Smooth Play

by Regina Hart

  The parting comment weighed like a stone in Troy’s chest. He was right. In trying to protect the team, Troy had done more damage than Gerald ever had. He’d created a huge distraction while the team was already struggling with its first postseason appearance in four years. Why hadn’t he considered that before he’d asked to do the ESPN interview?

  Then something else Gerald said returned to him. Troy frowned at Jaclyn. “Why did Gerry ask me about today’s blog? What has he posted now?”

  Jaclyn circled the table and walked toward the door. “You can read the post later.”

  His skin grew cold. He beat Jaclyn to the exit and stood barring her way. “Just tell me.”

  She met his eyes. “The Insider said you gave Andrea exclusive coverage with the Monarchs because you’re sleeping with her.”

  10

  Troy saw a different Andrea Benson when she opened the door to her apartment Tuesday evening. The normally buttoned-up reporter wore hot pink Capri pants, exposing her trim calves and slender ankles. Superman’s logo dominated a powder blue T-shirt that molded her small breasts. But her toes were the greatest surprise. Who would have thought her conservative black pumps hid sparkly pink toenails?

  “I asked you to call me.” Andrea stood with one hand braced on the doorjamb. The other gripped the doorknob.

  He dragged his gaze back to her eyes. “I wanted to talk with you in person. May I come in?”

  He sensed a “no” hovering between them. Andrea considered him for a silent moment. She seemed uncertain. Troy braced for the rejection. He’d lost his job. Disappointed a boss he admired and was the source of distraction for the team he’d tried to protect. He couldn’t handle being turned away now. Troy opened his mouth to plead his case just as Andrea stepped aside.

  She gave him a curious look. “How did you know where I lived?”

  Troy crossed her threshold. “Connie’s change of address form. Jackie gave it to me since I no longer have access to employee records.”

  He followed her down a short entryway, past a modest kitchen. She took him to an eclectic living room that held a collection of mismatched furnishings and even more surprises. “Serge?”

  The Monarchs forward looked up from his position sprawled on the beige carpet. He was propped on his elbow. A coloring book lay in front of him. He gripped a small crayon in his large hand. “Troy.”

  Troy shifted his attention to his former secretary. He hadn’t had a chance to call her. Had Andrea already told Constance she didn’t work for him anymore? “Hi, Connie.”

  Constance smiled at him. She was sitting on the floor with her legs folded. “Hi, Mr. Marshall.”

  “Troy,” he urged her, not for the first time.

  Constance laid her hand on the fine blond hair of the little girl lying belly down on the carpet between her and Serge. “This is my daughter, Tiffany. Tiff, can you say hello to Mr. Marshall?”

  The little girl looked up from her coloring book. “Hi.” The word came out on a long, soft breath.

  Troy smiled. “Hi, Tiffany. You look just like your mother.”

  Tiffany glanced at her mother before returning to her coloring.

  What surprised Troy more? The presence of the Monarchs forward in the women’s apartment or the fact Serge was coloring with Constance and her toddler? How long had this relationship been developing?

  Andrea gestured toward an attractive woman curled up in an armchair. “Faith, this is Troy Marshall.”

  Faith set aside her sketchbook and stood to accept Troy’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” Troy saw the speculation in Faith’s eyes. What, if anything, had Andrea told her roommate about him?

  Troy returned his attention to Andrea. “Can I speak with you privately?”

  “Sure.” Andrea led him across the living room.

  She opened the left rear window and climbed out onto a deep red metal fire escape. Troy hesitated before clenching his teeth and stepping out after her. Andrea closed the window partway, probably to minimize the amount of crisp spring air that blew into her apartment.

  Troy watched her cross to the opposite railing. He folded his arms over his chest and stepped back against the building’s red brick facade. A network of metal fire escapes crisscrossed up and down the building. The congested sidewalk waited a long twelve stories below. He hated heights. “This isn’t exactly private.”

  Her tone was droll. “Did you expect me to take you to my bedroom?”

  At least they would have been indoors. Troy smiled to mask his nerves. “You’re right. I wouldn’t want you to be tempted to take advantage of me.”

  Andrea’s sherry eyes sparkled with humor. Her full, bare lips curved ever so slightly. “I wouldn’t have been able to help myself.”

  Troy was running on maybe an hour’s sleep. He’d been angry and anxious since receiving Gerald’s call in the predawn hours. And he’d been wound too tight to rest. But her smile gave him a surge of energy and a sense of hope.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward the group in the living room. “Do they know Gerry fired me?”

  He felt naked and vulnerable as he waited for her reply. Had they been talking about him before he’d shown up? Did they think he was a fool for calling Gerald out without proof to support his claim?

  Troy looked again at Andrea. She leaned against the railing of the suspended fire escape. The evening breeze teased her long dark hair. What did she think of him? Did she hate him because of the latest Monarchs Insider blog?

  Andrea shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell Connie or Serge. And I didn’t want to tell Faith until Connie knew.” She offered him a smile. “I did mention it to Tiff over coffee this morning, but she won’t tell her mother.”

  He smiled at her joke. Why was she being nice to him after the trouble he’d caused her? He gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to tell them now?”

  “I don’t know.” He dragged his hand over his hair.

  “Don’t wait too long. The media will break the news tomorrow if not later today.”

  Dammit. “You’re probably right. But that’s not what I came here to say.”

  Andrea seemed to stiffen. He sensed her suspicion. “What is it?”

  Troy drew a breath. “I owe you an apology. I never meant to bring you into the line of fire when I gave that interview against the Insider.”

  She tilted her head. “You called the blogger a small-minded, petty hack. What did you think would happen?”

  Troy had withstood Gerald’s fury and Jaclyn’s disappointment. But he struggled in the face of Andrea’s concern. The crisp breeze chilled him. Or maybe it was self-doubt. “I didn’t think he’d take his anger out on you. After I exposed him, I expected Gerry to take down the blog.”

  “But Gerry’s not the Insider.”

  Troy’s impatience spiked despite Andrea’s reasonable tone. “How do you know that?”

  She crossed her arms over the Superman logo. “Well, first of all, the Insider’s a woman.”

  Surprise chased away his irritation. “Do you know who she is?”

  “No. And, before you ask, it’s not me.” Andrea shifted her body weight from one leg to the other.

  Troy could swear the fire escape moved. He gripped the railing beside him. “I never thought you were the blogger. Why would you post a blog entry attacking yourself?”

  Andrea blinked her bright eyes. “Is that the only reason you think I’m not the Insider?”

  “Why would I think you were the blogger?” Her question confused him. She was straying from their topic.

  “Never mind.” She sounded exasperated.

  Troy let it go. “What makes you think the blogger is a woman?”

  “Her writing style and the subjects of her posts.” Andrea counted her reasons on her fingers. “She writes with a lot of emotion. And, as you pointed out, she seems jealous.”

  Andrea’s face glowed as she stated her arguments
. She was more animated than Troy had ever seen her. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. “Petty and jealous describe Gerry.”

  “But look at who the Insider attacks. Jackie Jones and Mary Devry-Evans. In those posts, she tells both women they can’t hold on to their men. Does that sound like Gerry?”

  She scored some points there. Still, Troy wasn’t convinced. “But in his first post, he attacked Jamal and Rick.”

  Andrea raised her index finger, a smug expression on her heart-shaped face. “No, she used Jamal’s words to attack Rick. That first post was an anomaly.”

  “I’d noticed the difference between the posts, too.” Could Andrea be correct? Was the Insider a woman?

  Andrea stepped toward him. She moved as confidently as though they stood in her living room. Troy kept a close watch, ready to save her if she fell. She leaned against the rail, and this time he was certain the fire escape swayed.

  “Then, this morning, she attacked me.” Andrea rested an elbow on the railing beside her. “My name never came up in your interview. Still, she said the only reason I was able to cover the Monarchs is that you and I are having an affair.”

  Once again, regret pressed heavily on Troy’s shoulders. “I’m really sorry about that.”

  Andrea shrugged. “You don’t need to apologize. She’s the one who attacked me.”

  “But I feel responsible.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to speak with your editor?”

  Andrea blinked her pretty eyes. “And tell him what? That you and I aren’t sleeping together? I think I can handle that.”

  “Is her accusation going to cause you any trouble in the press section?”

  Andrea looked away. “Do you mean more trouble?”

  Troy traced her delicate profile with his gaze. He’d be lying if he said he’d never noticed the tension between Andrea and her colleagues or that he’d never wondered about it. But he’d save that discussion for another time. Right now, he wasn’t ready to give up the idea of Gerald being somehow responsible for the Monarchs Insider blog.

  “Even if the Insider is a woman, that doesn’t mean Gerry isn’t somehow involved.”

  Andrea started to move away from him. Troy stepped from the wall and reached for her shoulders. The warmth of her skin through her thin T-shirt carried through his palms, up his arms, and to his chest. He didn’t want her to walk away from him. If she did, somehow he knew he’d be lost.

  Troy searched Andrea’s startled eyes. “What do we do now?”

  Was he talking about the blog or the attraction growing between them? His heart beat slow and hard against his chest. Her lips parted, drawing him even closer to her.

  The window opened behind them. Faith interrupted the moment. “Troy, would you like to stay for dinner? I’m making spaghetti. Serge is joining us.”

  Troy couldn’t look away from Andrea’s sherry brown eyes. “I don’t want to impose.”

  Faith chuckled. “You’re not any trouble. I’ll set another place.”

  The window slid closed behind him. “Will you help me?”

  Andrea stepped back. Troy’s hands dropped from her shoulders. “Right now, I need to help Faith.”

  Troy watched her hurry to the window, then climb back inside. An electric awareness had arced between them. He couldn’t have been the only one to feel it. He’d seen the reaction in Andrea’s eyes. Troy frowned. He wasn’t the Monarchs’ vice president of media and marketing anymore. What was standing in the way of his acting on the attraction he’d felt since they’d first met?

  Nothing.

  Andrea hadn’t wanted to let Troy into her modest apartment. She’d caught the look Faith had flashed at her after she’d introduced Troy. It screamed, “What are these millionaires doing here?” Andrea shared her friend’s horror. Serge and Troy could probably buy everything the women owned with the cash in their wallets. Troy may have traded his fashionable business suits for expensive casual clothes, but the simple lifestyle she and her roommates enjoyed still didn’t fit his image.

  Or so she’d thought.

  She took in the crowd seated at the rectangular, dark wood dining table. The camaraderie made it seem as though the motley crew—the professional basketball player, the NBA executive, the single mother and her toddler daughter, the cartoonist moonlighting as an accountant, and the sports reporter—had been together for years. Constance had even stopped calling Troy “Mr. Marshall.”

  Andrea stood to clear the table. “Does anyone want seconds?” She grinned at Serge. “Or thirds?”

  The forward patted his flat stomach. “No, thank you. Everything was delicious.”

  Troy stood as well. “I’ll help with the dishes.”

  Andrea’s smile wavered just a bit. “Thank you.”

  She felt awkward as he followed her into the kitchen. Her shoulders still tingled from his earlier touch more than an hour ago.

  Troy made subsequent return trips to the dining room to clear the table. He stacked the dishes, serving bowl, platter, and utensils in the sink. Andrea arranged them in the dishwasher.

  After carrying in the last of the dishes, he leaned his hips against the white-tiled kitchen counter. “Will you help me expose the Insider?”

  Andrea looked away from his long, lean body and model good looks. “Why are you still concerned about her? You don’t work for the Monarchs anymore.”

  “I’ll always care about the team.” Troy’s voice was tight. “I want them to be successful. They can’t do that if this gossip keeps hounding them.”

  The conviction deepening his baritone didn’t surprise her. Troy was passionate about the Monarchs. Devotion like that didn’t turn on and off like a faucet. What would it feel like to be the recipient of that focus, that kind of passion?

  She took her time packing the dishwasher. “The players can take care of themselves. Tell them to stop reading the blog.”

  “You sound like my sister.”

  He had a sister? She’d learned about Troy’s ex-wife from Mindy Sneal, his former secretary. Now he was telling her about a sibling. Andrea had learned more about Troy as a person in four days than she had in three years. “Your sister sounds like an intelligent person. You should listen to her.”

  “Rick Evans isn’t reading the blog, but his wife is. She left him Saturday—after reading it.”

  She looked up in surprise. The news saddened her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Troy continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “From the questions during the postgame conference, you know the media’s reading it. You’re reading it.”

  She wasn’t proud of that. “Finding the blogger isn’t going to get your job back.”

  “I want my job back. But my priority is protecting the team.” He straightened from the counter. “And if I can prove Gerry is somehow involved with the blog, it would show I’m right and he’s lying. Maybe then I can return to the Monarchs and force the Horn to drop Gerry’s blog.”

  Andrea straightened, resting her hands on her hips. “Which is more important to you, the team or your job?”

  Troy set his jaw. “Both.”

  “What if Gerry’s not involved with the Insider?”

  He looked away. “Then I’ll move on to another job.”

  “It’s not always that easy.” She knew that from bitter experience. She hoped he wouldn’t have to go through it.

  “I know.” He met her gaze. “Will you help me?”

  Andrea bent to pour the dishwashing detergent into the machine’s reservoir and locked its door. “We’re friends now?”

  Troy looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  Resentment stirred inside her. “Even though my coverage of the Monarchs has always been impartial, you cut off my access to the team. You didn’t trust me. Do you trust me now?”

  “I had to block your access. If I’d treated you differently from the other reporters, they’d think you had a special relationship with the organization.”

  Andrea smiled without humor. “And n
ow, thanks to the Insider, they think I have a special relationship with you. I’d earned that access because I treated the team fairly.”

  Troy shifted against the counter. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  Andrea crossed her arms. “Is it true the only reason you don’t think I’m the Insider is that I wouldn’t have written that damaging post about myself ?”

  He frowned. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

  She thought her eyes would cross. Stubborn man. “Because I need an answer.”

  “No, that’s not the only reason. The blog isn’t your style. You’re too confrontational to sneak around and post anonymous messages.”

  Not good enough. If he wanted her to help him, he needed to trust her. “Is that the reason? I’m too confrontational to be an anonymous blogger?”

  He spread his arms. “What do you want from me?”

  “Your trust. But I don’t think you’re ready to give it.” She pressed the power button on the dishwasher. “It’s time you told Connie and Serge what’s going on.”

  Troy caught her arm and pulled her to him. “Will you help me find the blogger?”

  His heat. She could grow addicted to his touch. But like the moth and the flame, theirs would be a relationship that wouldn’t last.

  Andrea stepped back. “I’ll find the Insider. But I won’t do it for you. It’s the hottest story in New York sports since the question of whether A-Rod was taking performance-enhancing drugs. I want this story. I’m sure every other sports reporter wants it, too.” She left the kitchen.

  Troy closed his palm to hold onto her touch. She’d been toying with him. Andrea had intended to investigate the Monarchs Insider all along. She’d apparently also decided to make Troy sweat. Stubborn woman. Troy pushed away from the counter. It was time to face the music. When would this nightmare end?

  Faith, Constance, Tiffany, and Serge had returned to the living room. Andrea took a position beside Faith’s armchair and gave him a pointed look.

  This is it. No more stalling. He looked from Serge to Constance. “I have something to tell you.” He took a steadying breath. “I’m no longer with the Monarchs.”