Taken

by Mia Ford

  “Okay…”

  “Why do you want to interview me?”

  “Well, it’s more of a profile piece,” I said quickly.

  “Okay, why do you want to profile me?”

  “Because you’re Sean Donovan.” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but it was all that I could come up with on short notice. I cleared my throat and searched my brain for a better explanation.

  “I know I’m Sean Donovan,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road in the heavy traffic. “But do you know how many interviews I’ve done? And how many profiles have been written about me?”

  “No…”

  “Fucking hundreds,” he said. “And they all said the same thing. Sean Donovan is great on the field, but a total train wreck off the field. All they wanna talk about is how much I drink and how many women I fuck and how many bar fights I get in.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’m the one doing all that stuff and it bores the fuck out me. Why would Playboy’s readers want to read a rehash of the same old shit they can see on TMZ or ESPN any night of the week?”

  He glanced at me and closed his mouth to let me know it was my turn to speak.

  “Well, I thought that…” I stopped speaking because I realized that he was right. Sean Donovan’s exploits were given more press time than Donald Trump’s hair. What was I thinking? There was no need to write an exposé on Sean Donovan because, as I’d contemplated in Walter’s office, there was nothing left to expose.

  He spoked without looking at me. “You thought that I would let you follow me around for a few days to personally eyewitness what a train wreck my life is. Is that it?”

  Jesus, I didn’t expect this guy to be so smart…

  “Well, I…”

  I heard him blow out along breath as he shook his head.

  “You saw the train wreck last night, Katie Holmes. Fuck, you got to witness it first-hand. I go to clubs, I get fucked up, I try to screw beautiful women, then I get up the next day and do it all over again. And if I’m not too hungover, I run down the field and catch balls Matt Murphy throws at me. If you’re looking to write an exposé, knock yourself out, but you won’t be telling the world anything it doesn’t already know.”

  “Does the world know that your drinking and partying is about to cost you your job?” I asked bluntly.

  He frowned for a moment, then opened his mouth wide. “Ah, you talked to Monique.” He chuckled under his breath. “I saw her up there feeding number three. I guess she told you everything Leon told me.”

  “She said the coach is going to play Denzel Lockett if you don’t sober up and get your life back on track.” I studied his handsome face for a moment. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Is that true?”

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that the story you want to write?” he asked. “The rise and fall of Sean Donovan?”

  I thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’d like to write the story of how Sean Donovan got his life back on track and took his team to the Super Bowl.”

  His handsome forehead wrinkled as he stared out the windshield. Quietly, he said, “I’d like to write that story, too.”

  “We could write it together,” I said. “If you’ll let me.”

  He thought about it for a moment, then glanced at the side mirrors and cut across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit. I grabbed onto the dash to keep from sliding sideways into the door.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You want to write about the real Sean Donovan?” he asked. “The one that the public doesn’t care about because it’s not headline news?”

  I blinked at him. “Yes, I would.”

  “Okay, Katie Holmes,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Kate

  I stood at the back of the room with one of the nurses who worked in the Children’s Cancer Center, watching Sean make his way around the dayroom, passing out hugs and little stuffed footballs to the sick children seated there.

  The kids ranged in age from a few years old to early teens. They were all in pajamas and little bathrobes. Some didn’t have hair. Some wore knitted caps with the Kings gold crown logo sewn in. Some smiles, others didn’t seem to have the strength. They were all very sick little boys and girls.

  Some of them knew who he was, but most didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter to Sean. He was clearly not there to stroke his own ego or have someone like me document how loving and kind he was. He was there because he wanted to be.

  “How often does he come here?” I quietly asked the nurse.

  “At least once a week,” she whispered back. “He always brings stuffed footballs or Kings t-shirts or caps to pass out to the kids. When he’s finished handing out goodies, he’ll either read them a story or play something on his guitar.”

  “He plays guitar? I had no idea.”

  “He plays beautifully,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you his girlfriend?”

  “No, I’m a journalist,” I said. I found it flattering that she thought someone like Sean Donovan would be interested in someone like me. I tried to sound professional rather than enamored of Sean.

  I said, “I’m doing a profile on Sean for a magazine.” I’m glad she didn’t ask which magazine. I’m not sure she would have been as friendly after I told her I (supposedly) worked for Playboy.

  I glanced over at her. She was watching Sean with a look of respect and admiration, nothing like the way the women were looking at him in the club last night. Of course, the man I was watching now was a far cry from the man who had humped me so flagrantly on the dance floor.

  That was one side of Sean Donovan.

  This was another.

  I wasn’t quite sure yet which one I liked better.

  “When you write your story make sure you mention how much money he has donated to this program,” the nurse said quietly. “I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, and all his donations are done anonymously, but I think it’s around a million dollars.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I’ll remember to ask him about that.”

  “He’ll deny it, I’m sure. Such a humble man.”

  A humble man?

  Sean Donovan?

  Seriously?

  I realized at that moment that I didn’t know Sean Donovan at all. I knew the Sean Donovan I’d watched on the football field, and the Sean Donovan that I had read about online and in magazines, and the Sean Donovan I’d see in viral sex videos.

  Oh, and the Sean Donovan that made me cum on the dancefloor. But the man I was watching now was a new Sean Donovan, one I had never seen or heard about before.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the real Sean Donovan, or just another side to a man I hardly knew.

  * * *

  I used a napkin to wipe ketchup from my lips and picked up the chocolate shake and gave the straw a good tug. Sean was attacking the double cheeseburger like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. He barely took time to breath between bites. He caught me looking at him and smiled.

  “Good, huh,” he grunted, chewing with his cheeks full. He swept his eyes around the little hole-in-the-wall burger joint he’d brought me to and smiled. “Ernie makes the best burgers in the city. Make sure you give him a plug in your article.”

  “I definitely will,” I said, munching on the end of a French fry. “Can I ask you something?”

  “It’s your interview,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “Why did you take me to the children’s hospital?”

  He leaned back and probed his cheek with his tongue for a moment. “Let me ask you a question. Have you ever read anything about me passing out toys to sick kids before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Do you know how many writers I’ve taken with me to that hospital?” I shook my head and he held up one hand with his fingers splayed. “At least five. Probably more. Writers from Sports Illustrated, ESPN, USA Today… And do yo
u know how many of those writers mentioned my time with those kids?”

  “Zero,” I said quietly.

  “Zero,” he repeated, rolling his fingers into a fist. “I’ve had writers shadow me at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, soup kitchens… And do you know why those writers never write about that stuff?”

  “Why?” I bit my lip and fixed my eyes on his. I could see a look of hurt in his eyes as he spoke.

  “Because Sean Donovan at a children’s hospital doesn’t sell as many magazines or get as many online hits as Sean Donovan drunk in a club with a stripper on his lap.” He picked up his vanilla shake and brought the straw to his lips. “People don’t care about that stuff, Katie. They just want the dirt. What’s that old Don Henley song, Dirty Laundry? Look up the lyrics online. You’ll get what I’m saying.”

  “The nurse told me you’d donated a lot of money to the cancer center over the years,” I said. “Care to confirm the amount?”

  He picked up a french fry and swirled it around the ketchup on his plate. He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know the amount. And please don’t think I took you there so you can write a puff piece about how caring and giving I am. I really don’t give a shit what the public thinks of me. And I’m not trying to get anyone’s sympathy.”

  “Why did you take me there?” I asked warily.

  He bit the end off the fry and let his shoulders go up and down. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I’m just trying to make you see that, yes, I’m a hard partier, but I’m also a human being. There are more sides to me than you see on TMZ. The public just doesn’t give a flying fuck about those other sides.”

  “And you’re hoping I can make the public see that there’s more to Sean Donovan than just the famous bad boy?”

  He looked me in the eye and shook his head. “No. I’m hoping you can see that for yourself.” He pushed the plate back and gave me a smile. “You wanna see who the real Sean Donovan is? Come with me.”

  Kate

  We left Ernie’s just after three o’clock, and maneuvered our way onto Interstate-95 headed north out of New York City. Sean wouldn’t tell me where we were going. He would only give me a sly smile and say, “You’ll see.”

  We chatted like old friends for a couple of hours. I learned everything there was to know about him, from his childhood days in upstate New York to his college days at Clemson to the years he’d spent with the Kings. I grilled him on old girl friends and lost loves, then he turned the tables and started grilling me.

  Only he wasn’t grilling Kate Asher

  He was grilling Katie Holmes.

  I told him my true life story up until coming to New York City, looking to put my journalism degree to work. Everything from that point on was a twisted version of the truth. It made me feel like shit. He was being so honest and transparent with me, but practically every word coming out of my mouth was a lie.

  “So, what’s Hef really like?” he asked.

  “Hugh Hefner?”

  He gave me a sideways grin. “Is there another Hef?”

  I giggled like a silly school girl. “No, of course not. Um, yes, he’s awesome. I met Hef at the Playboy Mansion.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there,” he said. “What’s it like?”

  “Um… it’s big…”

  He chuckled and shook his head. I bit my lip and looked out the window, praying we’d finished the subject. The road sign ahead read “New Haven 5 miles”. Sean slowed and took the exit without bouncing me around the cab.

  “Are we in Connecticut?” I asked, alarmed. I turned to look out the window. We were on a two-lane road covered by woods on both side.

  “We’ve been in Connecticut for a while,” he said with a smile. “You wanted to meet the real Sean Donovan. This is where you have to go. Relax, we’re almost there.”

  I settled back in the seat and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. We drove down the winding road for a few miles, then turned off onto a narrow lane that cut its way through a couple of miles of dense forest. The trees canopied above us, nearly blocking out the sun, making the road ahead look dark and ominous.

  “It’s beautiful here,” he said. I glanced over to see him smiling at me. “You’re going to love this.”

  After a few minutes, the trees parted above us and the sun shined through and I let go of the breath I’d been holding. The lane ended at a small cabin next to a lake. The place looked ancient and deserted.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “This is where the real Sean Donovan lives,” he said with a sigh. He shut off the truck and stared through the windshield at the rustic cabin and the calm lake beyond.

  “I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he said quietly. “You’re my first visitor.”

  “Why me?”

  Sean turned to look into my eyes and smiled. “I don’t really know. There’s just this little voice in my head telling me that I can trust you with the truth.”

  “There is? I mean, you can…”

  He grinned and reached for the door handle.

  “Come on, Katie Holmes, let me show you around.”

  Sean

  When I held out my hand and told Katie to come with me, I could see a look of fear and wonder in her eyes. Fear that this insane bad boy had brought her to the middle of nowhere, and wonder at what he might do to her. I gave her a reassuring smile to let her know that I was harmless, more or less. As to what I might do to her, well, that remained to be seen.

  As we walked to the edge of the lake, I felt her fingers tighten around my hand. Her hand felt good in mine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held a woman’s hand without dragging her onto the dancefloor or into my bedroom. This was just sweet, innocent handholding. It felt… good.

  “This was my dad’s cabin,” I said wistfully. “He used to bring me here when I was a boy. We’d fish all day or swim in the lake, then build a fire and sit around it all night just talking and looking at the stars.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said. I heard her sigh.

  “It was.” I swept my hand through the air. “Some of the best fishing in Connecticut is right here in this lake.”

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “And you own all this?”

  “Everything you see,” I said with a nod. “My dad owned this cabin, but I bought the rest of it with my signing bonus from the AFL draft. Two hundred acres, mostly covered in trees and vegetation. I still come here whenever I can, just to get away.” I tugged on her hand. “Please don’t write about its location. I don’t need the place overrun with nut jobs.”

  She smiled at me. “Gotcha. No nut jobs allowed.”

  I nodded at the cabin. “Come on, let me give you the grand tour. It’ll take all of two minutes.”

  Kate

  I stood back so Sean could open the cabin door. He waved away the cloud of dust that billowed from within. He looked back at me and smiled, as if he were about to share his greatest secret with me.

  “Let me light a lantern,” he said, moving into the dark cabin while I waited in the doorway. I glanced up at the sky. I had lost all track of time. The sky was turning purple and I could see the moon rising above the lake.

  “Okay, come on in,” Sean said. He was standing in the middle of the tiny cabin holding an old lantern. Dust particles rose in the air around him. He looked like a sexy railroad man from times gone by.

  “It’s… lovely,” I said as I glanced around. The cabin was small, probably twenty-by-twenty, one room, with a makeshift kitchen on one side, a wood-burning stove in the corner, and a rickety-looking cot on the other side. At the center was a small table and two chairs.

  “You’re unimpressed,” he said, making a pouty face. He set the lantern on the table and spread his hands. “You wanted to meet the real Sean Donovan? Well, Katie Holmes, here I am. This is me. I’m Sean Donovan.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said with a smile. I’m not sure what possessed me to do so, but I looked down to find
my fingers loosening the buttons on my blouse.

  I pushed the blouse back from my shoulders and let it fall to the dusty floor.

  My breasts heaved in the tight bra, begging for release.

  I reached around and unhooked the bra and my breasts fell free. My nipples quickly awoke, plumping as the warm night air caressed them. I let the bra slide down my arms. I looked at Sean and smiled. The look on his face was priceless. He looked like a deer in boob-shaped headlights…

  “Has the real Sean Donovan ever made love here?” I asked, moving closer to him. I put my hands on his cheeks and gently brushed my lips to his.

  “I’m not sure the real Sean Donovan has ever made love anywhere,” he said, taking me into his strong arms and pulling me close. He pressed his lips to mine and flicked his tongue into my mouth. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him to me.

  I’d left Kate Asher in the city.

  Tonight, Katie Holmes was in charge.

  * * *

  Sean kissed me harder as his hands swept up my sides to my breast. He moaned as he cupped my big globes in his hands. My nipples were long and hard now. They ached for his touch. He did not let them go unsatisfied. He took my nipples between his thumbs and fingers and rolled them, then gave them a hard squeeze. I moaned at the wonderful pain.

  I pushed him back and tugged the t-shirt over his head. His muscles rippled beneath my touch. My hands went over his rock-hard shoulders and chest. His nipples were like hard little pebbles. I leaned down and took one between my lips and swirled my tongue around it. Sean moaned and pushed me away.

  “Get these pants off,” he commanded, tugging at the button on my jeans. “Now.”

  “You get those pants off,” I said with an evil grin.

  I watched with anticipation as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them over his bulging cock and down his muscular legs. I could see his cock, long and thick, pushing against the tidy-whities he wore. I literally gasped as he pulled the underwear over his cock and it sprang free, bouncing in the air between us. It was at least ten inches long and girthy, with thick veins and a round head that mushroomed before my eyes. He put his hand around his cock and stroked it slowly as he waited for me to shimmy out of my jeans and panties.