Catching Cameron: A Love and Football Novel

by Julie Brannagh

  Derrick looked like the side of a mountain, if a mountain sported dreadlocks and attitude. His diamond grill sparkled in the sunlight from the windows that formed one wall of the team’s cafeteria.

  “Go to hell,” Zach told him. Derrick just laughed.

  “Maybe it’s his time of the month,” another teammate chimed in.

  The rookie defensive end sitting next to Derrick—Zach didn’t even know the kid’s name yet—looked a little scared, especially when Zach leaned forward and hissed at Derrick, “How the fuck do you eat with that thing in your mouth?”

  “How do you eat with your head up your ass?”

  The two men shoved their chairs back from the table and stood up simultaneously. The team’s punter, a much smaller guy with red curls, jumped to his feet with arms outstretched. He put one hand in the middle of each of their chests to shove them back.

  “Guys. Guys. We’re on the same team. Let’s eat some food.”

  The table watched silently to see what was going to happen next. It wouldn’t be the first physical altercation in the Sharks cafeteria, but most of them tended to happen out on the field toward the end of training camp.

  Derrick’s grill sparkled as he gave Zach a smile. “Shit, yeah. It’s barbecue day.”

  “Can’t miss that,” Zach said. He sat back down. Derrick dragged his chair back to the table, dropped his grill next to his lunch plate, and took a massive bite of his pulled pork sandwich.

  The punter made the “stay” motion with both hands, and sat down again.

  Zach risked a glance to the other side of the room. Cameron locked eyes with him. Fuck. She’d caught him looking like some middle-school kid mooning over one of the cheerleaders or something. This day was getting worse and worse.

  “So, what’s Cameron Online doing here?” The rookie sitting next to Derrick must have decided he felt braver than a few minutes ago. Rookies didn’t usually speak until spoken to.

  Zach bit his tongue before a comment about a certain sexual practice that would get him a significant fine and a suspension from the league tumbled out. The coaching staff was still in the room. He took a deep breath.

  “Why do you care?” he said to the kid.

  “I—one of my boys sent me a text this morning. He said she’s here for the entire month.” The kid took a sip of orange juice. “He wants pictures.”

  “Maybe you can ask her out for a milkshake,” the punter said.

  Derrick was polishing off his pulled pork sandwich and eyeing the second one. “She’s a little old for you, rook. Maybe we can take you by the high school later or something.”

  The kid didn’t seem to notice that the vets were shoveling in the food as fast as they could get it down. He was staring across the room at Cameron, who didn’t acknowledge his interest at all. He didn’t realize that lunch at the Sharks’ training facility was never a leisurely affair. He didn’t have time to finish his lunch, let alone pick up a woman.

  Zach wasn’t the kid’s dad, but Derrick wasn’t cluing the kid in. He reached out and tapped the kid’s tray.

  “Maybe you should worry about getting laid later and eat up. There are meetings after lunch, and you’ll be starving by three if you don’t get some calories now.”

  The kid was stupid enough to look annoyed.

  Zach picked up his fork again. To hell with him. He took a bite of coleslaw. He tried not to look in Cameron’s direction again. His eyeballs were on an invisible string, and she was pulling on the other end. Damn it. He bent over his plate once more.

  He kept telling himself that he could handle having her here for a month. She meant nothing to him. It didn’t matter that she’d ripped his heart out of his chest once upon a time and all but showed it to him while he died. He couldn’t believe he’d been so hung up on her in the first place. They were drunk off their asses, they got married, and it was over three days later. She wasn’t important. It meant nothing that he hadn’t been able to sustain a relationship with any other woman for longer than a few months since they’d broken up, either.

  If he was really honest with himself, he’d admit the truth: He compared every woman he met to Cameron. None of them quite measured up. Yes, she was beautiful, but he’d spent three days with a funny, intelligent, and passionate woman, and he wanted more. He was attracted to her zest for life, to the inner fire and determination that matched what drove him, too. If he wasn’t in a crowded cafeteria with his teammates and the coaching staff, he’d bang his head on the table until he forgot what she looked like, even for a moment.

  He was still young. He had plenty of time to find someone else and settle down. Getting serious with anyone while he was still playing football was idiotic anyway. Cameron was the last person on his list, so he couldn’t figure out why he was even thinking about her right now. Maybe he needed to spend some time thinking about the new defensive sets the coach put into the playbook this morning instead.

  He was reaching out to snatch the extra brownie off Derrick’s tray when he heard a commotion from Cameron’s table.

  Two of the coaches were over there, pointing toward the exit and ordering her and her cameraman out in loud, don’t-screw-with-us tones. He couldn’t hear what she said, but he noted the look on her face: She wasn’t backing down. The camera guy hovered protectively over her shoulder as she stood up from the table. Seconds later, she grabbed her bag and her tray, sashaying past them like it was her idea to leave all along. She didn’t glance back as he saw her drop the tray in the bus tub by the door and walk out of the room.

  The camera guy said something to one of the coaches that made the coach turn brick red. He followed Cameron out of the cafeteria.

  The head coach got to his feet, clapped his hands, and said, “Lunch is over in five minutes. You might want to get a beverage and clear off the table. You’ll be expected to take notes during the media presentation.” He’d had media training before. There would be an emphasis on interview techniques, brainstorming possible answers for loaded or leading questions from the press, and the usual warnings about mouthing off on social media. He glanced around at the tables full of players. The only people who really needed the instruction were most likely rookies. “I’ve already contacted PSN and demanded that Kevin Adkins be the only network personality allowed in camp. Miss Tits and Hair can find something else to do with her time. We’re here to work.”

  The female media trainer who’d walked in a few minutes ago and had been hooking up a laptop for her PowerPoint presentation’s mouth dropped open. Zach recognized her as one of the sideline reporters for Seattle’s pro baseball team. This must have been a side business for her. She laid the laptop back down on the table in front of her and bent to unplug the power cord from the outlet. The only sound in the room was her heels clicking on the vinyl floor while she moved into the coach’s line of vision.

  “Excuse me? I must have misheard. What did you just call Cameron Ondine?”

  The coach turned to her. “You heard what I said. Got a problem with it?”

  The pleasant expression she wore faded from the woman’s face as she regarded him for a moment. Zach saw her square her shoulders. She must have made a decision. “Yes, I do. It’s inappropriate.”

  She turned on one heel, picked up the laptop, and began disassembling cords and the power source, stowing them in her bag as she went.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the coach said.

  She was close enough for Zach to see her swallow hard before she said, “I won’t be able to offer your team any media training today. I’ll return your deposit when I arrive back at my office.” She clicked her laptop shut and slid it inside a computer bag.

  “You can’t just leave.”

  “I own the business. I set my own schedule. And yes, I can leave.”

  “I’ll make sure you don’t work anywhere else in the NFL,” the coach taunted.

  “Go ahead.” She stared into the coach’s eyes. “I’ll make sure you won’t be able to get a med
ia consultant anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of your team.” She picked up her handbag and nodded at the team members. “Gentlemen.”

  She strode out of the room.

  “Oh, that went well,” Derrick muttered to nobody in particular.

  MINUTES LATER IT was announced that the media training would be “rescheduled” sometime in the next couple of days. The team was sent off to meetings with their position coaches instead. Zach resigned himself to an afternoon of brain-numbing lectures. He could feel his phone vibrating repeatedly against his thigh, but he knew he’d be fined if he pulled it out for any reason. He’d just flipped open his playbook and sharpened a couple of pencils when the door to the meeting room opened. The Sharks’ general manager walked in, accompanied by the team owner and a couple of other front office types. The GM’s administrative assistant hurried in behind him; she was the only female in the room.

  “Hey, Steve,” the GM said to Zach’s coach. “How about you take a load off, and I’ll talk to your men for a few minutes.” He nodded to an empty seat in the front row.

  Steve the defensive line coach picked up his iPad off the table and said, “There’s coffee, water and some snacks in the back, if you all are hungry.”

  “Thanks,” the team owner said. “Maybe I’ll grab some trail mix or something.”

  Zach didn’t typically spend a lot of time talking with the front office people. The team owner occasionally traveled to away games with them, but mostly he kept to himself. Maybe he was too busy catering to his much-younger third wife.

  The other guys with the GM took up the rest of the seats in the front row of the meeting room. The GM pulled a barstool over and sat down on it.

  “How many of you heard what was said to both Cameron Ondine and Alicia Larsen by Coach Phillips this morning?”

  Every player in the room held up one hand.

  “Would you be able to recount what happened for us if you were asked to do so?”

  Derrick held up his hand. “Do I need to write this down?”

  The GM grinned a little. “No. We’ll handle it.” He shifted a little on his barstool. “Are you familiar with the fact the team has a no-discrimination policy?”

  Every male in the room nodded. The GM’s administrative assistant was writing furiously on a note pad in one corner. “I’m glad to hear it. The Sharks take our corporate image and our mission statement seriously. We welcome diversity. We won’t tolerate discrimination, and we’ll take steps to remedy the situation as quickly as possible if there is a problem.” He let out a sigh. “I have to ask all of you for a favor.”

  Zach was all ears. This would probably involve a visit to an elementary school or playing with a bunch of kids in one of Seattle’s less-affluent suburbs. He could handle it. He actually enjoyed that part of his job. The kids loved spending time with him and his teammates, and it was a relief from the adult fans, who believed they knew better than he did how to play football.

  “After Coach Phillips’s comments this morning, the team has suspended him until further notice. Coach Stewart will be acting head coach. I understand this is a surprise, but we can’t allow the rest of the league and our community to believe we condone or encourage Coach Phillips’ attitudes toward the women who may work with our team, now or in the future. I realize this might come as a shock, but we didn’t feel like we had a choice. Plus, we really don’t need to get sued.” He gave the room a wry smile and rubbed one hand over his face. A couple of people let out a laugh. “That’s not the favor, though.”

  The buzz of whispers and “holy shit” that went up over his initial comments faded to silence. He looked directly at Zach. Zach felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. The best way to distract the media from the shit storm the suspended head coach might start was to give the sports media something they would eat up, and he had a very bad feeling he knew what it might be. He took a deep breath and braced himself.

  “I’ve offered PSN an exclusive interview with a Sharks player to discuss the changes. We contacted the media trainer before she left the building, and she has graciously consented to work with our choice for the rest of the day on answers to Ms. Ondine’s pre-submitted questions.”

  Zach saw him smile.

  “I’d ask for a volunteer, but I think the choice is already made. Anderson, will you help us out? I’d really appreciate it.”

  Chapter Six

  * * *

  THE SHARKS’ GM was smiling and nodding at Zach as if this was already a done deal. Zach had a no-win choice: Tell him no, and find his ass benched or traded before the end of the day; probably somewhere he wouldn’t want to go. Tell him yes, and have to deal with another on-camera incident with Cameron. He knew she considered herself a professional, but this would be too good to resist. She’d carve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and there was nothing to do but smile and take it.

  Derrick reached over and slapped him on the back. “You’re my boy, Anderson.”

  Applause broke out around the room. Nobody seemed to care he hadn’t agreed to the idea. Somehow, he had a feeling it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he should call his agent and ask for some advice, or maybe he should man up and stop acting like such a candy ass. She was one-third his size. Why the hell was he letting her in his head?

  He could only imagine what questions she would dream up for him. Mostly, he wanted to go somewhere quiet and regroup before he saw her again.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  “It’s important that we get out front of the news cycle with a positive story about the Sharks to minimize any damage to our brand from this morning. Even more, we’d like to announce our changes on our timetable, not FOX Sports’s or ESPN’s.” He clasped his hands. “Zach, if you’ll come with us, we’ll get things rolling. Steve, the floor is yours.”

  The guys in the front row got to their feet. Zach followed them out of the room.

  He expected bone-jarring hits and injuries from his career. Nobody ever told him dodging beautiful blondes with their own camera crews would be a bigger hazard than facing a ferocious offensive line sixteen Sundays a year.

  AFTER A SHORT meeting with the PSN production staff and taking the fastest route possible back to her dorm room, Cameron locked the door behind her and leaned against it. The floor was silent. All the players were still at the media training. The room was just as she left it—rumpled bed, half-unpacked suitcase waiting for her to do something about it, and the message light on the multi-line bedside phone blinking frantically. It was a little past noon Pacific Time, and she felt like she’d already put in a twelve-hour day. She resisted the impulse to crawl back into bed and have a good cry.

  This wasn’t the first time in her life she’d faced opposition to what she did for a living; she went through this with her own family on an almost-weekly basis, for God’s sake. Today, though, it struck at something inside that left her shaken. She knew most people made a snap judgment about her because a young, attractive blonde supposedly knew nothing about sports. It was still surprising to her that she would face the same attitudes after working her way up from a minimum-wage runner for on-air talent to a successful ten-year broadcasting career, but she’d probably still be facing those questions until she retired and went on to do something more “appropriate” for a living.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, took one look at the screen, and let out a groan. She needed five minutes to pull herself together, and then she could answer her producer’s questions. She sent the call to voicemail. Her phone rang again about a minute later. Same guy. She stabbed the button that answered the call with one finger.

  “Hi, Ralph. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. I heard you’re having a great time.” She stifled another groan. “Hey, I have good news, though. The Sharks would like to give you an exclusive, and they’ve asked for you specifically.”

  “That’s great.” She picked a piece of lint off her jacket. “When would they like to do this?” She tried to inj
ect some excitement into her voice. “I’ll need to come up with some interview questions. Do you know whom I’ll be talking with?”

  Ralph sounded positively gleeful. “We’re on our way over to pick you up for some lunch and a chit-chat. Why don’t you meet us at the front door in ten minutes?”

  Her stomach twisted itself into a knot. She’d already had something to eat. They wouldn’t be meeting her face to face unless it was something she wasn’t going to like, and she had a really bad feeling she knew what that might be. PSN’s owner and management wouldn’t rest until they forced another confrontation with Zach.

  “I’ll grab my purse and meet you downstairs, Ralph.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. See you in a few.” He hung up.

  Her parents would be happy. After all, she’d realized in the past fifteen seconds she needed a serious dialogue with herself over her career choice. She hurried into the bathroom, applied a swipe of neutral lip gloss, grabbed her handbag and room key, and hurried out the door.

  She was relieved to see Logan waiting downstairs, too.

  “Did they tell you who we’re interviewing?”

  “Oh, hell, no.” He grinned over at her. “Shall we make it interesting?” He pulled a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet. “My money’s on either their starting QB or Zach Anderson.”

  “Maybe it’s both.”

  “Well, Cam, pick one.” He nudged her with an elbow. “I’ll make it easy on you. I’m going with Tom Reed. They’ll leave Zach for an hour-long, endlessly teased special.”

  Cameron glanced up at him. She knew he was right, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “Okay. You’re on. Forget the twenty bucks. I want a cronut when we go back to New York instead, you dork.”

  It was a challenge for the driver of the stretch limo carrying Cameron, Logan, and the rest of the PSN production team to pull the car into the parking lot of a somewhat deserted-looking pub with no street appeal five minutes from the practice facility. He managed, though, and the group piled out of the car.