The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel(50)

Chapter 25


Delilah

The only time I didn’t mind my boss popping into my office was when Indie was around. Mostly because Mr. CUM literally tripped over things when he came near her. Today, it was the garbage can just outside of my door.

Indie had spotted him coming down the hall and leaned over my desk like a barfly trying to attract attention in a pool hall full of horny cowboys. Her already tight skirt looked ready to bust at the seams as she wiggled her ass suggestively.

“Nice to see you, Charlie.” She stayed bent over my desk and looked back over her shoulder to speak to him. No one called Charles Ulysses Macy “Charlie.” Except Indie.

“Indie.” He cleared his throat. “You’re looking well.”

She smirked. “You’re looking at my good angle.”

I interrupted before he could respond. “What can I do for you, Mr. Macy?”

“Yes . . . Um. We need you to cut a sixty-second spot for the playoffs.”

“Really?” The sixty-second spots were always done by the big-name reporters and well-known faces.

“We need the female draw, so we’re making the spots two reporters—one of each will be a woman.”

“So you’re basically using her for her body?” Indie stood and folded her arms over her chest.

“Um . . . no. We . . . ”

“Relax, Chuck.” She rested a hand on his arm. “I was just a little jealous. No one has used my body in a while.”

Poor Charles had to adjust the growing bulge Indie was inciting. I actually came to the pig’s rescue. “I’m happy to have the opportunity.”

“Good. You’ll drive down with Michael after the game on Sunday. Do a spot with Mara in Miami on Monday.”

“Michael?”

“Langley. That’s who you’re shooting your spots with.”

It took me ten more minutes to get Mr. CUM out of my office. When he was gone, I scolded Indie. “Why do you insist on doing that?”

She tossed a pen up in the air and caught it. “I mentally give myself two points for making him hard. It’s a little game I play.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Do you think he’s jerking off in the men’s room? I get five points if he comes out and there’s a little wet spot on his pants from post-ejaculation drip.”

“Seriously, you might be more disgusting than him.”

“Serves him right. He deserves to be treated like meat since that’s how he treats others.”

“But he likes it.”

“He likes it while I’m playing with him, not while he’s stuck playing with himself.”

I caught the pen she was continually tossing in the air. “I have to be away an extra day now. Thought I only needed one on-air outfit. I need to get to the dry cleaner’s before they close. Which means I’m out for yoga tonight.”

“No yoga?” She pouted.

I began packing up my desk for the day. “Nope. I’ll just have to work out with Brody tonight,” I teased.

“Rough life. You’re going to get laid by your gorgeous quarterback boyfriend tonight, then fly off for a romantic night away with Michael Langley.”

“It won’t be romantic.”

“The way that man looks at you, my guess is it won’t be from lack of him trying.”

***

Brody and I had dinner plans at his hotel tonight. I texted him that I was going to be late, but by the time I finished running my errands for the trip tomorrow, I was even later than I had planned. When I arrived at the Regency, Brody was sitting at the bar inside Silver Ivy. Siselee, the batting-eyelash waitress, was sitting across from him at the table, wearing her uniform.

“Hi.” Neither of them had noticed me walk up.

Hearing my voice, Brody swung in my direction, knocking a glass clear across the table as he turned. It fell to the floor and shattered. All eyes in the bar took notice. “There she is!” he said loudly. When I came within his reach, he wrapped one arm around my waist and tugged me toward him. A busboy immediately ran over and began to clean up the mess.

“Our guy’s had a little too much to drink,” Siselee said.

Our guy?

“He had a bad day,” she continued. Her high-and-mighty tone was irritating, and I fought the urge to put her in her place. Instead, I spoke to Brody.

“Hey. You okay?” He was definitely drunk. In his attempt to open his eyes wider, he actually tilted his head back. As if tipping his head back might help the lids snap open.

He smiled and snuggled into me—head first into my chest, of course. “I’m great. Now that you’re here.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“Nope. I was waiting for you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t think I’d be this late.”

“That’s okay. Siselee kept me company.”

I bet she did.

Once the busboy had cleaned up the mess, Siselee was back with a tumbler filled with a clear liquid.

“I hope that’s water.”

“I brought him a fresh drink.”

“I don’t think he needs it.”

“Sure, I do.”

Siselee looked at me with a patronizing I-told-you-so face. “It’s Tuesday.”