Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I scampered to catch up with him. “Uh, actually, the media is all lined up over there,” I said, pointing to the other edge of the stadium.
“Don’t care.”
I stopped at the words, at how cold they were, shivering a bit and watching the muscles of his back ebb and flow before I shook my head and skipped to catch up to him again.
“It won’t be long, just a quick five-minute interview.”
“No.”
I chuckled. “Look, I get it. First day of camp is tough. It’s hot out here, you’ve got Coach watching, I—”
“No, you don’t get it,” he said, whipping around until I slammed right into his sweaty chest. He didn’t attempt to catch me as I bounced back, but I righted myself, adjusting my glasses to look him in the eyes as he continued. “You’re not a player. You’re not part of the team. You’re a part of the media. And I don’t want to fucking talk to you, or them, or anyone right now.”
Hurt flashed through me as he turned, but it only lingered a moment before I blew out a breath and let the pain go with it.
This was part of my job, dealing with athletic babies and they’re mood swings.
I got this.
I cleared my throat as I caught up to him. “Well, I’m sorry you’re having an off day, but unfortunately, this is part of your role as an athlete at North Boston University. So, you can either do this very short interview, or explain to Coach why you couldn’t be bothered to.”
That made him stop, and I watched his fists curl at his sides before he turned around, veins popping in his neck. He cracked said neck and then stormed right past me, on his way to the media line.
I smiled in victory.
At least, until I followed him to the perfectly nice female reporter from ESPN and watched in horror as he made an ass of himself, the team, and more importantly?
Me.
“Clay, after that bowl game last season that had us on the edge of our seat, we’ve all got big expectations for NBU football. How are you feeling about the season?”
Sarah Blackwell smiled a freshly whitened, toothy grin up at Clay, angling the microphone in her hand toward his beautiful mouth — which was currently in a flat, straight line.
“I feel like we could focus a lot more on football if we didn’t have to waste our time talking to reporters like you.”
My eyes shot open, heart catching in my chest as Sarah frowned, blinked, looked at me and back at the camera before lowering the mic.
“We know you’re all excited about the season, I completely understand the desire to keep your focus locked in,” she said with a forced laugh, trained and poised despite Clay’s deadpan expression. “So, the hot news last season was about Riley Novo, the female kicker for NBU. She’s back this season, and this time, dating a fellow teammate — Zeke Collins. Tell us, do you think that will be a distraction for the team?”
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.