The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(32)

“Well, how about talking to me about the weather. Or sports? Did you know the Eagles’ punter holds the record for the most consecutive games for a player since 1971? Or that there are currently eight players named Smith in the league, which is the record for—” I was rambling. Mid-sentence, Brody decided to shut me up. His mouth descended upon mine, kissing me in that way that made me weak in the knees. Aggressive, controlling, it felt like he couldn’t get enough.

I was entirely lost in the kiss and didn’t even notice that the plane had taken off until we came up for air. “See. Takeoff is awesome if you just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

“I’ll have to try that more often. Wonder who will be sitting next to me on the way home?”

“Not even funny.” The way he looked at me quelled the growing feeling of uneasiness that had crept up the last few days. It was football season. I, of all people, should know that was where his focus needed to be.

We caught up for a while until my Xanax began to kick in, and I eventually leaned my head on his shoulder and dozed off. When I woke up, we were already landing.

“I wasn’t sure you were breathing there for a while.”

I stretched in my seat. “I was really out.”

“I know. I tried to wake you to join the mile-high club, but you didn’t budge. Got as far as slipping off your panties, but after that you were like dead wood.”

“You did not.”

He shrugged and smirked. Then went back to studying his playbook.

I smoothed out my wrinkly skirt and while I was at it, I discreetly checked for panties.

Brody didn’t look up from his book when he spoke. “Knew you’d check.”

Two buses transported us from the airport to the hotel. Rather than the normal lobby checkin, we were escorted to a conference room where a half-dozen hotel staff walked around with a checklist and gave out key cards.

Of course, Brody didn’t need to give his name. “Good afternoon, Mr. Easton. Welcome to Sonetta Hotel. I’m Gail. If there is anything out of the ordinary that you need, both mine and the manager’s cell phone numbers are on the back of this business card, and here are two keys to your suite.” She scribbled something down on her clipboard and turned it toward Brody, handing him a pen to sign.

“Thank you.”

Gail turned her attention to me. “Are you with the team or press?”

“She’s with me,” Brody responded.

The clerk nodded and looked like she was about to move on in the room full of players, so I piped in. “I’m also a guest here. I need to check in.”

Brody narrowed his eyes at me, then spoke to Gail, “She doesn’t need a room.”

“Yes. I do.”

“You’re not planning on being in my bed tonight?”

Gail looked as uncomfortable as I did with this conversation. “I didn’t say that. But if you embarrass me anymore in front of this nice lady, no, I won’t be in your bed tonight.”

I turned to Gail. “Maddox, two Ds.”

Brody didn’t say another word until Gail was done checking me in. Then he extended his hand, offering her the keycards back. “I’d like to check out.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’d like to check out. I don’t need the room. I’m staying in hers.” He nodded toward me.

“Um.” Poor Gail looked confused. “Your room is a suite, Mr. Easton. Ms. Maddox’s is a standard room.”

“Does hers have a bed?”

“It does.”

“I’d like to check out.”

My room was on the sixth floor. Just as Gail had said, it was standard. A bed, dresser, small mini fridge, TV and bathroom. Brody stored our suitcases in the closet while I went to freshen up. I felt like I’d just woken up from a full night of sleep, rather than a medicinally induced nap. When I came out, Brody was lying in the center of the bed, his hands clasped leisurely behind his head.

“You didn’t want to stay with me?” It was the first time I’d ever heard his confidence waver. There was something endearing about it. I hiked up my skirt and climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips.

“I have to put my expense reports in each week, and I didn’t want anyone to ask where my hotel bill is.”

“Why would they care if you didn’t put in a bill? You’d be saving them money.”

“My boss already gives me a hard time. He was against my being promoted; it was his boss who picked me for the job.”

“Why didn’t he want to give you the job?”

“Because he’s a sexist jerk who thinks women don’t belong in the locker room. Sound familiar?”

“I just gave you a hard time because I thought you were hot as shit.”

“I was trying to do my job.”

“I know. I’m a selfish bastard. I didn’t really think about that. I just wanted to screw with you, and I got carried away.”

“And what about Susan Metzinger? You were so vocal that she shouldn’t be allowed in the locker room.”

“Susan Metzinger shouldn’t be.”

“And why not?” I hoisted my women’s lib flag proudly.

“She came into the locker room and grabbed my junk. I wasn’t interested.”