The only place I ever felt in control.
A knock on the door brought my head around, and I felt suspended in a different way. Past and present collided. Relief, joy, bitterness, resentment, and rage fighting for supremacy in my body. I wanted to yell and run and maybe puke a little?
Fierce hazel eyes shone out of a face so perfect it could bring grown men to their knees. Her pale blonde hair pulled back so tight I couldn’t tell if she wore it long the way she used to. The purse of her berry-colored lips told me she was ready for a fight. That hadn’t changed.
Christ, what the hell were we going to do?
I looked at Coach to see if he had known this was coming, but his face gave nothing away. With a cough, he stood and waved the journalist into the room as though a nuclear warhead hadn’t just been activated.
“Welcome, Miss Rowsthorn. Please, take a seat.”
Darcy
This wasthe world’s worst idea in a lifetime of bad ideas. Of course Coach Turner recognized me, he’d known me back then too. Had taught me in PE, but I still stood awkwardly, hand half extended, professional greeting frozen on my lips as I made eye contact with my own personal nemesis.
Kane Bryson.
The arrogant SOB didn’t bother to greet me, just watched me with a perfectly blank face. As though I were a stranger.
I had spent the morning trying to find a way out. Any loophole would have done. Finally, I was forced to conclude that my only ticket into the big time of sports reporting was through him.
Didn’t mean I had to be nice about it.
My plan was simple. I would let him dig his own grave. Mr. Fagan had been right. Kane Bryson was a womanizer with one hell of a well-founded reputation. I would merely observe and report on his extracurricular activities. If at the end he found himself without a job, reputation in ruins, and struggling to make ends meet? It wasn’t my fault. I would just have done a good job reporting the facts.
He was going to suffer, and I was going to love every minute of it.
With a mental shake, I withdrew my hand and eased into the nearest seat, pointedly turning away from the man in question in favor of talking to the one who was really in charge.
“Coach Turner. So good to see you again. You’re looking well.” My cheeks twitched, and I realized my smile was dangerously close to manic. Dialing the cheerful back a notch, or ten, I forced myself to relax into the chair.
Coach Turner glanced at Kane, giving him a look that clearly said ‘get with the program’. A heavy sigh left Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Assholish before he flopped into the seat closest to him. I was a professional, so I ignored the way his biceps flexed as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. There certainly was no mental comparison going on between the boy I knew and the hard-muscled god across the room from me now. It was comforting to know I no longer found him attractive in the least. Especially as his dark eyes flicked over me in a way that might have once turned me to goo.
Was it hot in here? I was definitely a little warm.
“I have a proposition for you, Rowsthorn. You’re here for a story. We want Kane to look good. He’s had a spot of bad press, which you may have heard about.”
I didn’t smother the snort fast enough. Kane narrowed his eyes at me as though his reputation was my fault. Jerk.
“Anyway, we want to clear up any… misconceptions… anyone may have about Kane’s off-field suitability for the team. I think having a steady, reliable girlfriend who will go on the record and tell the world what an irreproachable character he is would be just the thing to get him over the line.”
Coach Turner watched me with a weird gleam in his eye. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, unsure what was going on, while Kane lost every pretense of calm as he gaped at the man next to him.
“A girlfriend would be good for publicity, yeah. I’m sure you have someone in mind. The pool of options must be huge.”
Damn, that sounded bitter.
“I mean—”
“You’re going to do it.”
I had to have heard that wrong.
The walls started closing in on me as Coach didn’t laugh off his words. It was a joke, right? Had to be.
Kane hadn’t taken his eyes off Coach Turner, as though he was also waiting for the punchline.
“I’m dead serious.”
