I do… usually, except when it’s put to the test. When that happens, I instantly revert back to my childhood and remember my family’s traditions and beliefs and how I was treated. And then the guilt sets in.
“I get it. But did you have to show the clip?” I try to hold on to my fight a little longer.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. All the other stations are running it. That thing is already viral.”
“What?” My mouth drops open.
Mr. Jeffries chuckles and lets his hands drop from my shoulders, making his way back behind his desk.
“This is a business first and foremost and though I don’t like it, sometimes I’m forced to make tough choices. This was one of them.”
I nod, understanding his predicament. “Well, let’s just make it the once, okay?”
He puts his hands up. “No promises. Guess we’ll have to see how this plays out.”
My eyes narrow. “There’s nothing to play out. He said something stupid and embarrassed us both. End of story.”
He gives me a grin. “If you say so. You know, if I wasn’t married, I sure could find myself being the top to his bottom.” He winks and I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me.
“Oh my god.” I shake my head. “I won’t tell your husband you said that.”
“Don’t. He’s already pissed at me enough for not agreeing with him that our en suite bathroom needs a makeover for the third time this year.”
“Is that the reason you’re eating sugar and carbs?” I nod at the donut.
He shrugs. “I can’t help it. I crave them when we’re fighting.”
“Well, I’m headed home. You should do the same. Apologize, then go be the bottom to his top.” I wink, hearing his laughter all the way down the hall.
When I get to my desk, before grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair, I decide to search YouTube for the clip of the press conference. Surely Mr. Jefferies is exaggerating. Athletes do stupid things all the time. That is not going to go viral.
But I was wrong because my stomach drops when I find all kinds of clips have been uploaded, most with millions of views and hundreds of comments.
Some of the comments are of people shipping Brock and me together and saying that we should totally start dating. Some speculate whether we already are. But there’s also a lot of comments like, “How does a broad with a rack like that get a job reporting on sports? One word… casting couch” and “Do you think she can even add up the score if we asked her to?”
Those feel like a spear to my sternum, and I quickly shut off my computer before sliding on my coat.
If I stay off-line and ignore all the buzz, surely it will die down. Says every YouTube sensation.
3
Brock
“Hey, Allen! You hook up with that bombshell from the news yet?” one of the security guards asks me as I leave the arena a few days after the incident that shall not be named.
Except that’s not exactly true.
Because my teammates get nothing but joy from busting my balls about my slipup. Some of them have nicknamed me Romeo. And since I’m a rarity in hockey to have never been gifted a nickname—I’m afraid it might stick.
I wave Charlie off and he laughs. He’s worked security here since my rookie year, eight years ago.
After throwing my shit in the back of my car, I drive my Audi out of the parking lot to head back to my condo. Practice took a lot out of me today. Probably because I’ve slept for shit the past few nights due to Kelsey Callaway.
I searched her up after the press conference, wondering why I had never seen her before.
I watched clip after clip of her sports reports, and I found her on social media. Which meant by the time I closed my eyes to sleep that night, all I saw behind my eyelids was that beautiful face surrounded by blonde hair. And when I finally fell asleep, I woke up hard as fucking granite, forced to bust a nut if I wanted any chance of going back to sleep.
There’s no denying that she’s every man’s wet dream with her huge tits, small waist, curvy hips, luscious blonde hair, and sparkling blue eyes. But more than her looks alone—she knows her shit when it comes to sports.
It’s clear from watching clips of her that she knows sports intimately as if she’s a true fan, not just a pretty woman a station owner decided to put on TV for eye candy. Her excitement when new records are set, or the underdog comes back to win the game, is evident. And the way she rattles off players’ stats is impressive.
I park my car in the underground garage and take the elevator to the top floor of the building. After I unlock the door and ditch my jacket on the side of my couch, I grab a beer from the fridge and flop down in my favorite chair.
After flipping through the channels and finishing half my beer, I heat up the dinner my meal delivery service left for me and then change the channel over to WHFI. And then I wait. I truly am a puppy dog obsessed with this woman.
Ten minutes in, Kelsey appears on the screen to give her thoughts on our game tomorrow night against Los Angeles. I’m captivated, if not more than a little turned on, and I already know that before this week is through, I’m going to ask her out.
The next night, after a brutal game against Los Angeles, Kelsey’s at the postgame press conference but doesn’t ask any questions. At least not while I’m being interviewed. I tried not to glance in her direction, feeling like everyone in the room was hyperaware of both of our presence, waiting for something to come more from what I said prior.
After I’m done with my interview, I rush to the locker room, gather my shit and leave, hoping to catch her, but when I head down the hallway, she’s nowhere to be seen. I poke my head into the pressroom but she’s not one of the few reporters still lingering around.
“Great game tonight, Allen!” one of them calls out. I wave and smile before turning my attention back to the hallway.
“You looking for your woman?” Karl, my teammate, says as he approaches.
“I don’t have a woman,” I grumble.
“Did you tell the internet that?” He chuckles as we make our way down the hallway, side by side.
He’s not wrong. Every day it seems like the whole comment I made gaining more attention. Apparently, there was even a joke about it on The Tonight Show last night.
“I was hoping to catch her so I could apologize for all the attention this is getting.” And ask her out. But I’m not telling Karl that. He’s probably the one sharing that video clip the most.
“There she is.” Karl points to my left down a hallway and for once, the guy isn’t busting my balls.
Kelsey stands talking to a guy with a camera balanced on his shoulder wearing a snug-fit black pantsuit with a white shirt underneath.
“Thanks, man.”
He claps me on the back. “Go get your woman.”
I flip him off and head down the hallway. The camera guy sees me first since Kelsey’s back is to me.
She must sense me or see her camera guy’s widened eyes because she turns her head to look over her shoulder. I’m not sure what reception I might receive from her, but the narrowed eyes weren’t it.
Okay…