by Ava Ashley
“And not just in football, right, Mr. Congressman?” Paulette titters and gives a champagne list to the side. Angelina reaches out to steady her friend.
“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, Paulette. We’re in great shape for the debate tomorrow. But, I sincerely hope I can count on support from each and every one of you at the polls, yes?”
“Of course, Colbert,” Angelina assures as she helps maneuver Paulette out into the hallway.
Watching Paulette sway from the room made me suddenly glad I was off the bubbly, at least for another five months or so. Maybe it was my unencumbered brain cells firing on all cylinders that suddenly started niggling at my subconscious.
“So, sir,” I began.
“Please, Sloane. Call me Colbert. On the Hill I may be Congressman Daley. In this room,” he makes a sweeping gesture encompassing the whole of the room. “In here, I’m just another football fan.”
I give a noncommittal shrug. “Okay, then. Colbert. What had you so concerned about Lennox? Why did you feel like he wasn’t on board?”
Daley gave me a cautiously narrow look. “Is this Sloane, the concerned paramour I hear asking, or Sloane Armstrong, the reporter?”
I give it a moment’s thought. “A little of both, I think, s—, I mean, Colbert.”
Daley pauses, the politician in him giving careful consideration to any of the words that might come from his mouth. “I’m sure we were all just a little overly concerned about Lennox’s performance. It was just he had great stats coming out of UCLA, and he threw up some impressive numbers in his rookie year with the organization, but between the end of last season and all through camp, his head’s not been in the game. We had doubts.”
I may not be a diehard football fan, but I know exactly what the Representative’s talking about. Lennox’s numbers had done a little backsliding since last season. But, on the flipside, his penchant for trouble-making had been more than a little noticeably on the rise. The aggressive attitude. The lack of control. It didn’t make sense. Nothing like that had ever happened at UCLA.
“But, he’s certainly come around. Certainly glad to see a player who’s willing to do what it takes. For the good of the team.”
“And your bank account, Congressman,” Monique sidles up to the Representative. She slides a toned, cocoa arm seductively around his shoulders and leans in toward his ear. “You’ve seen the fans in the stands. Especially after that game against the Bushmasters. So, how about you sliding a little bit of those extra Benjamins my Ezekiel’s way?”
Daley laughs. “I don’t know why Ezekiel has an agent, Monique. By far, you are the most aggressive negotiator he could possibly have. But, I need to save some money for my war chest. Least if I expect to beat Lennox’s brother and keep my seat in Washington. Speaking of which, I guess I’d better get back to headquarters. My campaign manager’s been blowing up my phone all afternoon. I suppose he wants me to put in a little time going over the finer points of the debate. Personally, I think I’m a shoe in. Especially, if Lennox keeps driving us into the endzone like today. Doesn’t hurt to be affiliated with winners. We’re America’s team, ladies. And America likes to win. Now, if you will please excuse me.”
Daley sets down his celebratory champagne glass and starts to head out. I’m not one hundred percent certain I share the Congressman’s enthusiasm that just being connected to a winning football team will draw voters to the polls, but, then again, I’d seen campaigns won on a hell of a lot less. Never underestimate American pride.
As Daley passes through the door, I see Hugh, the team trainer, arms crossed, concerned look on his face, leaning against the hallway wall opposite. As Daley gets close, Hugh takes a tentative step forward, toward the Congressman.
“Congressman,” I hear Hugh mumble. “Can I have a minute?”
Daley’s jovial expression takes a serious turn and the two men step to the side. A few sentences are exchanged, but I can’t make out what they are saying at this distance. Daley’s hands start gesturing wildly, as things start to get heated between the two men. Daley gives a definite gesture that seems to order Hugh back toward the locker rooms. It looks like Hugh is going to argue the point, but, suddenly, Hugh’s eyes lock with mine over Daley’s shoulder. He presses his lips together, wheels on a heel, and heads in the opposite direction.
The Congressman turns, tracking the direction of Hugh’s worried stare, and sees me. There’s a mixed expression on Daley’s face, one I can’t quite get a bead on. Then, suddenly, he tucks his chin toward his chest and strides purposefully down the hallway. Before I can give it due consideration, the party starts to break up en masse.
With the game over, the party seems to migrating. The girls are headed towards the locker room tunnels to meet up with their significant others. I’m just sort of standing there in my jersey knit and Chucks looking, frankly, a little alone.
“Well, Sloane?” Monique calls over her shoulder. “You coming? Your man’s gonna be waiting for you.”
That’s when it really hits me. I’m not alone. I have Lennox.
Now, the trick was going to be not to lose him.
*****
Déjà vu. The tunnel is packed. Kinda of like the first night I had met Lennox. The real Lennox. Not that snake in the grass Logan. I sincerely hoped that Congressman Daley whipped his political fanny in the debate tomorrow. Logan had more than lost my vote with his little stunt. He’d left me high and dry as soon he’d found out his one-night-stand had turned into an eighteen yearlong commitment. If he was that careless when one human life was involved, I certainly didn’t want him helping to run a country full of them.
But as confident as Congressman Daley had professed to be, he had sure looked a little off after his discussion with Hugh. Whatever it was, I hope it didn’t affect his game at the debate.
The players filter from the locker room, a few at a time. Cam retrieves Paulette. I don’t envy her the headache that’s going to be splitting her brain in the morning. Monique’s eyes narrow at a beautiful reporter who is trying to corner her man, Zeke, for a private interview session. Zeke is smiling a little too widely for Monique’s pleasure, apparently.
“Oh no, she didn’t!” Monique blurts and shoulders her way in between her husband and the curvy journalist. I gave a mental chuckle. Not so long ago, I was that curvy reporter.
I still have curves.
Now they just go in the opposite direction.
Several bystanders wince at the shrill reverb of Monique’s voice as she lets Zeke have an earful. I’m pretty sure his ears are going to be ringing for days, judging from the tongue lashing Monique is delivering as she leads him by the elbow down the length of the tunnel. Congressman Daley had been right. Monique definitely wears the pants in that relationship. The random thought suddenly popped into my head...if you put five football wives on any defensive line, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a current team out there that could beat them.
My cell phone buzzing in my backpack distracts me from pondering the unorthodox defensive strategy. I scramble to dig the buzzing phone from the purse. I ferret past the open pack of saltines, the water bottle, the pre-natal vitamins and finally come up with the prize. I check out the caller I.D. It’s someone from The Bee. A genuine grimace of distaste puckers my face.
It had better not be Kirk. When would the slimy bastard get the hint? I’m with Lennox.
I’m with Lennox.
An equally genuine smile displaces the sour scowl. I hit the accept button and put the phone to my ear.
“Armstrong,” I clipped.
“Sloane? Sloane, it’s Emma.”
“Oh, hey, Emma! Did you watch the game? Wasn’t it amazing? The Cougars won!” I sound giddy as a schoolgirl.
“Uh, no. I didn’t catch it,” Emma offered, a hint of surprise in her soprano. I don’t why I thought Emma would have watched the game. Emma’s choice of entertainment usually presented in 12-point type or in a smoky, back-room of one of the local jazz c
lubs. Guess I have taken my own enthusiasm for the game up a few notches. I mean, now that I had a vested interest in the outcome. Lennox’s happiness.
“I guess, I’m glad they won and all.” Emma sounded hesitant. “Not to be a monkey in the wrench, but if the Cougars go all the way, is that really what’s best for the story? I guess I kinda thought you were going for a shadier, behind-the-scenes kind of exposé.”
The story. I hadn’t had a chance yet to tell Emma I was deep-sixing the Thirty project. I also hadn’t told her that I am falling for the cocky bastard.
“Yeah, Em. About that,” I start. But, before I can get a word of explanation out, Emma launches into sifu mode.
“Doesn’t matter. Forget about the game. You’ve got bigger things to worry about right now, Sloane. You need to listen.”
The noise level in the tunnel is making it more than a little difficult to hear what my friend is saying. I jam a finger in my exposed ear. “What? What did you say, Em? It’s kind of hard to hear in here.”
“You need to listen to me, Sloane. It’s about the research.”
Research. That I heard. And I instantly remembered how perturbed I was about Kirk inopportune commentary at the café. “Yeah. About that. What in the hell happened, Em? How did Kirk find out we were doing that research? Ran into him the other day and he almost blew the whole deal!”
“Will you forget about Lennox for a half a second!” Emma blustered. “This isn’t about him! Somebody has been doing research on you!”
That gives me pause. That familiar channel cuts a line in the middle of my forehead. “Wait. What do you mean ‘someone’s doing research on me’?”
Emma’s voice gets a little calmer, now that she’s confident she’s got my full attention. “So, when I got to work this morning, I caught a call from Ed, my buddy over at the Union-Tribune? Someone’s been pulling a bunch of info on Brynn Armstrong.”
“Ma?”
“Yes. Someone had pulled everything the paper had on her. The article the ‘People’ section had done on local service men and women for the Veterans’ Day special spread. When she won the Purple Heart.”
“It’s probably just Kirk. When he saw Lennox and me together at the café, he passed off some comment about ‘wedding bells’. And Lennox didn’t deny it.”
“What?!” Emma exclaimed. “Sloane! Are you, are you getting...married!?”
Her voice is so strident coming through the phone speaker, a few heads nearby turn. I smile awkwardly and wave nonchalantly.
“Will you please keep your voice down? I am not getting married. Lennox just told Kirk that to shut him up. But, you know Kirk. He’s like a dog with a bone. He’s probably just assigned some junior cub reporter to dig up the background so if there was any truth to it, the paper could hit the ground running with the story.”
Emma gives a nervous cough. “Sloane! Are you listening to me? The request came from outside the paper.”
A slow chill starts to seep into my chest. “Outside the paper?”
“And whoever it was, they pulled her obituary, too.”
“Her obituary? Okay. I mean, it’s a matter of public record.”
“So was what happened at the funeral, Sloane. And it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what happened after that.”
The day in question loomed fresh and vivid in my mind. The chill turned to an icy claw around my heart.
“You know what they did wasn’t right, Em.”
“Sweetie, you’re preaching to the choir. I back you one hundred percent. But, what I think doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“Besides, the records were sealed. I was only seventeen.”
“Sloane,” Emma replies regrettably. “You’re a reporter. When you were fishing for a hook, did you ever once let up before you caught one?”
The reality of what Emma’s saying sinks in. That icy claw grips me in fear. If it wasn’t Kirk, who in the hell was looking into my past? “Did your buddy say who the request record came from, Em?”
“Some law firm. Tippet, Fontenot & Burkhardt, APLC?”
Logan.
The synapses in my brain can’t seem to send the appropriate signals to my mouth to form the words. Of course, it’s not like I can even gel the swirling murk in my head into a comprehensive thought, so I guess the point is moot.
“Sloane? You still there?” Emma’s filtered voice sounds through the speaker.
I shake myself alert. “Huh? What? Oh, yeah, Em. I’m here.”
“Why would a law firm be looking into you?” she asks with a due amount of concern.
A subconscious hand strays toward my belly. “I don’t know, Emma.”
Angelina passes by with Aaron. She smiles at me, and points down to her feet as they pass. She’s wearing Aaron’s tennis shoes and carrying her uncomfortable heels in her hands.
Great. I’m a regular trendsetter. I manage a weak smile and wave before I respond to Emma. “I don’t have a friggin’ clue.”
“Are you going to say anything to Lennox?” she asks.
Truth is, I don’t what I’m going to say to Lennox anymore. Things were complicated enough when I had come to the decision to bare my soul (and the ugly truth) to him. This new development just made things even more complex.
“I don’t know, Em. I don’t know.” The tunnel’s nearly clear now. Even the reporters who had been allowed in the locker room for interviews are starting to file out. “Look, Em. I gotta go. I’ll call you later. Let me know if you come across anything else, okay?”
“You got it,” she replies. “Take care of you.”
“Doing my best,” I reply.
So, why do I feel like I am failing miserably?
I disconnect the call and chuck the phone back into my backpack. I square my shoulders and head into the locker room. I shield my eyes, just in case there are any stray body parts lingering, but I needn’t have bothered. The locker room is nearly empty. I weave through the lockers, looking for Lennox. As I round one corner, I belly bust into Ron Forrester.
“Oh, shit!” he exclaims, awkwardly sticking his hands out, looking to put my protruding stomach to rights, I suppose. I kind of give him a “what-are-you-doing” look. “I’m so sorry. Should have been looking where I was going.”
I laugh graciously and shake my head. “No worries. The thing gets into the room ten minutes before I do these days. Say, you’re Forrester, right? Ron Forrester?”
He nods, smiling a dazzling white smile. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly am.”
The “ma’am” draws a dour pucker. “Ma’am? Oh, god, no. Ma’am is what you call your third-grade teacher. I’m just Sloane.”
“Well, ‘Just Sloane’, I guess you’re looking for Lennox.”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Have you seen him?”
Forrester jabs a thumb toward the showers. “Think he’s still showering off. Although, I gotta say, if I had a woman as beautiful as you waiting for me, I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”
Forrester delicately picks up my hand and kisses the top...just as Lennox comes walking around the corner, toweling his hair dry. Instinctively, I pull my hand away, though I know I’ve not really done anything to be ashamed of.
“What the hell, Ron?” Lennox’s handsome face clouds over.
Forrester takes a tentative step backward. “Just telling your girl hello. No big deal.”
Lennox wedges himself between Forrester and me. “Everything with you is a big deal, buddy.”
“That’s what they all say,” Forrester smirks. Lennox plants one foot forward, but I place one hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Big Guy. The little guy is ready to chew a hole through my stomach he’s so hungry,” I say softly. The mention of the baby, or maybe it’s just my touch, seems to settle whatever is starting to brew inside Lennox. I instantly decide now is not going to be the time for true confessionals. “So, what do you say we get him some tacos from Chando’s, huh?”
The cloud cover dissipates from Lennox’
s face. “Yeah. Yeah. We probably have time.”
Time? Before I can clarify, he fingers worry at his temple. “I’m, uh, feeling a little light-headed myself. Need to get something in my system after that game. By the way, Ron. Nice catch. That official? He was a dick. I still say you had it.”
“Uh, thanks, man.” Ron’s face waffles between complete surprise and appreciation then, in one fluid maneuver, slips back into his snarky self. “So, I’m gonna head out now. Maybe there’ll be some ladies at the club who share your sense of appreciation for all this.”
He makes a head to toe sweeping gestures toward himself. “You sure you’re not coming?”
Lennox wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Nah. We need to get ready for Daley’s shindig tonight.”
“Shindig?” I ask.
Lennox wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Yeah. There’s one last rally tonight at the hotel before the big debate. Daley asked me to put in an appearance. To show support.”
“Sucking up to the big man, huh?” Forrester quips. “No wonder I can’t cut a break on my damned contract.”
Lennox throws the towel at his teammate’s head as Forrester ducks out of the locker room.
“But, Lennox. I can’t go. They don’t sell ‘little black dresses’ in size circus tent.” I make an over exaggerated gesture.
He kisses me on the top of the head. “Don’t worry. It’s impossible for you not to look beautiful.”
I blush and snort a small giggle. “Good thing you’re spectacular quarterback, ‘cause you are a horrible liar. So, what took you so long?” ask.
“Nothing really. I was arguing with Hugh. Next road game’s a tough one. He wanted to shoot me full of anti-inflammatories again. I told him forget it. I knew a much better muscle relaxant for a guy.”
He sweeps me up into his arms. His soft lips press against mine sending wildly electric tingles through me all the way to my toes.
“And it’s way more fun,” he grins mischievously as he looks into my eyes.
