The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(19)

I swallowed. For a change, I was at a loss for words. Eventually, he groaned and took a step back. Running a hand raggedly through his hair, he said, “We need to do this somewhere else. I don’t trust myself in this hotel suite alone with you.”

I thought he was joking, but a few minutes later he came out dressed with a baseball cap and sweatshirt on.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace where I can’t try to take advantage of you.”

Rather than have the valet get his car, he opted for a cab. “Amsterdam and 112th Street, please.”

“Morningside Heights? That’s where you can’t take advantage of me?”

“Yep.”

***

My eyes were glued to the vividly painted ceiling as we walked inside. “This place is incredible. I’ve passed it a hundred times before, but never come inside.”

Brody and I walked through St. John the Divine. He steered me down a long aisle on the left side of the church and waved to two priests sitting in a row, talking. At the end of the aisle, he opened a door and ushered me in first.

“Where are we going?”

“To the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah. I come here sometimes. A friend of mine used to work here. He had a pigeon coop on the roof. When I was a kid, I would stop in and hang out with him all the time. It’s quiet. Most people go to the top of the Empire State Building or Top of the Rock to get a view. You can see the city just as good from upstairs.”

“And you’re allowed up there?”

“Nah. You might get arrested. I’ll be able to run when the cops come, but you’re going to be slow as crap in those sexy shoes.”

“What?”

“I’m kidding. It’s open to the public during tours. But I know most of the people who work here, so they let me come up whenever. Carl worked here for fifty years before he retired. I grew up next to him and his wife, Marlene.”

Brody wasn’t exaggerating. The view from the roof was pretty spectacular. Nestled between two of the church peaks was a cozy little seating area that looked out on the entire city.

“So what happened to the pigeon coops after Carl retired?” There was no sign of a cage—or a pigeon, for that matter.

“He kept up with it for a while. After he died, Marlene donated everything to the West Side Pigeon Club. There are a lot of pigeon people in this city.”

We stood along the brick rooftop rail, and Brody pointed out some buildings. He was pretty knowledgeable about the area and architecture.

“What was your major in college?” I asked.

“You mean you don’t have that memorized?”

“I’m better with statistics than actual words.”

“Engineering.”

“That’s right. Pretty difficult major while playing football at a Big Ten.”

“See. I’m not just a pretty face. Got some brains, too.”

I rolled my eyes. “So, is this where you take all your dates? It’s definitely not what I would’ve expected.”

“If this were a real date, we definitely wouldn’t be in the one place where I can’t maul you or tell you what I’m thinking of doing to your body.”

“So this is my safe place?”

Brody motioned for me to sit on the stone bench and then sat next to me. “It might be your only one.”

“Okay, then.” I cleared my throat and reached into my bag for my notebook. “Why don’t we get started? I’ll go easy on you.”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t be going easy on you if this was my show.”

I shook my head. “How do you feel about the changes in coaching and management that are planned for next year?” Coach Ryan had been the Steel’s coach since Brody began his career. He’d cut Brody from the team, but also hired him back and gave him a second chance. Due to his wife’s health issues, Ryan was retiring at the end of the season.

Brody blew out a breath. “Not looking forward to it. Coach is tough, but fair, and built the team to what it is today. I respect him and wish he was sticking around. But I respect him even more for putting his family first.”

“Any idea who they have in mind for his replacement?”

“Nope. But I’m hoping the decision is made before Coach retires. The sooner, the better. It’ll make for a smoother transition to have the two coaches work together for a while. Bob Langley has been solid with coaching picks. Just hope it continues.

“That brings me nicely to my next question. It’s rumored that Bob Langley might sell a—”

“Were the roses from Langley?”

“Why would the owner of your team send me roses, I’ve never met the man?” I knew exactly whom he meant. He was referring to Bob’s son, Michael.

“The dipshit son you work with, not Bob.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe not. But I’m asking the question.”

I held his stare. “Yes.”

“Guy’s a—”

“We’re at a church,” I reminded him.

“Are you seeing him?”

“He asked me to dinner, if you must know.”

“You’ll go out to dinner with him, but not me?”