Hating the Cocky Jock

by B. B. Hamel

  I shake my head, at a loss for words, when the waitress comes up. Sean orders a bottle of wine and a mussel dish, and I decide to get pasta with pesto sauce.

  I have to admit, I’m already surprised by the turn this conversation took. He doesn’t seem like the type of guy that would be all about being kind to his fans. I know a lot of NFL guys hate the attention and the fans. They go out of their away to avoid it.

  Clearly Sean doesn’t feel that way. There’s a strange naivete about his viewpoint, but it’s also really…

  Nice. It’s really nice.

  But I don’t think Sean is a nice person, so that’s a strange little contradiction.

  When the waitress is gone, I take out a recorder and hit the red record button. Sean beams at me as I look up at him.

  “I’m going to record this, okay?”

  “Sure,” he says. “Gotta get my words just right.”

  I clear my throat. “So, Sean. You’ve had some issues with your throwing shoulder. You struggled last year coming back from off-season surgery. How are you feeling now?”

  “You know,” he says, “it’s funny. This isn’t a conversation I thought I’d be having.”

  I clear my throat. “Why not?”

  “I mean, I’ve been around this league, you know? I’ve played on a few other teams before the Chainsaws. Coach saw something in me, brought me on, and the system just clicked with me. But I never thought I’d be sidelined with an injury.”

  “You’ve been surprisingly injury-free your whole career,” I concede.

  “Right. I always thought I’d be an iron man forever, you know? Never getting hurt, body indestructible.”

  “But nobody’s like that.”

  “Nope, of course not. Although I’m pretty close.”

  He grins at me. I roll my eyes.

  “So, about your shoulder now?”

  “Shoulder’s fine,” he says.

  “Sean…”

  “I know, I know, but wait. Here comes the wine.”

  And sure enough, the waitress stops by and pours two glasses, leaving the bottle on the table. Sean grins at me and sips his drink.

  I sigh and take a big drink from mine. Might as well try and enjoy this much, at least, since I have a feeling I won’t be getting what I want here.

  I turn off the recorder.

  “You said this was about your shoulder,” I say to him.

  “I know. And we’ll talk about it. I’d rather just relax with you first.”

  “I’m not here for that,” I say. “I’m keeping this professional.”

  He smirks and I want to slap him. “Do you really?”

  “Yes, asshole. Despite your stupid rumors.”

  He winces at that. “Look, that was a misunderstanding, okay?”

  “Sure, whatever you say.” I sip my drink again. “I just want what I came here for, okay? If you don’t plan on actually talking about that, tell me now so I don’t waste my time.”

  He sighs. “Why do you have such a chip on your shoulder?”

  I glare at him. “I don’t.”

  “You really do. I get it, there aren’t a lot of female sports journalists in Fargo, but come on.”

  “I’m the only one,” I point out.

  “Fine, you’re the only one. But you’re still so much better than all those other morons. I’ve read your articles. I actually like them.”

  I hesitate a second. “Really?”

  “Of course. I mean, I’m a fan of the sport too, you know. You’re smart, you have good insights. And you write better than that idiot Damon.”

  Damon is one of my fellow writers at the paper, one of the top sports guys. I think he’s an asshole.

  Sean’s compliments are working. I hate myself for softening under a little flattery, but it’s the exact right kind of flattery.

  “I find it hard to believe you really read it,” I say, trying to hide my smile.

  “I really do,” he says. “Always have. I know we got off to a rocky start, but if there’s anyone I want telling my story, it’s you.”

  I frown and look away. For a second, I’m about to give in, but suddenly I remember why I’m angry with him to begin with.

  That stupid rumor. That fucking stupid rumor.

  “No,” I say suddenly. “That’s not going to work.”

  He looks surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t get to just flatter me and expect it all to go away.”

  “Brynn, I’m not—”

  “Seriously, Sean, get over yourself. You make up these stupid rumors, which are going to hurt me professionally, by the way, and now you think you can just compliment my writing and that’ll all go away. But it’s not going away, Sean. I’m still pissed.”

  He looks more amused than surprised or angry, which just pisses me off even more. I go to tell him off some more, but a person looms up next to the table, interrupting me.

  It’s an old man. He smiles placidly at Sean. “Hello, Sean. Enjoying yourself so much?”

  “Lorenzo!” Sean says. He stands and shakes the man’s hand. “Lorenzo, this is Brynn. She’s a reporter.”

  “Hello, how are you?”

  I shake the man’s hand, still fuming. “Nice to meet you,” I manage.

  “Lorenzo here owns this restaurant.”

  The old man beams. “That’s right. That’s my name on the sign.”

  It takes me a second to put that together. Lorenzo DeLorenzo.

  Wow, what a massively awful name.

  Sean sits back down and they exchange another minute of pleasantries before Lorenzo shambles off again. Sean grins at me, practically beaming with joy.

  “Isn’t that amazing?” he whispers. “Lorenzo DeLorenzo. Best name I’ve ever heard.”

  I let out an exasperated breath and smile despite myself. “You’re such an ass. Seriously, Sean.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t think that’s hilarious.”

  “You know what.” I grab my recorder and stuff it back into my bag. “Thanks for the drink, but this isn’t going to work.”

  “Brynn—”

  “Goodnight, Sean.” I stand and push away from the table. I turn and hurry toward the door, leaving the restaurant, stepping out into the chilly evening.

  I hurry down the sidewalk, fuming. That asshole doesn’t care what I have to say to him. He doesn’t care that he hurt me, that he did something shitty to me. He just wants to get whatever he wants, and he doesn’t care who he hurts in the process.

  “Brynn, wait!”

  I half turn and spot him coming after me. I curse and consider running, but I know that would be insane.

  “What? What do you want?”

  He comes up to me, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps coming, closing the distance, getting close to me. I stumble back into the shadows of a closed shoe store.

  “You want to know why I asked you out here?” he asks, his voice low. I’m suddenly intensely aware of his body close to mine.

  “Why?” I manage to whisper.

  “Because you drive me insane, Brynn. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I met you.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have told people you slept with me,” I whisper.

  “I didn’t. Like I said, it was a misunderstanding.”

  “Whatever you want to call it, I have to deal with the consequences.”

  He clenches his jaw. “Fine. I know it sucks. I’ll try and fix it. But, Brynn, I’m not letting this go.”

  I stare into his eyes and I feel that thrill run through me, the thrill I feel every time I interview him. I hate myself for it, since I should despise him, but right now…

  He’s attractive. He’s big, handsome, cocky. I could scream and run away.

  Instead, he kisses me, and I melt against him.

  The kiss takes me off guard for a second, but I find myself giving myself over to it. His taste floods my mouth, his surprisingly soft lips move against mine, and the heat of his body radiates again
st me. Irrationally, I feel like I want to get closer, to burrow up against him, feel his skin against mine, his hard muscles against my soft skin.

  And just as abruptly, the kiss stops.

  “That’s why I asked you here,” he says softly. “You’ll get your interview, Brynn, I promise. But quit pretending like you hate me.”

  “I do hate you, asshole,” I say, a little breathless.

  He smirks, a thumb running down my bottom lip. “Okay. Keep playing it that way.” He turns and walks away.

  I stand there, too stunned to move.

  What the hell just happened?

  I don’t know how I went from berating him in that restaurant to kissing him out on the street. I don’t know how he riles me up like this, driving me insane one second, and wet with desire the next.

  I have no clue how I found myself in this position, but here I am, lips still buzzing with his kiss, and I still hate him.

  I still despise him.

  I still wish I’d never met him.

  And I still wish he’d come back and kiss me again.

  Oh, god. I know I’m screwed.

  I just don’t know what kind of screwed I am just yet.

  5

  Sean

  The next day, an article appears in the Fargo Pioneer.

  I skim it with some vague interest before going back and reading it over twice. I stare at Brynn’s name on the top, a little smile on my face.

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper to myself as I eat my breakfast in the team cafeteria. “Oh, fucking shit.”

  It doesn’t take long for Coach to call me back to his office. I feel like a little kid heading into the principal’s office or something, like he’s about to suspend me from school for a month.

  He’s not going to do that, of course. I’m still his QB after all. I mean, how bad can it get for me? It’s not like he’s going to fire his winning QB before the second game of the season.

  Or maybe he will. Coach is known for some seriously harsh moves.

  I take a breath to steady myself before knocking on his door. I step inside and shut it behind me.

  Coach Wood is sitting behind his desk, holding the paper in his hand. He’s not even going to pretend that I’m here for any other reason, I guess.

  “Explain this shit,” he snaps.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, almost as a reflex.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t care. Explain.”

  I sigh and sit down in the chair in front of his desk. “She wanted an exclusive, so I gave her one.”

  “Jesus, Sean. You basically admit that you’re playing with pain every game. Do you have any clue how much shit we’re going to get for this?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

  “We’re already gotten fifty calls about the article and more are coming in every fucking second. The press is going insane. What were you thinking?”

  “I guess I wasn’t, sir.”

  “I didn’t even know you were in pain.” He glares at me. “My wife isn’t doing good enough anymore?”

  “Leah is doing great,” I say quickly. “It’s just… you know, it’s not perfect.”

  “Fuck, Sean,” he says softly. “Look, if you need more time to heal, tell me now.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I’m good, Coach.”

  “Are you? We want to win, and that’s all I care about. If you can get it done, fine, whatever, play through the pain. But if not…” He trails off, eyebrows raised.

  “I’ll get it done,” I say, meeting his gaze.

  “Fine. Get it done.” He shakes his head. “Fucking hell, Sean. I know she’s cute, but don’t be stupid next time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re dismissed. Get out there.”

  I nod and quickly stand up.

  That fucking article talks about how I play with pain every day, how I’m doing rehab but nothing’s working, but I’m afraid the next hit will be my last. It’s not a good article, not at all. It’s not the sort of thing you want out there.

  And it’s all a lie, of course.

  I didn’t tell her any of that. She doesn’t have a single real quote from me anywhere in that whole trash pit article.

  I’m grinning as I go through the day.

  I should be livid. This is going to haunt the rest of my career. Now guys are going to try and hit me harder, try to be the one that takes me out. There’s a certain feeling among defenses in the NFL, a belief that injuring an opposing team’s QB isn’t just part of the game, but something you should actively go after whenever you can.

  Now they’re going to smell fucking weakness.

  God damn it. Fucking Brynn.

  And she knows I won’t say shit. If anything, I deserve this. It’s payback for that shit with Felix.

  But that kiss…

  I keep thinking about that kiss. As much as she says she hates me, I know it’s not true. She’s pissed about that Felix thing, of course, but she doesn’t hate me.

  She fucking wants me. I know it, I can see it in her eyes. She wants me every time I go near her. I drive her fucking insane. As much as she wants to pretend like I don’t, I know she can’t keep her hands off me.

  That kiss proved it. She kissed me back right away, no hesitation, no issues. She didn’t push me away, tell me to fuck off. She kissed me back like I was the first man that ever touched her like that.

  Fucking hell.

  I go through my day like usual. I do the team meeting, lift with the other guys, and basically act like everything’s normal. I figure most of my teammates haven’t read the article, since a lot of them don’t bother reading the Pioneer.

  Not that I can blame them. Most of these guys are more worried about national coverage.

  Finally, the field practice breaks up, and the stampede starts. My heart beats fast as the reporters come walking out onto the field. Guys break up like usual, and I weave my way through the clumps of people, searching for Brynn.

  She’s leaning up against the far wall, looking out at the field. I smirk as I approach her and she smiles back.

  “Hey there,” she says. “Did you read my article?”

  “Sure did. My coach read it too.”

  She laughs. “I bet Wood didn’t like that.”

  “No, he did not.”

  “It’s a shame your arm’s hurting so much. Otherwise, I bet you’d toss me out of here.”

  I grin and shake my head. “Why would I do that?”

  She shrugs innocently. “Who knows. But I guess now we’re even.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Even?”

  “For that bullshit you told people.”

  I snort. “I told you. That was a misunderstanding. This was…”

  “Also a misunderstanding?” She smiles innocently.

  I sigh. “Not exactly. More like a hit piece.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “It’s okay though. I don’t mind.”

  “Oh, you don’t? Good, I’m so relieved.”

  “I love it when you act like you don’t give a shit. Although that kiss last night tells me otherwise.”

  Her cheeks go slightly red and her smile falters. “That was—”

  “Really good, I know. You’re still dreaming about it. I bet you had your hand between your legs last night just picturing what else I could do to that pretty little body of yours.”

  “Sean!” she says, eyes a little wide.

  “What?” I step closer. “Afraid someone might hear? I know some spots we could go right now where nobody will bother us. You can moan as loudly as you want.”

  “Asshole. I’m not interested.”

  “Liar. You’re interested enough to write that article.”

  “That was just revenge. You didn’t give me anything useful, so I just—”

  “Made shit up?” I shrug. “Fine, whatever. Make shit up. I don’t care. But don’t lie to me like you’re lying to everyone else.”

  “Lie how?”

  “About how bad
ly you want to taste my cock after I’ve fucked your tight little asshole.”

  Her eyes go wide and for a second, I think she might kiss me again.

  Instead, she slaps my arm.

  Not hard enough to hurt. But enough that I notice. She glares at me, and I know she wants to hit my face, but she can’t. If she did, everyone would see. Hitting my arm was risky enough.

  “Before you storm off, listen.”

  She’s livid, crimson with anger. “Fuck you.”

  “Meet with me again. I’ll give you real insider info. That’s what you need, right?”

  She hesitates. “My whole office is talking about you right now,” she whispers, her voice harsh. “And they’re talking about the rumor. Do you know how embarrassing it is? Everyone thinks I fucked you for that info.”

  “Good. Let them. They’ll probably think you did some pretty disgusting, twisted shit for what I tell you next.”

  “Fuck you. Not interested.”

  “They’ll think you let me fuck your pussy from behind while I push a nice wide vibrator up your asshole at the same time. Or maybe that you let me come down your throat over and over again. Or that you get down on all fours and beg for me to fuck your tight little pussy rough enough to make you scream.”

  The fury is so clear on her face and in her body language that I wonder if anyone else in this whole stadium can’t tell she’s livid with me right now.

  But what they can’t see is that other little detail running through everything right now.

  It’s passion. It’s desire. It’s her breath coming in fast, the way her eyes dart over my body, the way she bites her lip. She wants to slap me, but she also wants to taste my fucking cock. I bet she’ll gladly swallow my cum and beg me for more.

  “Fine,” she finally manages to say. “But if you keep talking like that, I swear, I’ll hit you for real.”

  “Good,” I say softly, smirking. “I think I’d like that.”

  She glares at me for a second longer.

  “Sean!” I hear my name barked over the general din of the other reporters. “Get your ass over here!”

  It’s Coach Wood. I look over my shoulder at him and nod.

  “Better run,” Brynn says, still pretty pissed.