by Mia Ford
“See you later,” I said, nodding sadly as she pushed herself off the door and walked down the hall toward her office.
My cellphone buzzed on the desk. I didn’t recognize the number, but figured it was Carli Lloyd’s rep calling me back. The Bluetooth headset was already attached to my ear. I tapped the button to answer the call.
“This is Kate,” I said.
The caller hesitated for a moment, then said, “Is this Playboy Magazine? Is this Katie Holmes?”
I recognized Sean’s voice immediately. I could feel his lips at my ear. His breath on my neck. His cock against my clit. My nipples tingled. Damn, the effect this guy had on me.
I cleared my throat and said, “Yes, this is Katie.”
“Hi Katie, it’s Sean Donovan.”
“Sean, hi. How are you?”
“I’m good. A little hungover, but that’s normal for me. Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come watch the team practice today, then join me for a late lunch, early dinner kind of thing. Nothing fancy. Just a burger or pizza, something simple. We can talk about the interview you want to do.”
My lips moved for a second, but my brain was slow in sending out words. I nervously cleared my throat again and tried not to sound too eager.
I said, “Hang on, Sean, let me look at my schedule…”
I muted the earpiece and counted down from ten as I took a few deep breaths and tried not to hyperventilate. When I was sure that I could speak coherently, I tapped the earpiece to unmute the call.
“Sean? Hi. I’ll have to move some things around on my schedule, but I think I can make that work. What time should I be there?”
“Awesome. I’ll leave a pass for you at the security gate outside the practice field. Say around one o’clock?”
“That will be fine,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”
I ended the call and took a minute to catch my breath, then hurried down the hall to Dru’s office to let her know that Katie Holmes was back.
Sean
Man, the coach was on my ass from the moment I walked onto the practice field. Okay, granted, I was still a little hungover from my long night of partying and felt like I was gonna puke, but I ran every route he assigned me and caught every ball.
After an hour in the hot sun, my body was drenched in alcohol sweat and every muscle ached. I plucked a bottle of Gatorade out of the ice bucket and stood on the sideline to suck it down.
“Donovan, you’re moving like a goddamn sloth out there today,” the coach snarled as he walked past me. “You need to pick up the pace or get the fuck off the field.”
“I’m catching the balls, ain’t I?” I said, wiping sweat from my face with the back of my hand.
Coach Rickets stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me. He leaned in and sniffed the air between us.
“You smell like pussy and booze,” he said. “And you look like shit.” He came close enough to poke a stiff finger into my chest. “We’re not paying you eight-million dollars a year to party your ass off at night and give a half-ass effort on the field during the day. You have until Friday to dry out and clean up your act or Lockett plays yours spot on Sunday. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I said, biting my tongue so hard I could taste blood. I knew better than to talk back to Rickets. I might be the star running back, but he was the coach and he decided who got to play and who stood on the sidelines. Talent is what gets you to the game, but it’s the coach that tells you when to play.
It would kill me to just watch a game and not play in it.
Rickets was a grade-A asshole, but he was right.
I was partying my career into the ground. I had to dry out and get my head back in the game before I found myself unemployed.
“How did that feel?” Leon asked as he dropped his helmet on the ground and fished out a red Gatorade.
“How did what feel?”
“Getting your ass chewed off by the coach.”
“Felt great,” I said. I tugged the drenched t-shirt over my head and mopped the sweat off my face with it.
“He’s right, you know,” Leon said. He stood next to me, but kept his eyes on the field. “You’re killing yourself, man. He’s gonna give your spot to Lockett, and when that happens, they’ll find a way to break your contract or trade you off to fucking Minnesota.”
“That’s never gonna happen,” I said, shaking my head.
Leon shrugged. “I hope you’re right. By the way, I asked Monique to marry me and she said yes.”
“That’s awesome, man,” I said, bumping him with my elbow. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, man,” he said. He tilted back the Gatorade bottle and emptied it into his mouth. He tossed the bottle into the trash and picked up his helmet. As he was putting the helmet on, he nodded toward the stands behind me.
“Is that the girl from last night?” he asked. “The girl from Playboy you told me about?”
I turned around to see Katie Holmes sitting in the stands watching us. She had her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. When she saw me turn around, she held up a hand and smiled.
“Yeah, that’s her,” I said. “She’s a knockout, huh.”
“She looks good from here,” he said. He picked my helmet up from the ground and shoved it into my belly. “Come on, she’s seen your dance moves. Show her what you can do on the field.”
I took a deep breath and willed the vomit back down my throat, then tugged on my helmet and ran onto the field.
Just knowing that Katie was watching me seemed to infuse me with an energy I had not felt in a long time. Maybe I was just showing off, but I had one of the best practices of my life.
When it was over, Coach Rickets gave me an approving nod and Denzel Lockett flipped me the finger. I just smiled and trotted into the clubhouse to take a shower.
Kate
I felt my pulse quicken as I watched Sean sprint down the field to catch a long pass from Matt Murphy. They were such a perfectly-matched pair; Matt Murphy with the golden arm that could throw the ball with speed and pinpoint precision, and Sean who could leave the guy covering him in the dust and hit the mark so perfectly that the ball practically fell into his arms.
I’d never been to a New York Kings’ practice session before. I had never been assigned to cover the Kings and now that the entire SIO staff was barred from the stadium, I’d probably never get the chance to do so.
I had no idea what I’d been missing…
Watching the players practice without jerseys and pads, I imagined that it must have been a little bit like watching gladiators in the Roman arena; large, muscled, sweaty men of all shapes, sizes, and colors; in tiny shorts, pushing and shoving and running and tackling one another.
It was also a little bit like foreplay.
As I watched Sean on the field, I felt my nipples plump and a growing moisture between my legs. I smiled to myself because I’d had the foresight to wear a thick bra and a panty-shield to manage the effect Sean Donovan seemed to have on me.
I was a little sad to see practice end. Sean trotted over to the fence and gave me a big smile. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His muscled torso was brown from the sun, and glistening with sweat.
I came down the bleachers to meet him at the fence. He looked even better up close. My eyes followed a trail of sweat as it sluiced down from his neck, through the crease between his thick chest, across his chiseled abs, and into the waistband of his shorts. I could almost taste his salty sweat on my tongue.
“Thanks for coming,” he said with a smile. “Give me a few minutes to shower and we’ll go to lunch. I’ll meet you at the back gate in twenty minutes.”
“Sounds great,” I sighed. I heard the dreaminess in my voice, so I quickly cleared my throat and added, “You looked great out there today. Good hands.”
Shit, did that sound like innuendo…
“And you looked great sitting up there,” he said with a wink. He held up his hands a
nd started backpedaling. “Okay, see you in twenty.”
Sean turned and trotted across the field. I watch his ass move in the short-shorts until he disappeared into the clubhouse. I was gathering up my purse when a woman’s voice called out from above me. I looked up to see a gorgeous black woman holding a baby two rows up.
“You Sean’s latest?” she asked in a snide tone.
“What? No, I’m a journalist here to interview him,” I said. I climbed up a row and gave her a smile. I stuck out my hand. “Katie Holmes, from Playboy Magazine.”
She scrunched her nose at my hand and rolled her eyes. “Interview my ass.”
I let my hand drop to my side and gave her a frown. “No, really, look…” My bag was hanging over my shoulder. I dug one of the fake business cards out and held it out to her.
“See, Katie Holmes, Playboy Magazine. I’m a serious journalist.”
She scoffed at the card. “Sure you are, honey. And I’m Oprah Winfrey. Pleased to meet you.”
I tucked the card back into my purse and pushed the dark sunglasses to the top of my head. “Pleased to meet you, too, Oprah. You look amazing in person.”
She smiled at me. I noticed the baby she was holding was suckling her breast, which she had pulled out from under the Kings t-shirt she was wearing.
“That’s a beautiful baby,” I said. “Boy or girl?”
“Boy,” she said, wincing. “That’s why he can’t just suck my nipple. He has to chew on it like a damn mouthpiece.” She stuck out her free hand for me to shake. “Monique Broyles. Soon to be Monique Lewis.”
“Oh, are you marrying someone on the team?” I asked, shaking her hand. I wasn’t just asking to be nice. A story was forming in my mind. Football baby mamas…
“I’m marrying Leon Lewis, number 10” she said, nodding at a very large black man who was looking our way. “This is our third son, Leon Junior.”
“Wow, congratulations,” I said.
“Congratulations on having three kids with him or on finally convincing his big ass to marry me?”
I blinked at her. “Uh, congrats on both, I guess?”
“Thanks.” She rocked the baby and eyed me for a moment, as if she was assessing if I were friend or foe. “Are you really doing an interview? Or are you just looking to add Sean to your fuck-it list?”
“I’m sorry, my what…?
“Your fuck-it list,” she said, giving me a snarky look. “You know, the list of famous men you wanna fuck?”
I started to stammer. “Um, well, see, I don’t have a fuck-it list.” I gave her a goofy smile. “Should I?”
“I did, and look where it got me,” she said, giggling. “Look, honey, it’s none of my business what you do, but Sean Donovan has enough women crawling up his leg to get to that big old cock of his. Sean’s a good guy and Leon’s best friend, but if he’s not careful, his fucking and partying is gonna get him kicked off the team.”
My mental note-taker kicked into high gear. I took on a concerned look and asked, “So, he parties a little too much and it’s affecting his game?”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Does Oprah eat too much bread?” she asked. “That boy is out every night at the clubs, drinking, smoking dope, doing coke. He goes home with a different woman every night. It’s a wonder he ain’t done died of AIDS or OD’s or something.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Wow, I had no idea it was that bad…”
“That ain’t the half of it, honey.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “You did not hear this from me, but if Sean doesn’t straighten his ass out and do it quick, they’re gonna give Denzel Lockett his spot and trade Sean off to Minnesota or someplace.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, hoping she would agree to be a quoted source in the article that I was already writing in my head.
“Like I said, Leon is Sean’s best friend and he tries to look out for Sean. The coach told Leon that Sean’s job was on the line, hoping Leon could get him to straighten up.”
“So, if Sean Donovan doesn’t stop partying and sleeping around…”
“He’ll be freezing his long cock off in Minnesota before the season even starts,” she said, giving me a definite nod. She put a finger to her lips. “But you did not hear that from me.”
Kate
Katie Holmes was almost busted!
I was waiting at the back gate for Sean to appear when I saw Madge Sinclair, his PR rep, pulling into the lot. I knew if Madge spotted me, my little ruse would be over and my chances of getting to know Sean better would be gone.
I mean, my chance to do the exposé on him…
Not get to know him better…
Fuck…
Whatever!
I ducked quickly ducked behind a black Cadillac Escalade and held my breath until she passed. I peered around the back of the SUV just in time to see her talking to Sean, who had emerged from the clubhouse carrying his workout bag. They hugged and chatted for a moment, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Shit, if he told her he had an interview lined up she’d want to tag along. Or she would kill the interview outright.
I listened to my heart beating in my ears as I spied on them. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, they hugged again and Madge walked on into the team offices while Sean headed my way.
I blew out a long breath and tried to recover from the mild panic attack I had while watching them. By the time Sean emerged through the gate, I had regained most of my composure. I stepped out from behind the SUV and gave him a little wave.
“Hey, sorry about that,” he said with a smile. “You ready to go?”
“I am,” I said happily.
“Good, my truck is over there,” he said, pointing with his keys in his hand. “Follow me.”
I followed him to a brand new, black Ford Raptor pickup that looked like something out of Terminator. It had huge tires and chrome rims, and a grill that looked like it could eat its way through traffic.
He threw his bag into the truck bed, then pressed the keyfob to unlock the doors. He opened the passenger door and took my hand to help me climb up into the truck.
I got myself situated in the seat, which felt like a plush leather recliner, and snapped the seatbelt. Sean came around to climb into the driver’s seat. He started the truck and drove slowly out of the lot. The truck growled and threw me back in the seat when he pulled onto the highway and put his foot to the gas.
“This is some truck,” I said, looking around the cab, which was a hundred times nicer than my Honda Civic.
“I’m from Texas,” he said, flexing his eyebrows at me. “We love big trucks.”
“Obviously,” I said with a smile. “Was that Madge Sinclair you were talking with?”
“Yeah, do you know Madge?”
I lied, just a little. “I know of her. Did you tell her you were having lunch with me?”
He frowned and shook his head.
“No, Madge doesn’t like me talking to reporters,” he said, rolling his eyes. “If I told her I was having lunch with you she would have wanted to tag along. And I wanted to have you all to myself.”
“Well, that’s… nice,” I said.
I was having a hard time focusing on the topic at hand because our pseudo-sex from the night before kept running through my mind. I decided to address the 800-pound gorilla to get it out the way.
I said, “Listen, about last night…”
“I’m really sorry about that,” he said with an embarrassed sigh. “I was drunk and I got carried away. I hope you can forgive me. I’m usually not like that… Well… I am, but…”
“I was going to apologize to you,” I said with a grin.
“You were?” He chuckled and slapped his palms on the steering wheel. He held out his right hand for me to shake. “Well, I’ll accept your apology if you’ll accept mine.”
“Deal,” I said, shaking his hand. Every nerve in my body sat up and took notice when his fingers closed around mine. I slowly tug
ged my hand from his and looked out the windshield to change the subject.
“So, where are we going?” I asked.
“Before I tell you that,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I have to ask a question. And I need an honest answer.”
“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.”
