I had, it seemed, managed to break my declaration - in less than a day, no less!
Admittedly, I pointed out to myself desperately, he was the one who kissed me. That wasn't my doing at all. It had been all Chase.
But I hadn't pulled away, hadn't broken the kiss or told him not to do it.
I reached up, running one finger gently around my lips. I could still feel the faintest impression of his mouth on me, of his soft kiss. And as much as I knew that it was a bad idea, a part of me desperately wanted to do it again.
I turned, looking after where Chase had left, and even took a couple of steps in that direction before I managed to get myself under control. What was I thinking? This was a terrible idea!
What I needed to do, I decided to myself, was get out of here. Go somewhere else, sober up, and then, when I next see Seth Chase, make it very clear that we will most definitely NOT be repeating anything like that kiss again.
I managed to get all the way out of the club before, with a pang, I remembered Miranda. I'd just left my best friend behind. That would probably come back to haunt me - but looking back at the long line of young partygoers waiting to get into the club, I doubted that the bouncers would let me back in.
Instead, I flagged down a cab. "Yah, where to?" the driver asked me, as I struggled into the backseat.
I paused for a moment. I needed someplace to sober up, somewhere that I wouldn't get in trouble or run into anyone else. I opened my mouth, intending to tell the cabbie my address - but then felt another idea seize me.
"Hawks Stadium," I told the man, turning and checking behind me to make sure that I had my purse, with my official, hot off the presses Hawks identification inside.
"You sure? No one's playing there, you know. Place is totally empty."
"Just what I want," I insisted. "You can just drop me off by the side entrance."
The cabbie risked another dubious look back at me, but shrugged and pulled the cab away from the curb. Twenty minutes later, he brought the car to a stop outside the employee's side entrance to the stadium. I handed him a twenty and climbed out of the cab.
I hadn't just come back here because I needed someplace quiet where I could be alone. If that was all I wanted, I would have happily returned home to my dinky little apartment. No, I was here because, standing in the slightly chilled night air outside the Kitty Kat Club, I'd remembered that I needed some pictures of the stadium for my next social media posts.
Look on the bright side, I tried to tell myself, as I headed for the side door. Not only did I go out and have some fun tonight, letting off steam, but I also got Seth Chase to promise to return back to his hotel room instead of continuing to get drunk! Hopefully, this means no pictures of him splashed across the tabloid headlines tomorrow!
All it had taken to get him back was a kiss. I tried to ignore that part.
My Hawks badge came with a little microchip inside of it, giving me access to the behind-the-scenes parts of the stadium. I let myself in, heading for the locker room. As I walked, I dug my phone out of my purse, checking to make sure I had enough battery left to take these pictures.
I needed... probably a couple pictures of the inside of the locker room, maybe one or two of player uniforms sitting out, I thought to myself as I stepped into the locker room. That would be enough for now, although I'd have to take more soon enough.
The locker room's lights bloomed after I flicked the switch just inside the entrance. I moved through the big area, snapping pictures with my phone's camera here and there.
A couple balls sat out on one of the wooden benches in the room, and I picked one of them up, pretending to wind up and throw it at one of the dirty laundry hampers. The ball felt big in my hands, slightly squishy under my fingers.
I frowned. Maybe these balls were out because they needed to be reinflated. They seemed a little too soft.
Tossing the ball aside, I didn't give it another thought. I finished snapping my pictures, checked them over, and then headed out of the locker room.
By the time I made it outside again, my earlier drunken haze had been replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. I needed, I told myself, to get off to bed.
Once I'd gotten some rest, I'd be able to figure out how to put this whole night - and that confusing, annoying kiss - behind me.
Chapter Nine
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
"Yes! Go, go go - YES!"
I burst up from my seat, although I took care to watch where I threw my arms so that I didn't knock over any of the drinks on the table in front of us. "That's what I'm talking about!" I shouted out, pointing down at the field through the huge window in front of us. "Did you see that throw? Perfect!"
"Yes, Katy, everyone saw it," Miranda assured me next to me, reaching out and patting my shoulder as she pulled me back down to my seat. "We're all watching the same game, remember?"
I sat back down, but the smile stayed on my face. With this latest touchdown, the Hawks just further extended their lead over their opponents. The game wasn't even half over, but anyone just tuning in now could easily guess who would end up cinching up the victory.
I was out with Miranda and a couple of her friends from her investment bank business, sitting up in one of the sky boxes at the Hawks stadium and watching the Hawks play their game. The rail at which we sat, in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, was covered with beer glasses, a couple of pitchers, two plates of nachos - and Miranda's customary martini, looking curiously out of place.
Miranda was more into chatting with me about the players than she was into watching the actual game, but the other two guys from her investment firm both turned out to be avid Hawks fans, and they fawned over me for a few minutes when they heard about my position with the team. I'd gotten four complimentary sky box tickets for every single game in the season, and I'd offered the other three to Miranda, inviting her to bring a couple of her friends out.
"So, Katy, what happened to you, the other night?" Miranda asked, as the Hawks prepared to kick off again, passing the ball back to their beleaguered opponents. "We were having fun with Seth and DeShaun, and next thing I know, you and Chase are both gone!"
I winced a little as the eyes of the two male investment bankers both turned towards me, all of them widening. "Nothing happened," I explained hastily. "We were out on the dance floor for a while, having fun and dancing, and then I felt tired. Chase said that he felt the same, and we both headed out to leave."
Miranda frowned at me. I didn't know if she could tell that I was omitting information, or if she just hoped that my story would turn out to be juicier. "You both just got tired?" she repeated, sounding skeptical.
I shrugged. "Yeah, that's what he told me. I went over to the stadium, took some pictures for the social media accounts, and then headed home."
"Alone."
"Yes, alone," I repeated, narrowing my eyes back at Miranda. "Like I told you before, I'm not going to get involved with any of the players. No mixing of work and pleasure." I ignored that kiss, doing my best to repress the memory of Chase sweeping me up into his arms.
I'd been doing my best all week to ignore that memory, with varying degrees of success. I'd swung by practice a few more times over the past week, mainly to take pictures and chat with some of the players for human interest stories, and although I'd spotted Chase off on the sidelines training, he didn't make any special attempt to come speak to me.
I kind of preferred that, to be honest. The kiss had been a drunken mistake on both of our parts, and it should just fade into the background.
A good idea - except that, whenever I closed my eyes, I kept on thinking about it! I kept on remembering how Chase's mouth felt on mine, how his strong arms had pulled me in, but his lips had been softer and gentle.
I never let myself linger on those thoughts for too long. A drunken mistake, and nothing more. I would put it behind me, not let it affect my job performance, and neither of us would ever speak of it again.
In an
y case, my talk with Chase seemed to actually be working! After that Monday night out, the man spent the next few nights just hanging around his hotel in the evenings, not even going out clubbing. The tabloids still ran stories about him, of course - Seth Chase sold newspapers - but all of the photos were old, and the stories dropped off to later pages of the tabloids instead of appearing with 96-point font headlines.
To fill the void left behind by the absence of scandals, I put out plenty of social media content! I took the chance to sit down with several members of the Hawks' defensive line and interview them, promising to put up an interview each week. I took pictures and videos of practice sessions, posted caption contests, and spent most of my free hours during the day replying to and retweeting comments and questions from fans.
And my work showed results! Scarcely a week into the job, I could already see measurable growth in follower counts on all platforms, and "scandal" was no longer the next suggested Google search when I typed in Seth Chase's name. My initial fear about starting my new position was finally beginning to give way to slowly growing confidence.
Miranda was still looking at me dubiously, but I pointedly turned my attention back to the game. With just three more games left after this one until the division finals, the pundits were already predicting that we would see the Hawks competing in, if not winning, the Superbowl itself.
This game certainly looked that way! By the end of the third quarter, the Hawks had further increased their lead, to the point where some of the opposing team's fans were already getting up and heading towards the exits. No chance of this game ending in anything but a Hawks win.
A few minutes into the fourth quarter, I downed the last couple sips of my beer and stood up. "Listen, everyone, thank you all for coming out to cheer for the Hawks," I told Miranda and the investment bankers. "But right now, I've got to head down to the field, get some reaction shots, comments, and pictures. I'll see you all later, okay?"
"Hey, Katy, thanks for the tickets!" one of the two bankers called out, holding up his beer in a toast to me - and nearly toppling backwards off of his chair. "This is awesome!"
"Yeah, do we have your number?" added his friend, attempting to put on a confident smile - which would have worked, were it not for the guacamole stain on his shirt.
"You can get it from Miranda," I told them, smiling. I still couldn't remember their names - one was Derek and one was Dylan, but I couldn't, for the life of me, remember which was which - but they'd been good sports and cheered just as loudly as I did.
I took the elevator down from the sky boxes, cutting through the crowd of departing visitors and heading over to the security gate that led to the locker rooms. The security guard, an older looking gentleman, frowned at me.
"Uh, Katy Tenner," I said, digging my identification badge out of my purse. "I'm coming in to interview the team about their latest win - I'm the social media coordinator."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Tenner," the guard replied after a minute, passing my badge back to me. "Name's Jim. You be nice to those boys, you hear? Especially that Chase fellow - he's one of the good ones."
"I promise to give them only easy, softball questions," I said, holding up two fingers. "Scout's oath."
Jim chuckled and stepped aside to let me pass. "Good luck, Miss Tenner!" he called after me.
Still smiling a little, I cut through the Hawks' locker room and out onto the sidelines of the field. I ducked and dodged my way through the press of water boys, assistant coaches, reporters, photographers, and other press people standing on the edge of the field, making my way over to where the Hawks offense sat on the sidelines, watching their defense successfully hold back their opponents.
A dozen steps away, I caught sight of a dreadlocked head. "DeShaun!" I called out. "Over here! It's Katy!"
The man turned at the sound of his name, a smile growing across his face as he spotted me. "Hey, Katy, get over here!" he called out, opening up a path for me. "Here, let me guess - you want a nice picture of me for all the fans?"
In the game today, DeShaun made nearly a dozen catches, including four first downs and two touchdowns. "You know it!" I told him, pulling out my phone. "Give me that pose of yours!"
Still grinning, DeShaun put both his hands together and brought them around, like a baseball batter knocking a home run out of the park. I snapped a couple quick shots, selected the best, and showed it to him.
"Looks nice, girl," he nodded. "And I bet you want to talk to Chase, too, huh? Man of the hour, led us to victory?"
Did I want to talk to Chase? I knew that I needed a quote from him, at the very least, but my stomach turned a queasy flip. "Actually, I could probably wait-"
"Yo, Chase!" DeShaun called out, waving his hand. "Over here, man - you got an admirer who wants to interview you!"
I winced, but down at the other end of the line of players, I saw a head of golden hair stand up, a pair of blue eyes pan over to me. Damn. No avoiding him now.
"Hi Katy," Chase greeted me, once he'd made his way down to my end of the mass of players and assistants. "Catch the game?"
"Yeah, from one of the sky boxes," I nodded, pointing up into the stands. "Great job, by the way - those were some amazing throws!"
He shrugged, as though it was nothing special.
I asked a few more questions, just the usual - how'd he feel about his performance, what were his favorite moments, were there any times where he felt about to break down in panic, and so on. Chase answered them all without hesitation, but I could feel his eyes lingering on me in a manner that suggested that at least some of his thoughts might be elsewhere.
Inside my head, I felt torn between not wanting to know what else he might be thinking - and deadly curious. Curiosity killed the cat, I reminded myself, but this didn't do enough to stop those curious thoughts.
"How did the balls feel?" I suddenly asked, a new thought popping into my head.
"Excuse me?" Chase started, looking surprised for the first time in the interview. "Is that really appropriate with the cameras on?" He didn't have to state that he wouldn't mind answering the question with the cameras off.
I blushed for a moment as I replayed my words and caught the double meaning. "Um, no, not what I meant. I meant the footballs - did they seem fully inflated?"
I expected him to laugh, to tell me that the footballs felt just like usual.
I wasn't expecting him to flush with color and snap his mouth shut for a moment, staring at me with wide eyes - which was exactly what he did.
"The balls are fine," he answered shortly, his eyes still looking surprised. "Why would you think anything else?"
Why had he just shifted his entire attitude? "Oh, I was in the locker room the other night, and I noticed that a couple of the balls sitting out felt a little flat, that's all," I remarked, shrugging to show that it didn't mean anything. "I'm guessing that those were out to be re-inflated, or something, but I just figured I'd ask-"
"Well, don't," Chase cut me off. "The balls are fine, up to regulation. That's all."
And before I could ask him any other questions, he turned away.
Clearly, the interview was over.
Chapter Ten
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Chase turned away from the young woman, keeping his lips pressed tightly shut so that he wouldn't let another word slip out. Inside his head, he could feel his thoughts warring with each other to be heard.
How the hell did she decide to ask something about the balls? Where had she felt them in the locker room, where she might notice that they were soft? Who had left balls out that weren't fully inflated? What if she went and, oh so innocently, told someone else?
Taking a deep breath, Chase forced his mind to calm itself. He couldn't afford to get worked up right now. He had more interview, post-game coverage to sit through, and he couldn't let any of this irritation show. He needed to project calm and confidence, assurances that the Hawks would continue their winning streak all the way to the Sup
erbowl itself.
Yet throughout the next couple of hours, as he showered, changed back into everyday clothes, and answered questions from the sports reporters, Chase felt the frown attempting to return to his face. He struggled with a couple of the questions, even asking one or two reporters to repeat their inquiries.
"Sorry," he apologized, putting on his best attempt at a smile. "Guess my head's still partly out on the field, not here."
The reporters all laughed politely, but Chase couldn't keep up his smile for long. As soon as the reporters and sportscasters ran out of questions, he hopped up from his seat, high-tailing it out of the stadium and off to the privacy of his hotel room.
He didn't permit himself to relax until the door to his room closed shut behind him. Heart pounding, he stepped over to the bed, standing over it and staring down at the made-up comforter and pillows.
What was he going to do?
After a minute, Chase slowly sank down onto the bed, sitting cross-legged. He pulled a pillow out, slammed his fist into it a couple times to burn off some of the nervous energy flooding through him, and then tossed it aside.
He had never wanted to get caught.
The whole thing started at the beginning of the season, he recalled. He'd been throwing at practice before the season started, just running drills, hitting targets across the field, when he noticed that his accuracy felt even better than usual.
Some quarterbacks might have chalked this up to luck, but Chase refused to acknowledge that luck could play such a drastic role in his ability to throw a regulation football. He began investigating, considering all sorts of factors, from the temperature outside, to the slight dampness of his hands as he threw the ball, to what he had eaten for breakfast.
All of these factors proved not to have any impact on his ability to accurately throw a football at a target, but Chase did eventually discover the cause behind his increased accuracy and skill on that day. The footballs supplied for practice had been inflated in the warm locker room; when one of the assistants brought them outside for the practice, they'd contracted and deflated slightly in the cooler outdoors.
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