The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(33)

“Really?”

“Yep. Gleason from WMBC caught the whole thing on film. He was interviewing Smith at the locker next to me.” He paused. “One of the seven Smiths.”

“Why didn’t you expose her? She ran you through the wringer in the media.”

“I guess I felt bad for rejecting her.”

“So you really don’t have anything against women in the locker room?”

“I have something against you in the locker room.” He pulled me from sitting to lying on top of him.

“Why?”

“Because the only dick I want you seeing these days is mine.”

“That’s an oddly sweet statement.”

“I’m an oddly sweet kinda guy. Now shut up and kiss me.”

My bottom was still sitting on his hips, but I was bent at the waist, my chest pressed to his. My lips rested lightly against his. “I’m on top, you know. You told me this wouldn’t be your favorite position with me.”

“Better make sure I was right.”

***

Brody had a team meeting, and I had some work to do. When he came back, we ordered a ridiculous amount of room service and spent the rest of the night in bed. Since I’d had a nap, I wasn’t tired. And since Brody only required four to six hours of sleep, even though he did ten times the exercise of most in-shape humans on any given day, he wasn’t tired yet either.

After a few more go-arounds exploring each other’s bodies, we were back to our own unique form of getting to know each other. That was, I asked normal questions, and Brody shot off ridiculous ones. For the most part, it kept things light. Until he stumbled unknowingly onto the part of my life that I didn’t talk about.

I was tracing figure eights on his bare chest when he came out with yet another oddball question. “If you could interview anyone from your life, living or dead, who would it be?”

I didn’t think about my answer, but perhaps I should have. “Drew Martin.” My finger stopped drawing. The second the words came out I wished I could take them back.

“Why do I know that name?”

“He was in the draft the year after you. Second round. Kicker.”

Brody shifted us so we were both lying on our sides. I would have preferred to keep my head on his chest, where he couldn’t look at my face.

“Should I be jealous?” He said it half joking.

“I don’t think so.” I swallowed. The words never got any easier to say. “He’s dead.”

“Was he a relative of yours?”

I shook my head.

“He’s from your life?”

I nodded.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He surprised me when he pulled me to him and kissed the top of my forehead. “Okay. We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”





Chapter 15


Delilah

The Steel had a game on Sunday and then were playing on Thursday night again. Since it was a short recovery week, the team was heading back home right after the game, rather than leaving on Monday morning. That meant there wouldn’t be locker room interviews after the game Sunday. Field reporters could attempt to grab a key player or two as they walked off the field, but regular access to the entire team was limited to an after-practice open locker room.

Reporters could enter at five tonight. I worked from my laptop at the hotel in the morning, managed to drag my ass to the gym for a forty-five-minute run, and got to the field where the Steel were practicing by three. I climbed the bleachers and sat watching the special teams unit run through drills.

It had been a really long time since I’d sat on the cold metal on a chilly fall day to watch a practice. Even though a huge part of my life had been spent on the bleachers of a football field, it was almost as if my life was in two acts, and the curtain had come down on part one. Yet here I was back again. It was almost surreal.

Talking about Drew last night and watching the team my father captained for so many years weighed heavy on my heart. When Drew and I had first started dating, he was a hardcore soccer player. He’d never even tried football. I remembered the first time I brought Drew around to meet Dad. We were in tenth grade, and he was half starstruck to meet the great Tom Maddox.

Dad told him to have a seat and spent the better part of two hours selling him on the benefits of being a football kicker rather than a soccer player. That fall, Drew tried out for the varsity football team and became the starting kicker.

A loud whistle brought my attention back to the field. Brody had been talking to Coach Ryan on the sideline while the special teams unit finished up on the field, but the practice squads were changing places now. The offensive linemen jogged onto the field while the other players jogged off. I couldn’t hear anything, but I watched intently as Brody took his place behind the center and pointed to various things. Players made adjustments and moved around at his command.

The man was no different off the field than he was on. He was aggressive, confident, aware of everything going on around him and completely in charge. I felt like a high school cheerleader, but I was also a little turned on watching Brody in action so closely. I’d missed this part of my life. I loved the game itself. But watching someone I cared about play out on that field did something to me. The catches, the leaps, the sheer athleticism of twenty-two men joining together to form one unit and compete. There was something just so innately beautiful about it.