The Baller (9 page)

Brody blew out a breath. “Not looking forward to it. Coach is tough, but fair, and built the team to what it is today. I respect him and wish he was sticking around. But I respect him even more for putting his family first.”

“Any idea who they have in mind for his replacement?”

“Nope. But I’m hoping the decision is made before Coach retires. The sooner, the better. It’ll make for a smoother transition to have the two coaches work together for a while. Bob Langley has been solid with coaching picks. Just hope it continues.

“That brings me nicely to my next question. It’s rumored that Bob Langley might sell a—”

“Were the roses from Langley?”

“Why would the owner of your team send me roses, I’ve never met the man?” I knew exactly whom he meant. He was referring to Bob’s son, Michael.

“The dipshit son you work with, not Bob.”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Maybe not. But I’m asking the question.”

I held his stare. “Yes.”

“Guy’s a—”

“We’re at a church,” I reminded him.

“Are you seeing him?”

“He asked me to dinner, if you must know.”

“You’ll go out to dinner with him, but not me?”

“His dinner invitation is to get to know me, not to get inside of me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m just more upfront about it than he is.”

“How did my pre-interview turn into
you
asking
me
questions?”

Brody leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “Question for question.”

“Excuse me?”

“For every question you ask, I get to ask one.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not if you want the interview.”

“Let me guess. All of your questions will be personal?”

“Only when yours are.”

“Fine,” I huffed. I’d just steer clear of personal questions. Perusing the list I had prepared, I skipped the first one that was clearly more personal than professional. “The offensive line seems to have become a second-half team. Sixty-eight percent of the scoring has been done in the second half, and the Steel have come from behind in the second half in four out of five of their wins. What happens in the locker room at halftime that makes the team rally together better?”

Brody looked pleased with my question. He spent almost a full five minutes talking about the halftime changes that Coach Ryan made during previous games. Unlike many quarterbacks, he didn’t take credit for the improvements that caused his team to win. Instead, he chalked things up to strong coaching.

“My turn,” Brody said when I finished scribbling notes.

“I’m almost afraid to hear it. But go ahead.”

“If you had to marry one man from
Gilligan’s Island
, which one would you choose?”

I laughed. “That’s your question?”

“It is.” He had a boyish grin on his face.

“That’s easy. The Professor.”

“Good answer.”

“Was there really any other logical answer?”

“You could have picked Mr. Howell. He’s rich and old.”

My next question was about the expanded definition of the defenseless player penalty. Then it was Brody’s turn again. “Name of your first pet?”

“I actually never had a pet.”

“Everybody’s had a pet at one time or another. Dog, cat, rabbit, snake, lizard, hamster, turtle…something?”

I shook my head. “Nope. We traveled a lot on weekends to see my dad’s games, so we never had any pets because no one was around to take care of them.”

“You know I have the urge to buy you a dog now, right? A giant one, maybe a Newfie or a Great Dane.”

“Don’t you dare.”

We sat on the roof of that church for almost two more hours. Brody’s odd line of questioning found some unusual commonalities between the two of us. Both of our mothers’ middle names were Yvonne, neither of us liked chocolate, and we both grew up in apartments with street addresses numbered three-three-three. I’d skipped over one particular question, knowing I’d have to answer a personal one of my own. It was the only one left. “Last question.”

“Shoot.”

“Available or taken?” I explained the question, trying not to be personally invested in his answer. “Every woman will want to know the answer.”

He looked me in the eyes when he answered. “Neither.”

I wasn’t prepared for that answer, so I had no follow-up question. I nodded and proceeded to pack my notes. Sitting upright, I readied myself. “Go ahead. Ask your personal question.”

Brody stood and offered his hand to help me up. “I’ll reserve mine for later.”

***

We walked two blocks up the street to a diner. Brody had said he was going to order in food for us in his suite, so I hadn’t eaten all day. My stomach growled as we sat.

“What was that?” Brody teased.

“Shut up. You told me you’d feed me and then took me to church instead. My stomach is allowed to complain.”

The waitress did a double-take when she came for our order. “Aren’t you . . . aren’t you . . . Brody Easton?”

“I am.”

“Oh my god!” she shrieked. “I’m a huge fan. But my eleven-year-old son. He’s a quarterback at his middle school. He thinks you’re the greatest.”

“Thank you. How is his team doing this season?”

“They’ve lost every game. But my Joey, he never gets defeated. Kid takes after me in height. He can barely see over the line anymore. But he has more heart than boys twice his size.”

“That’s good. He’s still got time to grow. But you either have your heart in the sport, or you don’t. He’s halfway there.”

“He’s never going to believe I met you.”

“Well, how about if we take a picture together and send it to him?”

The waitress’s eyes bulged with excitement, but her face quickly fell. “I don’t have a phone anymore. Bill gets too high with two lines, and my son really wanted one. Plus, I’m always here, and I like to be able to reach him when I need to.”

“How about we use my phone and send it to Joey then?”

“Oh my god. You’d do that? He would totally flip.”

I piped in, “I’ll take it. You two get together.” The waitress beamed as Brody stood and put his arm around her, leaning in. After I snapped off a few photos and checked that they turned out okay, I gave her my phone, and she sent the picture to her son with a cute note. As she started to hand the phone back to me, Brody stopped her.

“Actually. Would you mind taking a picture of us together?”

“Sure.”

I looked at Brody questioningly. He gave me a sly grin and came around to my side of the table, squatting down so we were at eye level.

“You ready?” the waitress asked.

Brody leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I’d much rather be eating you than anything on the menu here.” He pulled his head back to catch a glimpse of my expression. “Ready,” he called back to the waitress, who captured a photo of Brody’s eyes twinkling as they looked over at my hooded ones.

We ordered, and I did my best to pretend I wasn’t affected. “Tell me something about you,” Brody said, resting his arm casually along the back of the booth.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Tell me something about you that annoys people.”

“You ask odd questions.”

“Good thing I don’t have your job then.”

I chuckled. “True.” Sipping my soda, I gave his question some thought. “I talk during movies.”

“So? Everyone talks during a movie at some point.”

“No. I
talk
during movies. Mostly it happens when I like the movie. I get excited and need to retell everything that’s happening on the screen to the person next to me.”

Brody looked amused. “So better to take you to a movie you don’t like, then?”

“Well . . . if I don’t like the movie, then I tend to get bored and daydream a bit and I lose track of what’s going on. Then I ask loads of question instead of retelling you the movie.”

“If you know you do it, and it annoys people, why don’t you stop doing it?”

“I can’t help myself. So what do you do that annoys people?”

“I say what I think.”

“You sure do.”

“Does it annoy you?”

“At first it did. I guess I’m starting to expect it now.”

“I’m like fungus, I grow on you.”

“Charming.”

The hours disappeared while we talked. Especially when we argued about football. It was almost midnight by the time we were ready to leave the diner. The waitress brought the bill, and Brody refused to let me pay, even though I’d argued it was technically a business dinner, and the station would pick up the tab. He didn’t say anything, but I caught that he left the waitress a tip of at least a few hundred dollars. The fact that he didn’t want me to notice what he’d done made the gesture that much more meaningful.

He hailed a cab, and light late-night traffic had us pulling up in front of my building in less than fifteen minutes. Brody told the cabbie to give him a few minutes and walked me into my building.

“Thank you for taking the time to let me pre-interview you. It’ll actually make me a lot more comfortable on Saturday now that we’ve done that.”

“You’re very welcome.”

I pushed the button to call the elevator. “And thank you again for dinner.”

Brody nodded. “You know . . . I still have that one personal question left.”

I had actually forgotten. “Saving the best one for last?”

“You could say that. Yes.”

The flutter in my stomach knew what was coming. In a sweet gesture, he brushed the hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. His hand caressed my cheek and then tipped my chin slightly so I was looking straight into his eyes when he spoke. “What’s it going to take to get you underneath me, Delilah?”

I swallowed. He wasn’t teasing to get my attention this time. No, he was dead serious and watching me intently, waiting for an answer.

“I like you. You’re full of yourself and direct. But despite all that, I actually really enjoy spending time with you. I’m just not looking for a physical-only relationship. I need more than that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Dating. Going out together. Exclusivity. I need to spend time with someone, other than just in his bed. Like talking to them during a movie.” I forced a smile. “It’s just who I am.”

The normally slow elevator appeared quickly for a change. The doors slid open behind me, and I waited for Brody to say something. But he only nodded.

“See you Saturday?” I asked.

“Saturday.” He nodded.

The doors slid closed and carried me up to the fourteenth floor. But it felt like a little piece of my heart had been left behind.

Delilah

Only two days had passed since I’d seen Brody, yet I still couldn’t get him out of my mind. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

“Cute.” Indie gave an unenthused wave to the guy at the other end of the bar who tipped his drink in our direction. She sighed as she brought her martini glass to her mouth. “But he’s no Brody Easton.”

“Can we not go there again? Your interest is bordering on stalkerish.”

“Well, I guess there’s always that guy.” She tilted her glass in the direction of an older guy who seriously resembled Dr. Hannibal Lecter from
The Silence of the Lambs
. He was standing alone in a corner, leering in our direction, and when he caught us looking, his rickety-toothed smile grew ridiculously wide. I would have felt safer if Hannibal had had the leather mask wrapped around his face. “I’m sure he’d be happy to break the seal on your revirginized vagina . . . before he eats half your face off.”

“Think I’ll pass. I do have other opportunities, you know. Michael Langley texted me today.”

“Oh yeah. And did you agree to go out with him yet?”

“I was busy. I didn’t have time to text him back yet.”

“You’re stalling because you want Brody, and you know it.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“You’re not busy now.” She motioned for the bartender, pointing to her empty glass. “Go ahead. I’ll wait. Text him and tell him you’ll go out with him, then. If you’re not holding out for Brody Easton, then there’s nothing stopping you. Your cleanse is just about over anyway.”

“I will.”

“I’m waiting.” Indie tapped her fingers on the bar. Needing to prove her wrong, I took out my phone and thumbed off a quick response to Michael.

“Happy?” I turned my phone in her direction so she could see the word
sent
on my screen. She snatched it from my hand and read my response.

Thank you. Yet another crazy week. I promise to catch up with you again next week.