She must have finally reached her breaking point because she grabs her purse, gets out, and locks the door before she closes it. I try to guide her to the passenger side of my truck before she can change her mind and tries to fight me about this ride again. I open the door for her and wait while she climbs in and puts her seat belt on. Thank God! I close her door and walk to my side of the car, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing and how I’m going to play this ride home. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable, and I’d l really like for her to get out of the depressed state she’s in.
I climb into the car and see that she’s staring out the window. So she still won’t look at me. I put my hand on hers to get her attention. The electricity from before is back. "Please don’t sit there and hide from me. I know you’ve had a bad day. I'm not trying to make that any worse for you. Want to tell me why you’re so upset?" Even as I ask her, I know it’s probably a bad idea. What the hell is wrong with me? I know that I’m part of her bad day, but it hasn’t been intentional. She’d pushed the wrong button, and I’d reacted poorly. She couldn't have known how touchy that subject was for me, but she should have been told to steer clear of anything remotely close to my personal life. The fact that she has me feeling so out of sorts only made it worse. I feel this sudden, unexplainable connection, and then she tries to make me out to be the horrible person everyone thinks I am. If she had been asking for personal reasons, if I knew she feels this connection too, then I might have been more inclined to answer her without an attitude.
"This morning just hasn’t gone the way I was hoping," she answers so softly I almost don’t hear her.
"Well, how were you hoping it would go?" I ask, hoping to keep her talking.
"This interview was supposed to open some doors for me, so I was hoping it would go well. I didn’t really want to do this interview, no offense. I do lifestyle pieces, not sports, but it dropped into my lap, and it seemed like a really great opportunity to expand my writing horizons." Ashley sighs as though a ten-pound weight has been lifted from her chest. She still hasn’t pulled her hand away from mine. I’m glad she hasn’t, but I don’t know why. I’m seriously fucked right now. I have no idea what the hell is happening or why I have no control over it.
"Who was that on the phone before?" I’m sure it was her editor, but I want to her say it.
"Dominick, my editor." She looks away again and hastily pulls her hand from mine as if she’s touching the enemy.
"What did he want?" I need to know how much my short temper has cost her.
"I'd prefer not to talk about it, if you don’t mind. Please let me know where you’re heading so I can have someone meet us to pick me up," she says, pulling out her phone.
Wow, I know that I’d been an ass earlier, but what is it with this girl that she thinks I'm going to just drop her off in a random place on my way home for someone to pick her up? "I’m taking you home. Tell me which way that is, and we can get going."
"You don’t need to do that. Just drop me off somewhere on your way, and I'll be fine." What the hell is wrong with this girl?
"Christ, Ashley. I'm not dropping you off somewhere on the side of the road like a piece a trash. Give me some fucking credit, will ya? Just tell me which way to head, and I’ll drop you off. Case closed." It’s the first time I’ve cursed in front her, and my mother would slap the shit out me if she could hear me, but this woman is pushing every single button I have.
"Hoboken," she answers. "I live in Hoboken."
"Well, I'm kind of heading that way anyway, if that makes you feel more comfortable. I live in Alpine." I tell her, hoping she’ll feel better knowing that I’m not going completely out of my way.
"Oh, okay," she responds very softly, a slight hitch in her voice. She continues to stare out the window, wiping her eyes occasionally. If I didn’t have two sisters, I might not have been able to tell the light touching of her face was really an attempt to wipe away any escaping tears. God, I hate when women cry.
"I have no problem with you running the article as long as your leave my personal life out of it. And for what it is worth, I'm sorry you’re having such a bad morning." I figure it's worth putting her out of her misery. I’m still not sure why my gut keeps telling me that I need to make her feel better, but I guess I’m going with it since it seems I have no say in the matter. Hopefully, she’ll relax now.
Chapter 5
ASHLEY
Tanner’s agreeing to let us run the piece? Oh my God, did I just hear him correctly? No way, he has got to be messing with me. I really hope not.
"I'm sorry, but did you just say you’ll let the article run?" I have to make sure I’ve heard him correctly.
"I have no problem with the article as long as it doesn’t turn out to be about my dating life."
"The article will only feature your professional feats and the team as a whole. Nothing else. I’ll email it to you personally so you can approve it." I want him to know that I’m serious. I’ll write the best, most agreeable, non-gossip piece about him ever. If I can smooth things over with Tanner and have this article print on time, it will fix things with Dom and, with any luck, save my job.
"The article’s set to run on Sunday. I’ll make sure that I have it done by Thursday so you can look it over and I can still have it in by the deadline for print. Does that sound alright, Mr. Garrison?" I’m sure I must sound as giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, and I hope that this development means my terrible day is turning around.
"If it means that you’ll be this upbeat for the rest of the ride, then yes, that works just fine for me. And for the last damn time, my name is Tanner." He practically growls the last part at me. I feel my cheeks burning at his comment about me being upbeat.
"So how about we find some more to add to our interview? Why don’t you tell me some things that you feel comfortable sharing? I’ll make this the best piece that has ever been written about you." I smile at him. I’m not sure why, but I suddenly do want it to be the best article ever written about him. I’d gone into the interview thinking he was just some hotshot playboy, and during the interview I’d thought he was a bullshit artist trying to make himself look better, but now I’m starting to think that he really is the good guy he claims to be. The jury is still out on the dating part of his life, but I know that isn’t really my business. Still, some part of me really hopes that the gossip isn’t true, and that bothers me. I have a feeling that it has something to do with the crazy current the pulses between us.
Tanner didn’t have to stop and help me, and most people in this area wouldn't have. Let’s face it, people from New York and Jersey aren’t always the nicest. That’s why people think we’re assholes. It’s really luck of the draw, though. There are as many nice people here as there are assholes. There are assholes like me who turn down the help of hot men because they’re a hot mess, and there are nice guys like Tanner who are assumed to be assholes. The fact that he stayed and waited me out proves that I’d been wrong in my original assumptions of him. Despite being wrapped up in my total mortification, I’d found his authoritative nature a turn on. The way he’d put his foot down and wouldn’t take no for an answer had been like a direct hit to my core.
"Well, let’s see," Tanner says. Oh shit. I’d forgotten I’d asked him a question before I got lost in my thoughts. "I love playing in New York. I couldn’t have been luckier when I was drafted here. My family was super happy too. My mom never missed a game during my pee wee and high school days. When I went to Ohio State, she was upset because she wouldn’t be able to be at all my games anymore. It was too much travel for her. She’d wanted me to stay home and play for Rutgers so she could at least make it to my home games. But I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to be a Buckeye. Not even for Ma."
"I'm guessing that you’re close with your family.” I smile at him before I realize what I’ve just said. Shit. “Oh, I'm so sorry, does that count as a part of your personal life that you'd prefer not to talk about?" Oh no, I hope
I didn’t just blow it again.
"No, it’s fine. I am really close with my family. My parents and sisters are amazing. They’re all still on Staten Island where I grew up. We still have Sunday dinner when I can pull it off, which isn’t too often during the season. My last Sunday dinner with them for the year will probably be next week. My schedule’s about to get really crazy. Unfortunately, that means I also won’t have much time for community work with the city kids again until after the season.” He's growing more talkative now, and it’s great. I know I can make the article much better with all the added insight into his life.
“Do you do a lot with the kids of the community? Is that something you enjoy?"
"That might be one of my favorite parts. I really love to give back to the community, and there’s nothing better than watching the way the kids light up. It’s like I am their biggest hero. That’s part of the reason I hate having my dating life out there the way reporters like to spin it. If kids read that I’m out doing this or that with numerous different woman, even though I’m not, it gives the kids the wrong impression. I like to consider myself a good influence on today’s youth. There are just some messages that I don’t want to send." Well, that explains a lot about his disdain toward the members of the press who like to drag his rep through the mud. Even more reason for me to make the article the best it can be.
"I can totally understand where you were coming from earlier now. I promise we’ll give the right message in this article," I say with conviction. I know that I’m a journalist, but writing about people’s personal lives has never been my thing. I hardly ever write about people unless they're out on the town, and even then it’s usually just where they were spotted in the city or where they’re going to be, little pieces of information here and there. But I don’t write things just for the sake of a story.
"So why don’t you tell me something about you? How is it that you’re here doing this interview if you aren’t a sports writer?" he asks. Why he wants to know anything about me is baffling, but I don’t want to piss him off again.
"Well, James is our usual sports writer. His wife had a baby three days ago. She should be released from the hospital today. Apparently, the hospital wouldn’t give them a window for release. Guess it wouldn’t have mattered if they had though. After all, the cable guy never shows up during his window of time. Anyway, Dom, my editor, decided that I was the best choice possible given the short notice. So, here I am. Again, no offense, but I even suggested that James try to do a phone interview, but that got vetoed." I explain the whole story honestly, feeling that he isn’t the kind of person to be insulted by the truth.
"I'll try not to cry myself to sleep tonight after hearing that," he smirks at me. "Here, we’re almost at the Hoboken exit. Put your address in so I know where I’m going." He says, pointing to the built in GPS in the dashboard.
"Listen, I feel like I owe you an apology. I came today with an opinion that wasn't based on any facts whatsoever. All the articles and tabloids painted you a certain way. Based on my own recent life experiences, I judged you before I should have, and I was wrong. So I'm sorry." That apology was really hard for me to say. I lower my head and busy myself with the GPS, not wanting to look at him at the moment. I think the way things played out with Jason might have clouded my judgment, making me think every man is a cheating scum bag.
Tanner slides his hand back into mine and squeezes. "Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy to do. Most people don’t have the courage to admit when they’re wrong. But you did. That tells me something about you." He squeezes my hand again but doesn't let go.
His praise stirs something in me. I find myself smiling, enjoying his touch. What the hell is going on with me? I let him keep my hand, and we sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.
"Do you live here alone?" Tanner asks as we pull up to the building I live in.
"No, I live with my best friend, Quinn," I reply, glad to be home so I can start putting this awful morning behind me and start working on the article. "I really appreciate you driving me home. You really didn’t have to. And thank you for giving me a second chance to write the article. I promise you won’t be disappointed. If you give me your email address, I’ll forward it to you as soon as I finish it."
"Can I see your phone?"
"Umm, sure." I dig in my bag for my phone, a little puzzled by what he wants it for. I find it and hand it over.
He takes the phone and enters some information before he hands it back to me. "I programmed my number for you. Give me a call when you finish, and we can set something up.” He has a big smile on his face.
"Okay, yes. Sure," I really can’t believe that Tanner Garrison has just given me his number. I know it’s for professional reasons, but I’m still a girl, and he's still super-hot.
"I hope the rest of your day goes better, Ashley."
I feel the blush creep into my cheeks at his words, and I get out of the truck. Why couldn’t someone else have witnessed my morning from hell? I turn and wave after I’ve walked to the entrance of my building. Did this morning really just happen? Yes, it did. Oh my God, I can’t believe it.
I pull out my phone to call Dom. I need to let him know I’ve got everything worked out with Tanner. His phone goes right to voicemail, so I leave a message explaining everything and let him know I’ll touch base with him later. Time to start working.
I go to my room and change into some comfy clothes. I need a giant cup of coffee and something to eat before I can get to work. I head to the kitchen to start the coffee maker and try to think about what to write. By the time I’m adding cream and sugar to my coffee, the ideas are coming to me, and I set up my station in the living room. Despite wanting to get the article done quickly, I can’t seem to stop thinking about his amazing smile. My hands are still tingling from his touch. Why does he have such an effect on me? I’m in man-hating mode right now, so how’d he get through my armor?
"What’s with the lovesick puppy look on your face right now, Sweets?" Quinn says, seeming to appear out of thin air, scaring the shit out me and making me spill coffee on myself.
"Seriously, Quinn? What the fuck? Trying to give me a heart attack?" I give her the dirtiest look possible.
"Well, I wasn’t exactly quiet when I came in. Not my fault you were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear me." She plops down next to me on the couch. "But really, what’s with the look on your face right now? And how’d your interview go this morning?"
"Oh my God, Quinn, I had the morning from hell. Seriously, anything that could have gone wrong did, plus some," I tell her, laying my head in lap. "I made such an ass out of myself."
"What did you do, dumbass? Did you trip and fall into the room and make a graceful grand entrance?" She laughs.
"Are you re-reading Fifty Shades again?" I ask. She loves that book.
"No, but since you mentioned it, maybe I should." She smirks. "So tell me all about your horrible interview."
I tell her all about my morning, going all the way back to waking up late and hitting traffic. I don’t leave out any details. This is Quinn, and I really need her to help figure out what the hell is going on with me.
Based on her facial expressions, one would think that she’d been the one to live through all the events of this morning. It’s funny watching her reactions go from shock to horror.
I end my story with Tanner giving me his number and dropping me off. "So what do you think?" I ask.
"I think that all that stuff could only happen to you. And all in one morning, no less. You poor thing. You need a spa day to recover. The rest of this conversation involves a drink, the alcoholic kind.” She smiles at me with pity in her eyes before heading to the kitchen to get some drinks, even though it’s only one in the afternoon.
After returning with two glasses of wine, she says, “I’m not really sure what I think just yet. Now that I know all this information, it’s obvious you were fantasizing about him when I walked in. The far-off look
in your eyes, the light shade of pink on your cheeks, and I think there might have even been a little drool dripping from the corner of your mouth." She laughs. The bitch actually laughs as though it’s the funniest thing she has heard all year.
"What? I wasn’t fantasizing about him, just thinking about how hot he is," I reply, slapping my hand against the couch indignantly. I hadn’t gotten to the fantasizing yet.
"Honestly, I think what you really need is to get laid. You haven't had any in a while, and I think it’s messing with your mind. You know, experts say that a woman should have at least one orgasm daily. You aren’t following the rules, so your mind isn’t working at its highest potential. Want to go out and buy a new, really big vibrator? That will help, and maybe you can even write a better article," she says, completely straight-faced. I know her well enough to know that she isn’t kidding. She’s serious.
I smack her with a pillow, laughing. "You read too much Cosmo and way too many smut books."
Chapter 6
TANNER
I feel like I have a new asshole after today’s meeting with Coach. I haven’t been yelled at like that since I was a teenager and got caught breaking curfew. But that boy at practice had waited patiently for his chance to hand me his football, until a grown man had come barreling through the crowd, nearly stampeding over him trying to get in front of him. I don’t understand why Coach is so pissed. The guy had it coming. Who cares if there is a video of me flipping out over it on YouTube? I certainly don’t. Some fans need to be put in their place, and that asshole was one of them. What kind of grown man pushes a kid trying to get an autograph out of the way as though he doesn’t matter because he’s a kid? That shit really gets me pissed. Fuck him! For Christ’s sake, the kid couldn’t have been more than nine.
Inhibitions Page 4
