I make no mention of starting the day with my head in the toilet bowl.
“I was gonna grill tonight and have a few friends over. And by ‘friends’ I mean big-titted, long-legged Instagram models.” Greer grins at me. “You interested?”
I chuckle for the first time that day. “As tempting as the offer sounds, I’ll have to pass.”
He gives me a disappointed look. “And here I thought you were coming to Piedmont Bay to join me in my whoring, degenerate ways.”
“Not tonight,” I say wryly. “I’m having Sunday dinner with the family.”
Greer grins knowingly. “Her Majesty summoned you?”
“Of course.” That’s our nickname for my grandmother. When we were kids, we’d often watched in amazement as grown men bowed to her as if she were the Queen of England. With her haughty bearing and icy stares, she certainly carries herself like royalty. I guess you could reasonably argue that she’s American royalty—a southern grand dame born into one of North Carolina’s most illustrious families.
Greer slants me a sympathetic look. “The reluctant prince. How heavy is your crown.” He grins smugly. “While you’re having Sunday dinner with Her Majesty, I’ll be relaxing in my Jacuzzi with three hot babes and their double-D tits.”
I smirk and flip him off.
He laughs, the wind whipping at his dark hair as the boat cuts across the lake, sending up frothy sprays of water.
I drink my beer, trying to drown out all thoughts of Emerson and the new gashes she tore in my heart last night.
I’ve moved on, Reyes. You need to do the same.
Goddamn her.
Greer eyes me from behind his aviator sunglasses. “Your hangover wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain gorgeous sports reporter, would it?”
I grit my teeth. “Next question.”
“Damn,” he says with a grim chuckle. “That bad?”
I scowl and shove a hand through my wind-tousled hair.
After a few minutes, Greer kills the engine to let the boat drift.
Without being asked, I grab a beer from the cooler behind us, twist the cap off and hand the bottle to him.
“Thanks, man.” His lazy Carolina drawl is more pronounced now that he’s not shouting above the rumbling motor.
He takes a deep swig of beer and then points the bottle at me. “So what’s going on with Emerson? Are you making any progress?”
My jaw clenches. “Not exactly.”
Greer frowns. “When was the last time you saw her?”
I take a long pull on my beer, buying time.
Greer watches me, waiting.
I lower the bottle from my mouth and swallow. “I saw her yesterday.”
Something in my expression has Greer sitting up straighter in his chair.
“Holy shit.” He whips off his sunglasses and stares at me, his blue eyes wide and incredulous. “You fucked her? Already?”
I look at him, stone-faced.
“I’ll be damned.” He laughs, wagging his head at me. “Didn’t waste any time, did you?”
I frown. “It wasn’t like that. I had her over for dinner—”
“I bet you did,” he leers.
“Fuck off.” I’m grateful for the cool breeze across my suddenly warm face.
Greer chuckles. “Seriously though, man. What happened?”
I lean back, rolling the bottle between my hands. “I made dinner for her. We were talking, laughing. Connecting. Then things got out of hand and . . .” I trail off pointedly.
Greer grins and swigs more beer, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “So you are making progress with her.”
“No.” My voice is flat and hard. “We had sex. That didn’t resolve a fucking thing.”
Greer nods slowly, and I know he understands. He was the second person ever to ferret out my secret feelings for Emerson. The first person was my mother. She always knew. Probably long before I even did.
“So what’s your game plan?” Greer asks.
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Game plan?”
“Yeah. You’ve been making stealth moves for the past six months. First you bought a building through a shell company so nobody would know you were the real owner. Then you entered into secret negotiations with the Renegades and threatened to walk if they even breathed your name to the media. You didn’t want Emerson to know you were coming to town. You wanted the satisfaction of ambushing her, and that’s exactly what you did.” Greer leans back and props his feet up on the mahogany dashboard. “So now that you’ve successfully executed your master plan, what’s the end goal? What do you want?”
“I want answers,” I growl. “I want fucking closure.”
Greer scrutinizes my face for a long, unnerving moment. “You don’t want a second chance with her?”
“No.” The word is barely audible.
Greer looks rightfully skeptical. “So what happens if you don’t get any answers from her? If you don’t get closure? How are you gonna exorcise those demons of yours? How are you gonna work through all that anger that’s been eating you alive?”
I clench my jaw, gripping my beer bottle so tight that my knuckles turn white. I’ve lived with anger for so long. It consumes me, rooting out and extinguishing any slivers of hope that rear up inside me. I’ve always told myself that once I have the answers I’ve been seeking, I’ll finally be able to move on with my life.
I hope to God I’m not wrong about that. Because spending the rest of my life obsessed with the same woman would be the worst kind of purgatory.
Greer stares out over the rippling water, his expression remote. “You lost your mother way too soon, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do to bring her back. But it’s not too late for you and Emerson to find happiness. The way she cut you out of her life was beyond fucked up, and you have every right to be mad. But I know you, Reyes, and I know how much she meant to you. I remember how often her name came up in our conversations when we were kids. I remember you missing her like crazy and counting down the days until you saw her again.”
He turns his head to look at me. “I don’t blame you for wanting revenge. But just remember one thing: The longer you punish her, the longer you punish yourself. Because make no mistake about it, bro, you’re always gonna love that woman. The sooner you get her back, the happier you’ll be.”
Greer’s words are stuck in my head, running on repeat mode for the rest of the afternoon.
When we return to the dock, my phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and check the screen. It’s my agent.
“Just got a call from the executive producer of Team Ticker,” he says without preamble. “I know you’ve been making the rounds on ESPN, and we’ve been bombarded with local media requests since your signing was announced. How do you feel about appearing on Emerson Sartori’s show?”
I flex my jaw, my grip tightening on the phone as Greer flicks a curious glance at me.
“Reyes?” Jimmy prompts when I don’t respond.
“When?” I ask in a low voice.
“Wednesday. Too soon?”
“No.” I smile narrowly. “Wednesday’s good.”
Chapter Thirteen
EMERSON
I arrive at the studio at five-thirty a.m. on Wednesday for a preproduction meeting.
Jack and I meet before each show to talk about the top sports stories of the week. This is when we choose which topics will be discussed on air. If we have guests scheduled, we come up with interview questions, bouncing them off each other with input from the show’s staff and producers.
When I take my seat at the table that morning, I’m not expecting anything out of the ordinary. So when Casey starts the meeting by announcing that Reyes will be a guest on today’s show, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach.
Excited exclamations erupt around the table as Jack hoots his approval.
“Hot damn! We got him before Beat the Buzzer!” he crows, referring to a rival sports talk show.
“Damn right we did.” Casey leans back in his chair with a triumphant grin. “I booked him on Sunday but kept it under wraps until today. The Buzzer boys are gonna shit a brick when they see Malone’s interview.”
This draws gloating laughter from everyone but me.
“I’d love to take all the credit for booking Malone,” Casey says with a sly glance in my direction, “but I can’t. Apparently we have a secret weapon the other guys don’t.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Jack asks.
“Malone’s agent says he’s Emerson’s biggest fan.” Casey grins at me. “You’re the reason he’s coming on the show.”
I blush furiously as all eyes turn to me. I want to duck under the table and disappear.
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Jack says with a smirk. “He seemed to enjoy her gotcha questions at the press conference. So much so that he asked her out to dinner a few days later.”
The others exchange surprised looks. Casey grins like a Cheshire cat that just swallowed a bird.
I force an upbeat smile. “I’m glad he’ll be joining us. I look forward to chopping it up with him.”
The conversation eventually moves on to other topics, but I don’t hear a word anyone says after that. I can’t focus on anything but seeing Reyes again. I hope I’ll be able to get through it without totally embarrassing myself.
When the meeting ends, I have another hour to finish prepping for the show before I’m whisked through hair, makeup and wardrobe.
When I see the skimpy outfit that’s been selected for me to wear, something snaps inside me.
“I’m not wearing that,” I say flatly.
“What?” The wardrobe assistant stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns. If I had, I’d be using them to slash apart the tight red top and black leather miniskirt dangling from a hanger in JoEllen’s hand.
“I’m not wearing that,” I repeat more firmly.
JoEllen blinks. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It looks like something a stripper would wear,” I snap. “And I have no problem with strippers. I’d just prefer not to dress like one at a job where I’m already subjected to cameras constantly panning over my body.”
JoEllen frowns at me. “Casey wants you to—”
“I don’t care what he wants. I’m not wearing it.” I spin away and march down the wardrobe rack, impatiently rifling through one sexy outfit after another. I’ve nearly reached the end when I see an electric blue off-the-shoulder jumpsuit.
I pull it off the rack and hold it up. “This is what I’m wearing.”
JoEllen nervously bites her lip. “That’ll look great on you, but Casey specifically requested this outfit.” Her grip tightens on the hanger. “I’ll get in trouble—”
“No, you won’t.”
“Are you sure? Because he insisted—”
“You won’t get in trouble, JoEllen. I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry.” She looks so conflicted that I give her a quick, reassuring hug that makes her smile.
“Now let me get ready. We’ve got a show to do.” I gently but firmly escort her to the door and close it before she can say anything else.
Once I finish dressing, I survey my reflection in the mirror. My makeup is camera-ready. My hair is flat-ironed straight and hanging down my back. The slim-cut jumpsuit accentuates my every curve, but at least I’m not showing too much skin.
I swap out the preselected dominatrix boots for nude heels. Then I grab my phone, take a deep breath for courage and yank the door open.
Casey is huddled with a couple of technicians when I march out to the set.
He turns, looks me over and throws his arms up in the air with an exasperated, “What the hell, Irish?”
“I went rogue on JoEllen. Blame me, not her.”
He scowls. “Why can’t you just cooperate?”
I smile sweetly and give a helpless shrug, mentally flipping him a double bird.
He shakes his head at me before stalking off with the technicians.
Jack joins me at the sleek glass anchor desk that accommodates five people. “What was that about?”
“Just a miscommunication,” I say blandly.
“Uh-huh.” He grins at me. “You ready for this interview?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
His eyes gleam. “You tell me.”
I ignore him, scrolling through my Twitter feed as crew members bustle around us, touching up our hair and doing mic checks.
Five minutes later we go on air. Striving for normalcy, I manage to get through the first half of the show with no problem.
Then the graphic on the screen behind us changes to a picture of Reyes hoisting the Lombardi Trophy after winning this year’s Super Bowl.
On cue, Jack beams into the camera and announces, “In what has been an exciting NFL free agency period, there was no move that made bigger waves than the Carolina Renegades acquiring Reyes Malone. Nicknamed Machine Gun Malone for his explosive arm, the quarterback sensation led the league in passing yards last year and almost tied Peyton Manning’s single season record with fifty-four passing touchdowns. Emerson and I are thrilled to welcome the two-time Super Bowl MVP to Team Ticker.”
I start clapping, my heart hammering in my chest as Reyes comes sauntering onto the set, moving with animal grace. He’s dressed in black again. Black button-down shirt, black pants and black calfskin ankle boots that probably cost more than I earn at the Gazette.
I watch every step he takes as if it were in slow motion. When he reaches the large desk, he shakes Jack’s hand and then mine, his eyes flicking over my body.
Goose bumps erupt across my skin as he lowers himself into the chair beside me, his thighs stretching the seams of his pants.
My heart is beating wildly and my palms are sweating. I swallow hard and flash him a bright smile.
“Welcome to the show, Reyes.” My voice comes out breathier than I intended.
He smiles. “Thanks for having me.”
I tell myself I’m only imagining the sexual innuendo in his words. But then he gives me a tiny wink, and everything south of my navel tightens with need.
I cross my legs, cheeks burning.
“We appreciate you joining us, Reyes,” Jack enthuses, grinning broadly. “I’ve covered sports in this town for two decades, and I can honestly say that your signing is one of the biggest news stories we’ve ever seen. I kid you not. The shockwaves have been seismic.”
Reyes chuckles, rubbing his stubbled chin. “No pressure, right?”
Jack laughs so loudly I almost roll my eyes.
He grins teasingly at Reyes. “Now that you’ve had a couple weeks to get acquainted with your new coaches and teammates, any regrets about coming here?”
“None at all,” Reyes says with that crooked grin of his. “I feel really good about my decision. The Renegades are a great organization with great players and coaches. I look forward to contributing to the team’s success.”
I slant him a wry look. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“That doesn’t bother me.” His eyes meet mine. “I’ve always loved a good challenge.”
My breath stalls in my lungs. Is that what I am to you, Reyes? A challenge? A game to be conquered?
I force a smile, trying to look calm and collected and in complete control, though we both know I’m not. “How much did it mean to you to keep the same jersey number you’ve worn since high school?”
His expression softens. “It meant a lot,” he says quietly. “My late mother’s birthday was May seventeenth, so wearing the number seventeen has always held special significance for me. I’m grateful to the Renegades for understanding that and making the number available.”
I smile softly at him, and he smiles back. The shared moment feels intimate. Special.
“Numero seventeen has certainly brought you good luck,” Jack’s voice intrudes. “Though with your talent and athleticism, you sure as hell don’t need any luck.”
Reyes chuckles and shift
s in his chair, his knee brushing mine. Hot tingles race up my thigh like a trail of sparks.
Clearing my throat, I pick up my notes and tap them on the desk to align the edges. “So, Reyes, let’s talk X’s and O’s.”
His eyes glimmer. “I love talking X’s and O’s.” When he puts a husky inflection on O’s, I hear orgasms as clearly as if he spoke the word. Right on cue, my mind flashes to an erotic image of him fucking me on his kitchen counter, and I promptly lose my train of thought.
“Um . . . I . . . uh . . .” I trail off, floundering for words.
In the awkward silence that follows, Jack coughs into his hand and Reyes gives me a purely diabolical look. He knows exactly where my mind went. He sent it there.
Jack mercifully comes to my rescue. “As Emerson already mentioned, the Renegades have struggled tremendously over the past several years. They ended the most recent season with a dismal 3-13 record. The offense ranked second to last in the league, and the defense didn’t fare much better. As their new leader, what are your priorities for getting the team in playoff contention?”
Reyes flashes an easy smile. “That’s a great question.”
As he elaborates, I watch his lips move without hearing what he’s saying. Jack follows up with another question, and they both laugh.
Then Reyes turns his head, those golden irises locking onto my face like a laser. “So when was the last time you went riding?”
I almost choke. “Excuse me?”
“Horseback riding.” He gives me an innocent look. “What did you think I meant?”
I narrow my eyes at him, watching the corners of his mouth twitch with amused mischief.
“It’s been a while since I went riding,” I mumble.
“That’s a shame,” he laments. “I remember how much you enjoyed it. And you were a natural.”
My face is scorching hot. It must be redder than an overripe tomato.
“Wait a minute.” Jack divides a surprised look between Reyes and me. “You two went horseback riding together?”
“All the time.” Reyes slants me a lazy smile. “Emerson and I grew up together. You could say we were two peas in a pod.”
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 13
