Clay was already speaking before she could lift her mic. “I think our dating lives shouldn’t matter to anyone who isn’t sad and lonely and desperate to have an opinion about someone else’s relationships so they can avoid the shit show of their own.”
Sarah tried to rip the microphone back down before he could curse, but I knew it was too late, and she chuckled through another forced joke with an awkward smile in place before dismissing us. Once the camera was off, she glared at Clay. “Real professional.”
But Clay only looked down at me. “Anything else?”
I swore my eye twitched, but I smiled despite it, stomach in knots as I tried conjuring up excuses for the ass-skinning I already knew would be coming from my fire-breathing boss.
“We have a student here from the college news team,” I said, guiding him along the fence behind reporters interviewing other teammates. “He’s nice. And fresh,” I said, stopping Clay short of where the young man waited. I lowered my voice. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but if you can’t handle—”
Clay shook me off before I could finish, a head nod to the kid with the mic and the slighter larger one with the camera behind him his only greeting.
It wasn’t as bad as the one before, but it was nowhere near the Clay Johnson I knew of last season.
He barely answered the questions, retorted with smartass remarks more than anything of context, and when the poor kid tried to grapple with his notes and figure out what else to ask him, Clay curtly said, “We done here?”
And then turned and left before the poor thing could answer.
After profusely apologizing, I called in a favor from Riley and Zeke, asking them to talk to both reporters about their summer together and how this year is different playing not only as teammates, but as a couple. They were hot news in college football, had been ever since they made Twitter meltdown after the bowl win last year by making out on the field.
Fortunately for me, they were in a happy mood and both very well-spoken on camera.
I smiled and gave them a thumbs up as I listened behind the camera operator, all the while burning holes into Clay’s back as he stomped toward the locker room like a child.
When the interview was over, Riley thanked the reporters with me before pulling me to the side. Her long, chestnut hair was lined with golden streaks bleached from playing in the sun. She pulled it up into a high, tight ponytail, accepting a kiss on the cheek from Zeke and waiting until he was out of ear shot before she spoke.
“A word of advice,” she said, lowering her voice as she looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Might want to lay off Johnson for a while. Him and Maliyah just broke up.”
I blanched. “What?!”
It was useless trying to keep the shock from my face. I didn’t know Clay well, but I didn’t have to to know that his high school sweetheart meant everything to him. He toted her around here every time she visited our campus last season, and I distinctly remembered having a hard time peeling him off her for an interview after our second home game win. He posted about her all the time on his Instagram, and the captions were always very clear about how he felt.
He was going to marry her.
But now, they were nothing.
Riley just nodded, brows bending together. “I know. Poor kid was talking to Zeke last semester about how he thought she was the one.” She sighed, both of us watching Clay disappear into the stadium hall that led to the locker room. “He’s been a mess.”
My shoulders slumped. “I knew something had to have happened. He was always so happy last season, so… full of life.”
“Well, I don’t see him being that way for a while.” Riley swallowed, still looking where Clay had vanished. “They were high school sweethearts.”
I sighed, wishing I could find some empathy. I had never dated anyone, let alone been in love, and so the only thing I found simmering in my chest toward Clay in that moment was a distant sort of sympathy.
And a little frustration that I’d have to deal with the fallout.
“I’m going to have to set up a training with him,” I said. “He’ll still have to talk to the media, and Coach will have his ass and mine if he pulls something like that again.”
Riley looked at me like she pitied me, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder. Before she could walk off, I called out.
“Any advice?”
She shrugged, a sad attempt at a smile on her face. “Make sure there’s beer around.”
Giana
Charlotte Banks was the canvas landscape picture of cool as she sat behind her desk the next afternoon, eyes on her computer screen while the tape of Clay’s interview played back. That screen was angled toward me, too, so I could watch from where I sat opposite her — like I hadn’t replayed it a hundred times already.
If I expected a blow out, I didn’t know my boss. Mrs. Banks appeared almost bored as she watched the screen, occasionally looking down at her manicured nails and picking at the skin around them before she’d fold her arms over her chest once more. Her short copper hair was straightened and styled to perfection, the strands framing her sharp chin, not a strand out of place. Her lips were painted a muted red, and her wide, golden eyes were like that of a cat lazily watching a mouse struggle where she has it by the tail.
I swallowed when the video stopped, an image of Clay’s uncharacteristic frown frozen in place. I chanced a look at my boss, who simply blinked and waited for me to speak.
“I’m sorry,” I started, but she held up a hand, her voice warm and smooth like dripping hot fudge as she spoke.
“Not what I want to hear. Try again.”
I closed my mouth, considering before I opened it once more. “Clay and his girlfriend broke up, which I was unaware of until after the interview. He’s clearly in no headspace to be on camera, and I take full responsibility for not realizing that until it was too late.”
Charlotte etched a brow, unfolding her arms and turning her computer screen back around before she was scribbling on a notepad on her desk.
“Good information to know,” she said, not looking at me. “But still not what I wanted to hear.”
I fought the urge to deflate, using every muscle lining my spine to keep it straight, my chin raised, eyes on her.
She glanced up at me before sighing. “Can you handle it or not?”
I bristled at the accusation, at the fact that she even had to ask. But then again, I couldn’t blame her — not after what she’d had to work with since I first walked through her door. It had taken all my effort, every single day, just to look these guys in the eye and speak loud enough to direct them where they needed to be.
I’d come a long way, yes… but I certainly had a ways to go.
“Of course,” I answered, hoping my confidence was convincing.
“Good, then we don’t need to discuss it further.” She took a sip of her room-temperature water — I knew it was room temp because it had been part of my job as intern last year to make sure it was. “I’m depending on you to handle this kind of work so I don’t have to waste my time or energy. Use the intern if you need to.”
The intern.
Charlotte couldn’t even be bothered to call her by her name.