The Baller(7)

By: Vi Keeland


“I’ll keep Hughey in mind.”

“So what are you going to do next week if he does it again?”

“Ignore it and continue with the interview. I expected him to be a dick. I didn’t expect him to show me his dick. He caught me off guard. I’ll be ready for him next time.”

“I’m ready for him right now. If I was wearing panties, they might be a little wet thinking about that body. Do you think he’ll be there tonight?”

“I hope not.” A minuscule, dark, masochistic part of my brain looked forward to seeing him. Although there was no way in hell I’d ever admit it.



***



My table at the Baxter Bowl was filled with an interesting mix of people from WMBC and New York Steel management, including the station owner’s charming grandson, Michael Langley, who was also head of broadcasting operations—technically that made him Mr. CUM’s boss’s boss. We’d been talking for almost an hour, and I was surprised to find we had so much in common. We’d both attended Stanford, although he was a few years my senior. Both of our dads had been professional quarterbacks when they were young, and we both rose at the crack of dawn. The Langley family was legendary in New York sports. Michael’s grandfather not only owned WMBC, but was also the majority owner of the New York Steel.

When they’d finished clearing our dinner plates, Michael leaned into me. “Want to dance?”

“Sure. I’d love to.”

Out on the dance floor, he led me through one slow dance. He had a firm hand and definitely knew how to lead. And he was pretty easy on the eyes, too. Matt Damon in glasses. Well groomed, intelligent, and handsome—my night could be worse.

“I like your hair up.” Sweet too.

It had taken the stylist almost two hours to tame my unruly mass of dark curls enough to pin it all on top of my head. A few tendrils had already escaped.

“Thank you. You don’t smoke, do you? Because I’m pretty sure if I go anywhere near a cigarette, I might catch fire with the amount of spray the stylist had to put in to get it to stay.”

Michael smiled. “No worries. I’m smoke-free.”

Why isn’t this the type of guy I usually dated? Following in his father’s footsteps, Michael had played college football before a torn ACL ended his career before it even started. With his knowledge of the game and all-American good looks, his transition to sportscaster came easily. Although moving up the chain of command had taken him more behind the scenes the last few years. “Do you have any interviews planned this season? I’d love to watch you filming and learn. Your interviews always came across as if you were having a casual talk in the living room, rather than sitting on a set in front of cameras.”

“Thank you. I actually don’t have any on the calendar as of now, but you just gave me a reason to change that.”

A new song had just started, and I was enjoying his company when a voice behind me said, “Can I cut in?”

My head whipped around, even though I had no doubt whom the gravelly voice belonged to.

Michael was gracious. “I hate to share. But I suppose I have been hogging the most beautiful woman at the event.” He let go of my hand and stepped back with a gentlemanly nod. “Thank you for the dance, Delilah.”

Again Brody Easton had caught me off guard. Before I knew it, I was dancing with the arrogant jerk. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body tight against his. Way tighter than Michael had held me.

“Good to see you again, Lois Lane.”

The man had balls; I had to give him that. I looked him straight in the eyes. “Nice to see you with clothes on, Easton.”

“Do you prefer me without?”

“I prefer you on the other side of the room.”