Various States of Undress (16 page)

Brett's heart began to slow down—but only a little. He peered at her. “What do you have on me now?”

“The fact that you were born and raised in Memphis, like your brother. Your basic background via the tape from Joe's interview. And whatever else you've told me.”

“Is that all?”

“Don't sound so surprised,” she said wryly. “I've been kept so busy with other parts of my internship that I haven't had a chance to go into spy mode on your ass, okay? Which is what I'm about to start doing if you don't give a little.” She caught herself. “Sorry. But you're kind of exasperating.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I know. But it's with good reason.”

“Yeah, that's obvious. It's why I haven't pressed you.”

He didn't say anything for a moment, his mind working over what her reaction might be if he told her the truth. Told her everything. He didn't know if he'd be able to stand seeing pity in her eyes. But he couldn't leave her hanging either. He suspected that she knew how embarrassed he felt about his background, simply because he'd refused to talk about it. But if he made it clear why he felt so uncomfortable, maybe she wouldn't include the information in the interview. His throat closed up.

“Could you go into journalist mode now? When I tell you what I'm going to say, I'm not doing it to get a reaction from you.”

“You have my word.” He watched as she clasped her hands on her knees, just above the water. He could feel her gaze on him, but he didn't meet her eyes.

“So, yeah. I was born in Memphis, like my brother, Joe. Both of us were great at sports even as little kids, and our mom encouraged us. She was raising us on her own, but she pulled together every extra dime to make sure we could play soccer. Pee-wee football. And most of all, Little League. Baseball became the one thing that held our family together, held us above—safe from everything shitty about being poor.” He took a breath. Damn, this was hard. So much of him wanted to push off the steps and swim away, but he made himself stay.

“We grew up in a cluttered, dirty house because Mom was usually working two jobs. Or busy looking for jobs. When I was little, I looked every bit like I belonged where I was, but once I got older, I figured out how to hide the trash factor because I was sick of being treated like trash. I didn't associate with other kids from my neighborhood, and I never invited anyone from school over. After I'd made friends with normal kids, it kind of felt like I didn't even belong in my own home.”

Brett thought about what he'd just said and sighed. “I know that sounds like I despise poor people, but that's not true. I just know—for so many of them—there's too much wrong for hope to make much difference. I was lucky to be smart and determined, and so was my brother.”

He paused and stole a glance at Georgia. She was gripping the railing between them, and her other hand trailed through the water. “I'm still listening,” she said softly, but she didn't look at him. Brett resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. He'd already told her the worst, and she hadn't reacted—at all. Better to just finish up.

“Both of us played baseball in high school,” he said. “Both of us went to U of Memphis on full scholarships. We played in summer leagues, and then Joe got recruited by the Redbirds. So did I, four seasons later, and we were on the same team for half a season before he got called up. Now he's on his way to becoming a legend, I'm where I am, and my mom is still where she is, and she won't take any help. Joe and I got where we are today on our own merit, and I hate the fact that people assume it was any harder for us than it was for privileged kids. Everyone has challenges. I just don't want to be thought of as special because I grew up poor. I want to be thought of as special because I'm a great player who works hard.”

He was silent for a moment, his heart beating fast. “That's pretty much it.”

Georgia let go of the railing and clasped her hands on her knees. “Very interesting. Let me get the facts straight. You and your brother were born and raised in Memphis, excelled in sports from a young age, and leveraged your outstanding ability to make it all the way to pro ball. Does that about cover it?”

Brett turned and gazed at her. She didn't betray a hint of emotion—until she winked at him.

He wanted to kiss her for understanding him so well and for not making a big deal out of his speech. She'd given him exactly what he craved—acceptance. “That covers it.”

“Great. Would you be willing to come by the studio tomorrow morning at eight and sit for an interview taping? We can talk about your memories of playing Little League in Memphis.”

“No. I have a double-header tomorrow. I've got to save my strength.” He grinned.

“Okay, how about right after you come back from Vegas?”

“Sure, that'll be easy. I won't have a problem talking about Little League since I was an MVP three years in a row. All Star too.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I'm assuming it wouldn't be a problem to dig up impressive statistics from your days in college ball?”

“Of course not. There's tons of stuff.” He chuckled.

“You're so cocky.”

“You love it.” Brett ducked his head under the railing and reached for her waist, but she was quick in the water and swam away.

“I wish I didn't love it.” She splashed at him. “And guess what?”

“What?” He followed her.

“Joan's arranging for me to travel with the team to Vegas.”

Brett stopped swimming. That meant that Georgia would be watching as he attempted to slay his demons on the playing field. That meant that everyone would be watching her watching him, and vice versa. He couldn't fuck anything up now. Ship was expecting it. The Cardinals were expecting it.

“Why does she want you to come with us to Vegas?” he asked. Georgia glanced at him and then swam back to the edge of the pool. He followed. When he ran his hand down her wet shoulder, she sighed.

“Okay. This is what she said—she wants me to be there to observe you playing at an away game. Also to get some location variety in the footage. But . . .” Georgia paused. “Um, I get this feeling that Joan wants us to be seen together because the kind of media attention you and I are getting is good for WHAP's ratings. She's staking a lot on my interview with you. So now she's using both of us for who we are and also trying to suck off our personal lives like a vampire.”

Brett didn't know Joan, but he was pretty sure the words “selfish bitch” would be an apt description. She was responsible for the strained, miserable look on Georgia's sweet face, and it pissed him off. But Georgia was stubborn, and she didn't want pity any more than he did, so he didn't give it to her. “You're under a lot of pressure then,” he said.

“Yeah.” She let out an abrupt laugh.

“So . . . if you're not planning to include my whole life story in your interview, isn't that going to make it even harder for you with Joan?”

“It could, but not if I play it smart.” Georgia narrowed her eyes. “Joan wants a tabloid story, but the hell if she's going to get it from me. I'm going to do such an amazing job, she won't even notice that what she
thought
she wanted isn't there.”

Brett hoped, for Georgia's sake, that she was right.

Georgia glanced at him. “So what do you think about my coming with you to Vegas?”

“I love the idea.” Part of him did because he got to be close to her, even if they were going to be watched.

“Good. I do, too, though my agents aren't too keen on it.”

“But it's Vegas, baby,” Brett said in a low, sexy tone, hoping to cheer her up.

Georgia burst out laughing.

“So, as long as your agents don't slap cuffs on me when I touch you, it's all good.” He reached for her, and she swam away.

“Brett, the Secret Service isn't out to get you. But if it makes you feel better, I'll let them know not to restrain you.” She winked. “We can't have that.”

He looked at her sweet lips. “I know what'll make me feel better.” He swam to her, and this time, she stayed put, treading water.

“Oh yeah?”

He planted his feet on the bottom of the pool and reached for her hands. “Be still.”

“I can't touch here.”

“Doesn't matter. I can.” He took her hands and pulled her to him through the water, sucking in a breath as her breasts bounced against his chest. Right before his lips touched hers, he paused. “You know what they say about Vegas.”

“Sure,” she whispered. “But I refuse to participate in a cliché.”

“Sugar, you're anything but a cliché. Weren't you listening when I told you yesterday? You're amazing.”

She gazed up at him. “I think you might be my hero, Brett Knox.”

At her words, elation filled his chest. He stroked her wet hair back from her face. And then he lowered his mouth and kissed her with everything he had.

B
RIGHT AND EARLY
on Sunday morning, Georgia smiled as she plunked down behind the anchor desk next to Dave. She was tired, but she was in a great mood.

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You're awfully chipper.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to inform him that he'd used the word “awfully” in the wrong context. It actually meant horrific or dreadful, and she felt anything but. She shrugged. “Hi, Dave. How are you?”

“It's six a.m. on a Sunday, and my feature story is the stray cat epidemic in Shelbyville. They're terrorizing peoples' garbage cans.” He trained his bleary eyes on her. “That about covers how I am. How are you?”

“Wonderful.” She smiled again, thinking about the naughty text message and voice mails she'd been exchanging with Brett. She'd never done anything like that before, and it was so fun. Thrilling. He'd even texted her an hour ago, letting her know in no uncertain terms that he would stop by the station this morning with the excuse that he was going to look over his baseball stats with her. They'd do that, but he'd made it clear that he was actually planning to make out with her in her cubicle. She let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, I can see why you're happy,” Dave commented. “You're kicking all of our asses in the ratings.”

“That's only temporary,” she protested. “Right, Wagner?” She looked over to where the man was standing behind his camera. He shrugged.

Georgia shaded her eyes from the studio lights and looked for Joan, locating her near the row of computer desks behind the set. She was sitting on the edge of a desk, her arms crossed. “Tell him, Joan.”

“I have no idea. It takes time for ratings to be aggregated. All I care about is that we're in sweeps, and we're kicking ass.”

That about summed Joan up, all right. Georgia turned back to Dave. “Well, if I am doing better than you, it's only temporary,” she said reassuringly.

Dave threaded a mic cord through the back of his tie before clipping it on. “You'll have my anchor job before you know it.”

She didn't want his anchor job. All she wanted was . . . she wasn't sure. Brett. That was the only thing she could think about at the moment. Carefully, she adjusted the mic clipped to the neckline of her blouse. “I could never take your place, Dave. And I'm only taking Simone's place because she needed a day off with her son and I have to do this teaser for my interview with Brett Knox.”

Dave didn't comment, and she watched as the floor manager walked onto the platform and signaled two minutes. Two minutes? What was she going to do for that amount of time? Play with her hair? Boring. A week ago, at the two-minute mark, she was doing her best to breathe normally, psych herself up, and not cringe when the on-air lights lit up. It was amazing how quickly she'd gotten used to being in front of the camera, even if she didn't particularly enjoy it. When it was finally time, and the floor manager counted down from five, she had to force herself to sit up straight and smile.

“Here we go,” Dave muttered, and an instant later, his hangdog expression changed into an animated mask. “Goooood morning, Memphis! We hope you're having a pleasant day. I'm Dave Burrows and will be bringing you the top headlines, local news, and calendar of events, such as Memphis Jams on Beale, a free concert series. Where else? You guessed it. Beale Street.” He gave a hearty laugh and looked at Georgia.

She laughed too, but her thoughts quickly slid elsewhere, even though her mouth was moving. “I'm Georgia Fulton, reporting for Simone Flowers, who has the day off. Later in the broadcast I'll be bringing you highlights from yesterday's Redbirds match up with the Tacoma Rainiers. Our Redbirds went two for two, and the players signed autographs before the game. Stay tuned as well for an introduction to my upcoming interview with star catcher, Brett Knox.”

“Thank you, Georgia.” Dave said. “And now for the world news.”

As Dave continued to talk, Georgia arranged her face into a pleasant expression, but his smooth voice lulled her into a relaxed state. Being relaxed was easy because, despite her great mood, she was exhausted. Yesterday, she'd worked hard all day gathering statistics to use in her interview later this morning. Doing so had forced her to stay up late pulling together the teaser she would be presenting this morning. On the air. She was on the air. Shit.

Carefully, she slid her gaze back to the camera and then to Dave, nodding along as if she had a clue what he was yammering about. She needed to pay attention for obvious reasons—and also because Joan was probably watching her like a hawk. Sometimes the woman went back to her office during broadcasts, but when Georgia was on set, she stuck around.

Georgia perked up, reading along silently with the teleprompter as Dave spoke. And then her phone rang. For a minute, she couldn't place why. The phone ought to be in her cubicle, but it was ringing in her skirt pocket. It was blaring out the ringtone she'd assigned to Brett—the one that played “Sexy Back” by Justin Timberlake.
On the air
.