One Kiss to Win

by Romi Hart

“Hey,” Adam Channing looked at me in the mirror. The place was set up like some kind of movie-star dressing room; there was a mini-fridge, a table scattered with fancy aftershaves and lotions, and a sleek minimalist vibe that didn’t seem to jibe with the rest of the stadium so far. He seemed to notice me glancing around, and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, it’s not exactly what I’m used to, either,” He shook his head, gesturing around. “I didn’t ask for any of this, but I guess they took one look at me and decided I must be the kind of guy who needs this kind of bullshit.”

  I pulled my Dictaphone from my pocket and place it out on the table in front of us, making sure that he could see it. I didn’t want to have to break the flow of the conversation by stopping to bring up the fact that I was recording the conversation, but nor did I want him to pretend that he hadn’t seen it. I clicked it into record and leaned up against an oddly-molded chair sitting behind me.

  “It’s probably all those fashion ads,” I pointed out. “They probably think you actually have taste.”

  “I guess that makes a change from a lot of the arseholes who work in this place,” he shook his head with an amused chuckle. I cocked my eyebrow – that seemed like something I could pounce on.

  “Arseholes?” I pressed, and he laughed again, but this time there wasn’t a hint of snark in his tone.

  “It never sounds right when you Americans say it,” he teased, grinning that megawatt smile. He looked better than anyone who’d just walked out of intensive training should have; his hair was damp and floppy from a recent shower, but somehow the way he had to brush it back from his face when he spoke just made him all the more endearing. I bit my lip. Okay, I could tell that this guy was going to be trouble.

  “Well, you’re on my side of the Atlantic now,” I cocked an eyebrow, doing my best to cover up how damn flustered I felt in his presence. “Maybe try getting a hold of the local vernacular?”

  He seemed amused by my ability to talk back, and I took the moment to run through the questions again in my head. I didn’t want this to turn into a flirt-fest – at least, not before I’d had a chance to get the interview out of the way. I rolled my shoulders back and met his gaze steadily; I’d interviewed enough sports stars to know that the best way to call them on their shit was to look them dead in the eye and get on their level. They were used to having women throwing themselves at them at every turn, so when they got one that doesn’t take their shit, it tends to throw them. Which makes for an interesting interview, one way or another.

  “So, why did you come to America?” I asked, itching to feel a pen and notebook in my hand. When I had done those classes at night school to earn a degree in journalism, I had done all my interviews with pen and paper because I couldn’t afford a Dictaphone. It still felt wrong to me to not take any notes, but I knew that I had to make as though this was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Money, and the chance to play somewhere new,” he shrugged, reaching for a bottle of water that sat on the other side of the table from him. The muscles in his arm flexed as he did so, and I did my best to keep my eyes off of them. Focus, Sam, focus. He eyed me briefly, and then added an addendum.

  “Not to mention the women,” he cocked an eyebrow, and I didn’t move my face an inch. He was looking for a reaction and he wasn’t going to get one from me.

  “Hmm,” I acknowledged what he’d said. “You seeing anyone now?”

  “Why, you asking me out?” He asked, cocking his head to the side playfully. I flushed.

  “You wish,” I shot back before I had a chance to think about how sharp that would come across. He laughed, again, and my shoulders slumped in relief.

  “You know, one of the things I miss most about Britain is the fact that I actually get talked back to once in a while,” he sighed. “You’re making me homesick.”

  “Tell me about home,” I used his comment to transition smoothly into his past. He didn’t talk about it much, and I knew that if I could squeeze a few details of that out of him I would have nailed this interview. He shrugged.

  “I grew up just outside London,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “Moved into the city when I got scouted when I was a teenager and never looked back.”

  “What about your parents? What did they do?” I pressed, but I saw something come down behind his eyes, something that told me I wasn’t getting any more questions in this vein answered.

  “Nothing exciting,” he responded firmly, and I decided it was best to back off for the time being.

  “So, how are you finding the Saracens so far?” I returned to safer territory. I had done some reading up on old interviews he’d done and had seen that he’d been pretty happy to answer any questions about his career, but anything about his past seemed to cause him to bristle up.

  “I love it here,” he grinned, bowing his head. “The attitude to soccer, it’s so different – there’s so much less politics to worry about, you know?”

  “In what way?” I cocked my head, interested.

  “I just…” he trailed off, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “So many of the clubs back home, everything seems to revolve around these rivalries that have been going on for decades. There’s not much new there, if you get me?”

  “I do,” I grinned. He was smarter than he’d come across in other interviews I’d read. “So you prefer-”

  Before I could finish my sentence, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I tried to ignore it, but he nodded towards the lit-up square in the pocket of my pale shirt. The screen was glaring through the fabric, flashing up like a firework.

  “You’re fine to answer it,” he assured me, looking amused, and I quickly pulled it out to check what was going on. I wish I’d have had the nerve to just ignore whoever it was and get on with the interview, but knowing what else had gone wrong today, I just didn’t want to risk it.

  “Shit,” I muttered as I scanned the text that had appeared on my screen. It was Lilly – she was letting me know that she’d been called away last-minute by work and wouldn’t be able to take care of Jacob like she’d promised. I felt a wave of panic strike me as I tried to keep a cool head, but I knew my freakout must have been painted loud and clear on my features.

  “You don’t have to stick around if you don’t want,” he joked. “If you’re looking for an out there are much easier ways to do it than-”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I tried to figure out what the best course of action was. By this time, he’d at least be home, right? Maybe I could risk leaving him for a half-hour while I wound this up. It wasn’t like I was going to get another shot at this anytime soon, and I knew I would never forgive myself if I blew this interview over my inability to get a babysitter who could actually stick.

  “What’s up?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I shook my head, glancing over at the Dictaphone. I didn’t want to rush this, but then, I didn’t want to leave Jacob sitting at home alone for too long. Lilly would be leaving soon – I would need to get out of there and back on the road right away if I was to have any chance of getting in before she left. I raked my fingers through my hair and managed a smile.

  “Look, if you need to go, we can reschedule this,” Adam leaned back in his seat and placed his hands on top of his head.

  “Really?” I felt a little uptick in my chest as I realized what he was offering. I could get home to take care of my son without blowing this interview. It was perfect.

  “If you’ll join me for dinner,” he grinned cockily, his gaze meeting mine once more as though he was challenging me. My mouth fell open – he couldn’t be serious, surely? I shifted in my seat, not sure how to react. It must have been something that appealed to his British sense of humor.

  “Uh…” I stared him for a moment, and then decided to call him on his bluff. “When?”

  “Tomorrow night, if you can make it,” he glanced in the direction of my phone. “Provided nothing else comes up that tears you away from me.”

  �
��Sure thing,” I nodded. I was sure I could find someone to step in and take care of Jacob by then – Mom would be free, and I knew she would be there for me if I told her the scope of this interview.

  “Here, give me your number,” He suggested, reaching for my phone. I drew it back on instinct; I had a picture of Jacob as my background, and for some reason, I didn't want him seeing my son quite yet. Our fingers grazed, and I felt a little flutter in my chest as our skin came into contact for the first time.

  “Give me yours,” I shot back playfully, making it into a joke, and he grinned as he whipped a card from a small stack on his table and handed it over. I took it, and tried to ignore what felt like a spark passing between us as we touched again. Okay, now I was just getting overexcited. I shook my head in an attempt to steady myself, and tucked the card into my pocket. His eyes swept up and down my body briefly, as though he couldn’t help himself, and I shifted in my seat, tickled by his apparent interest.

  “I’ll text you when I…when I’ve taken care of everything,” I got to my feet. “Really, thank you. You’ve helped me out so much with this.”

  “No problem,” He got to his feet, stepping over to the door to open it for me like a proper gentleman. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  There was a split-second moment, as I ducked under his arm to get out the door and grabbed my dictaphone, that a crazy thought brushed through my mind. I could so easily have leaned up to kiss him, there and then – our bodies were so close that I could have leaned mine into his, looked into his eyes, and told him all he needed to know with a single look. But, in a second, as I stepped out into the sweaty corridor once more, the moment was gone, and I had to pull myself back together.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he grinned, closing the door behind me and leaving me standing in that sweaty corridor before I could think of anything to say in response. I stared at the door for a moment, emblazoned with a name that I could finally attach to a person. I couldn’t quite believe any of that had actually happened. I made my way out to the car as quickly as I could, the scent of his aftershave still filling my senses.

  As soon as I was in the car, I pulled my phone out to reply to Lilly and let her know I was on my way, and to text Irina to fill her in on what had just happened. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with her response.

  “Wait, so you have a date with him? And it was his idea?”

  I stared at the words on the screen and had to suppress a small smile as I read them. Yeah, I guessed I did have a date – I hadn’t gone in there expecting anything, but just like that, he’d managed to turn things around and now I was meeting him for dinner. The thought sparkled in my brain, making my heart flip in my chest a couple times as I started up the engine. It had been a while since I had last been on a date, and for my re-entry to the game to be a hot, foreign, successful soccer player with the kind of body that was plastered on ad-boards across the country? Yeah, I could get behind that.

  2

  I pushed the earring that I had spent the last five minutes looking for into my ear and did a little twirl.

  “How do I look?” I demanded, striking a goofy pose with my eyes crossed and my leg dangling in the air.

  “Like a movie star, mommy,” Jacob looked up at me, his eyes wide as he took me in. I would have laughed at his complete shock at seeing me all dressed up, but then, it had been a while since I’d had an excuse to put on my glad rags like this and actually look nice.

  “Thank you, baby,” I leaned down to plant a kiss on his head, and checked the time again. “Gosh, when is the babysitter going to get here?”

  I paced back and forth, and then forced myself to stand still. I wasn’t going to will her into arriving by storming around like some kind of momzilla. I plonked myself down on the couch next to my son and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him against my chest and balancing my head on his.

  “What are you watching today?” I asked, gesturing to the TV, and he turned to me excitedly.

  “It’s this show about dragons,” he began, and then launched into a long, in-depth analysis on the show he’d been watching for the last couple of weeks. Of course, I knew every detail – I had been in the apartment while he’d been watching it, after all, and it was cute to see him so engaged with a piece of pop culture like that. It reminded me of when I was a kid and I got super-obsessed with shows and movies and books to the extent where anytime anyone gave me the chance to talk about them, I would practically explode with excitement. He was going to be a big old nerd, just like his mother.

  I nodded along, dipping my head to the side in interest as he spoke. I loved seeing him so passionate about something, even though I knew some parents were snobs about letting their kids watch TV. Well, they could explain to me the best way to keep my son occupied when I was running around trying to deliver articles on time and hit interviews out of the park without any paid-for help or another parent.

  Jacob’s Dad had been out of the picture since before he was born. We had dated in high school, and he had knocked me up the summer before I was due to go to college. I deferred, and gave him the opportunity to get involved in his son’s life, but he freaked the fuck out and left me to raise him alone. Lucky for me, my parents supported me, and I was able to get a deferment at the college I’d wanted to attend. A couple years later, I had gotten my degree through online night classes, and started pursuing my career in sports journalism. It had taken me a while to get myself established, and I had never expected to be doing it with a kid in tow, but I had managed, even if it felt like most of my life was spent carefully juggling my son and my job. I wouldn’t have had it any other way, though I didn’t have a whole lot of time for anything outside the two.

  Suddenly, the doorbell buzzed, and I jumped to my feet.

  “That’ll be her,” I patted my hair down, glancing in the small mirror next to the door. I didn’t think I looked too bad, considering the shoestring budget I had put this outfit together on. I was wearing a black dress that my mom had dropped off for me earlier in the day, one that hugged my waist and kicked out prettily over my legs, that read just the right side of professional. I had pulled my hair, which hadn’t seen a cut in months, back and into something close to a chignon and swept my bangs to the side with a hair-straightener I hadn’t used since I was in high school. I had dug through my make-up and managed to come up with a passable smoky eye, and layered on the mascara in an attempt to make myself look a little more formal.

  I had messaged Adam the night before, and he had sent me the name of the restaurant he’d booked for us; it was fancy as fuck, the kind of place that I would have drooled looking at the menu of and put aside for a birthday trip to if I could ever afford it. It was an Asian-fusion place, and I was already mildly concerned that I was going to make myself look like an uncultured ass if I didn’t know how to eat all the dishes that were served up to us that evening. I had done my best to take a look at the menu to figure out what I wanted to eat, but I didn’t want to overthink things too much and focused on just getting ready and making sure I didn’t look like I hadn’t been on a date in at least three years.

  Tara, the babysitter I’d managed to find for the evening, buzzed up to the apartment and I let her in. She smiled and looked me up and down as she entered.

  “Wow, you look pretty great!” She remarked with a smile. I glanced down at my outfit.

  “Thanks,” I beamed at her. “Nice to hear that from an adult, to be honest.”

  “Come on, you just get out for your date,” She nodded towards the door, and I grabbed the bag I had dumped on the counter and slung it over my shoulder as Tara headed over to sit next to Jacob. I glanced over at the two of them with a smile, as Jacob turned to her and waved his greeting, and hurried over to drop a kiss on his head before I went for the door.

  “I won’t be back late,” I assured her, but Tara waved her hand.

  “Take as long as you need,” she replied, raising her eyebrows at me pointedly as I shut
the door behind me. I shook my head as I made my way down the stairs. It was like she’d been in a conference call with my mom or something. Both of them were just as excited that I was finally out on something resembling a date that I was pretty sure they would have booked the whole night away for me if they could have.

  The taxi was waiting for me outside – perfect timing, considering it was just starting to rain again. What, did Adam bring the British weather with him wherever he went? He was probably rich enough, now that I thought of it. I leaned forward to give the address to the driver and then sat back against the cool leather of the seats and watched the city flash by outside. I still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. A date – or, at least, something close enough to a date that my mom would get off my damn back about still being single all these years.

  In my defense, finding a man had never been high on my list of priorities. Yes, it would have been nice to have the company sometimes, but that didn't mean I was going to go out of my way to find a dude and assimilate him into my life just because it would make the people around me more comfortable. A few of my family members got really uptight when they realized that I was raising Jacob without a specific father figure, but I didn't give a shit – he had my dad and my brother, who were both strong male figures in his life, and I could be damn sure that he didn't require one who just happened to live in the house with us. I was doing just fine raising him as was, and besides, it wasn't like there were queues of men out the door for a single mom who spent most of her free time pursuing her career so she didn't get left behind in the crush.

  I patted my bag to check that my Dictaphone was still in place. This was an interview, after all, and I had to make sure that I played this as professional as possible, no matter what the skipping in my chest was trying to tell me. I had re-written out some questions, hoping that I could get him a couple of glasses of wine in and a little looser about talking on the subjects he’d seemed reticent on the last time we’d met. Was that manipulative? Maybe, but no more so than getting a journalist sent to interview you out on a pseudo-date just so she could finish up her story.