pretty funny. I wanted to stomp on his foot but remembered that he had a game this weekend. You didn’t need toes to run, did you?
Brooke turned her attention completely to Oakley. “I’m super excited to be working with you, Oakley! It’s just sooo amazing that you spend your time volunteering,” she chirped, her bubbly voice matching her appearance.
“Nick should be here in about ten minutes,” I interjected. “Then we can go meet Mrs. Kitchen.”
“Oakley, let’s use those ten minutes to give me a chance to get to know you better. That way, I can really give readers an accurate portrayal of their football hero! And if ten minutes isn’t enough, I would be more than happy to meet up later. Maybe over dinner?” Brooke looked hopefully at Oakley.
Good God, Brooke. Get your shit together. “Great idea, Brooke! There’s a table right over here where we can sit and talk while we wait for Nick,” I told her with a big smile. No way was I going to let her try and flirt her way into a late night meeting. I needed this article to be perfect. Brooke’s lips pursed into an actual pout. Brooke and Oakley, who had still not said a single word since I walked over, both followed me silently over to a round table and sat down.
She slowly crossed her legs and bit on the edge of a pen she produced from her purse as we settled in the chairs opposite from her. I glared daggers at her as Oakley’s leg brushed against mine. “So tell me, Oakley, what made you decide to work with this specific charity?”
Oakley leaned forward and rested one of his elbows on the table top. “Well,” he began, “both of my grandparents passed away before I could meet them.”
I turned to stare at him, surprised by these developments. I had all of my grandparents still and was incredibly close to them. I couldn’t imagine a childhood without Nana and Grandpa Dude—yes, his name was actually Grandpa Dude. “I guess you could say I just like the idea of seeing what I’m missing out on. I never got homemade cookies or twenty dollar bills snuck into my palm.”
Brooke grinned like Oakley was the sweetest thing since cotton candy, and if I weren’t completely charmed, I would have been rolling my eyes. “And who are you chatting with today?”
Oakley froze and reached out to grab my knee. I wasn’t surprised that he’d already forgotten her name. “Cassandra Kitchen, wife of Hall of Fame recipient, Albert Kitchen!” I interjected on his behalf. “I think it’ll be a really fun experience for everyone.” Oakley squeezed my leg in appreciation and drifted his fingers teasingly toward my inner thigh. My breath hitched at the heated contact. What the actual fuck was he doing? I kept waiting for him to move his hand, but he didn’t.
“And what do you have planned with Cassandra?”
“We’re going to watch some old football footage,” Oakley replied, running his middle finger along the inseam of my jeans. I chewed on my bottom lip to stop from screaming at him. “I thought she might like that.”
Thought who might like what?
Brooke smiled with dreamy eyes that made me want to push away the table and show off Oakley’s hand. He was like, maybe three inches from nature’s Rubik’s Cube. Maybe closer. Maybe I had no idea why I was suddenly obsessed with his fucking large ass hands. Why was he touching me?
I reached under the table and shoved him away, making his body jerk. The asshole covered his laugh with a cough, then brought his full attention back to Brooke, the pen biter. She hadn’t even noticed; she was too busy tracing the lines of her collarbone and giving him a bedroom stare.
“Are you excited about the upcoming game this weekend?” she asked.
I turned to look at Oakley. His face turned serious, and he immediately threaded his hands together on the table top. It was the most intense I’d seen him since we’d met. “I think we have a solid team this year. We’re bringing our all to practice, and I’m really looking forward to seeing that hard work in a game scenario. I think we are stronger than ever and ready to bring a championship home.”
Brooke quickly jotted down notes. His answer was good. Encouraging. Everything that a publicist would want to hear. I was mentally high-fiving myself and playing out the scene where Coach was telling me how amazing I am and that he’s sorry he was ever rude to me.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a message from Nick.
Nick: Here
Some people might be put off by Nick’s style, but I actually appreciated it. Short and to the point, no flowery chitchat to try and decipher. He walked through the door of the facility, and I immediately recognized him because of all the camera equipment he was carrying. I waved Nick over to the table and made all of the introductions.