The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(12)

“Did you really miss the sarcasm in my voice? The guy only wants to get laid. He’d be gone the morning after I gave in.”

“Did he ask you out?”

“I suppose. He asked me out to dinner before delivering that eloquent invitation on the ball.”

“See, he’s into you.”

As much as I hated to admit it, I sort of wanted him to be. There was no denying that I was attracted to him physically. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t be? But I just wasn’t a one-night-stand type of person. I imagined the day after—going from feeling wanted to being forgotten—was a little bit like bungee jumping and slipping loose from the rope. An exhilarating high as you took the plunge, only to free-fall when you realized nothing was holding you any longer. It was just you—all alone. And you couldn’t even remember what made you jump in the first place.

That night, exhausted from travel, I climbed into bed early. Although my body was drained, my mind seemed to be spinning. Thoughts of Brody Easton and the way he looked at me gave me a feeling of excitement I had forgotten existed—a visceral reaction that was pointless to try to tame. Not once since Drew did I have that flutter.

Drew.

I reached over to my bedside nightstand and picked up the small, oval-framed picture taken in middle school. Even though it was always there, I hadn’t really looked at it in years. Drew was wearing his football uniform, and the eye black under his sweet brown eyes was smeared from wiping sweat during the game. I smiled, thinking back to how a look from those eyes gave me butterflies growing up.

Lying in bed in the dark, I tried to make sense of my fascination with Brody. But in the end, I decided maybe I simply had a thing for football players. After all, my father was a football player. I’m sure Freud would have had a thing or two to say about that.

***

I sat in the back row at Wednesday’s scheduled press conference. The dais held five men. From left to right sat the director of team operations; head coach Bill Ryan; Chargers wide receiver Colin Anderson; the Steel’s offensive-line coach; and to the far right, Brody Easton. As rumored, Coach Ryan confirmed that Tyrell Oden, one of the team’s key offensive-line players, had received a season-ending injury. They also confirmed a rare mid-season trade to replace him. Colin Anderson was to join the Steel this week.

A friend of mine had tipped me off about the trade yesterday, and it had given me time to do a little digging. Although it had never made it onto the media’s radar, Colin and Brody apparently had a tumultuous history. They’d attended the same college. Brody’s last year before being drafted, they were even on the same offensive line. Apparently, the two didn’t get along and there’d been multiple off-the-field fights. I doubted any of the reporters knew about it since I’d only found out because I happened to have a friend in common with Colin. Division One schools kept internal conflicts very quiet. They didn’t want to taint a prospective draftee as a troublemaker.

After the announcements, Coach Ryan opened up the floor for questions. Brody caught my eye and winked. Like an idiot, I smiled back. His flirtations were so overtly over-the-top, it was impossible not to find them at least a tiny bit amusing.

Every hand in the room went up. The coach called on a well-known reporter in the front row. I watched Brody scribble something on a piece of paper and slide it down to the coach.

Before the next question, Coach Ryan glanced down at the paper, then scanned the room. He hadn’t even found me in the crowd when he said my name. I stood to ask my question anyway.

“My question is for Mr. Easton.” Brody looked momentarily pleased. “Are you concerned about the chemistry between yourself and your new receiver?”

Brody folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. “What were his stats last year, Ms. Maddox?”

“Hundred and eleven catches, fourteen-point-three average yards, eleven touchdowns. Second best in the league.”

“You have your answer. Do you have any other questions, Ms. Maddox?”

A few men snickered. But I wanted an actual answer. “The question wasn’t how capable of an athlete he is. We all know he’s quite talented. My question—perhaps I should repeat it—was are you concerned about the chemistry between you and Colin Anderson?”

Brody’s jaw tightened. “I’m not planning on dating him.”

More snickers.

“I didn’t think so. But considering the two of you didn’t get along in college, might there be a concern for you?”

His answer was curt. “No. As long as he does his job, I’m not concerned.”

“Thank you.” I sat and the room began to buzz with chatter.

Brody stared at me with a gleam in his eye for the remainder of the interview. It made me question if I had just poked a lion. Colin, on the other hand, was sporting an evil grin, and it appeared he was enjoying our interaction.

I didn’t mill around socializing after the conference ended. I had a hot date with a month’s worth of laundry that I’d stood up on multiple occasions. I was texting Indie while walking down the long hallway toward the exit when a hand at my elbow startled me.

“Nice find. Did you have to call my entire dorm to dig up that little piece of information you just unleashed in there?”

“I’m sure if I interviewed your entire dorm, my ears would be bleeding.”