Looking to Score(4)

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I still didn’t know. Working with Oakley truly was a fantastic opportunity, but it wouldn’t give me the learning experience I’d envisioned. I wanted to work with people already in my field, not teach myself how to babysit a grown-ass man.

“If you don’t want to take this on, we will have to try again to find you a placement next semester. It’ll push you back, but you’ll get it done.”

I shook my head. I wanted to be done with college. I took eighteen hours this summer because I was ready to leave school behind. I worked my ass off to graduate early, and I didn’t want all of that to be for nothing. I was ready to start my career and my life.

“Fine. I’ll do it. But I want Dr. Haynes to mentor me through it.” My voice sounded strong, but I was nervous as hell. Dr. Haynes ran the Public Relations department and was well-known in the PR world. He had the most connections and would be invaluable to learn from. If I had to do this, then I was going to get a glowing recommendation from the top professor at this school, dammit.

“I’ll see if Dr. Haynes has room in his busy schedule. You aren’t asking ’cause you have a crush on him, right? His last TA became a little obsessed, so I have to ask.”

Dr. Haynes was a hottie, a total silver fox. I’d only seen pictures in the campus newsletters, but holy fuck. I could learn a lot from that man. “No,” I choked out. “I just want to make sure I have a good mentor and the support of Coach Howard. From the looks of it, Oakley Davis will require a lot of work, and I want to be set up for success.”

“Of course,” Mr. Tuesday replied, though he didn’t sound convinced. I didn’t really care. I was doing the university a favor. Most universities had PR reps for the campus, but if they wanted to assign an intern to their star player, then they must be desperate.

I briefly wondered why Oakley was willing to throw his life away. I mean, how hard was it to keep your social media clean and stay sober? Did he not want to become a pro? Most guys on the team at this school were using the university’s influence as a stepping stone to the NFL. I didn’t know sports, but it didn’t take a genius to see that there was something else going on.

“I’ll make sure you have all the resources necessary to do this,” Mr. Tuesday said, drawing me out of my thoughts. I was already trying to think of how I’d help him. Maybe he needed to sign up for some charities. It would be easy enough to get his photo in the newspaper, kissing a baby or something. “Practice ends at seven tonight. Coach Howard said he would introduce the two of you afterward.”

“Great,” I said unenthusiastically. “Thanks for finding me something.” I had never been to the stadium before. I had a general idea of where it was, but I made a mental note to look it up.

“I only want what’s best for the students,” Mr. Tuesday replied before pulling a Twinkie out of his desk, opening it, and shoving the entire thing in his mouth. Disgusting.

I excused myself without a word and let out a long exhale in the hall. Glancing down at my phone, I quickly found all of Oakley’s social media accounts and followed him so I could start researching my client.

He was hot. I wasn’t going to deny it. But as I scrolled through every feed and tag and ridiculous comment, I grew sick to my stomach. Oakley’s wild life felt all too familiar. It was like staring at my old self. This was going to be a challenge—for more reasons than one.





Coach Howard was a short man with orange skin and chiseled muscles. He looked like your typical coach, with a university-issued polo shirt tucked into khaki pants. His tennis shoes were tied so tight that I wondered if any circulation could get to his toes. He was about my height but still somehow managed to look down at me.

“Are you the intern?” he asked when he caught me standing outside of his office. Their practice had been over for forty-five minutes. I had arrived about fifteen minutes early since I wasn’t sure exactly where his office was, so I had been standing there for about an hour. I smiled to hide my frustration. Was no one punctual on this campus?

“Amanda Matthews,” I said while shooting my hand out in greeting. “It’s very nice to meet you.” Coach Howard looked down at my hand and reached out to grab it, squeezing a little harder than what was necessary. Based on my initial observations, I sensed that he was the type of man overcompensating for something. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he drove a big lifted truck.

“I’m assuming Mr. Wednesday told you everything that would be expected of you?”

Oh shit. I thought his name was Tuesday. I racked my brain, trying to remember if I ever called him by his name. I couldn’t remember. He never corrected me, so I probably didn’t? Oh well, I could obsess about it later.

I pulled out the folder from under my arm and started flipping through the notes I made earlier this afternoon. I wanted to be prepared, considering Coach Howard would be the person to decide my grade.

“I want to do a complete overhaul of his social media, sign him up for some charity events, and shift the focus to his talent on the field—”

Coach Howard’s snort interrupted me. “Oakley is the cockiest, self-absorbed, selfish, pompous, belligerent asshole I’ve ever met. If I had a decent second-string running back, I would have kicked him off my team last year when he was caught having a threesome in the locker room.” My eyes widened. My mouth dropped open in shock. “Oakley doesn’t care about anyone but himself. You can type up pretty little reports, but it would take an act of God to get him to cooperate. Period.”