The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel - Vi Keeland Page 0,84
making it to the television in the viewer’s living room. And he was staring at me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“Um, I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?”
His eyes narrowed. “The Pro Bowl. Is it better for the station that they keep it during the bi-week between playoffs and the Super Bowl? Or should it come after, so the players from the two teams in the Bowl that were selected can go?”
“Oh. I think it’s better for the station that it stays in the bi-week. People want something to watch during that off week, so the advertising is prime. But it’s better for the players for it to be after.”
Luckily, Aileen Fisher, one of Marvin’s department heads, jumped into the conversation, so I was off the hot seat. I tipped my head back as I downed the last of my wine and looked through the bottom of the glass. There was a commotion near the front of the restaurant. My stomach sank at seeing familiar faces. Familiar player faces.
The entire restaurant paused their dinner to watch the hostess seat them. Even if they weren’t famous football players, the sight would still have caused a hush. Six extraordinary large men dressed in suits, one louder than the other. I breathed an enormous sigh of relief at not finding Brody amongst the crowd. Until I saw that the party of six was being seated at a table for eight, with two empty chairs.
If I was distracted before, I was totally useless as I stared at the door, waiting to see who would fill the vacant seats. Indie was sitting diagonally across from me, and her eyes took in my panic.
I knew the minute he walked in the door. I had been looking down at my cell phone in my lap, desperately trying anything to keep distracted, when a faint murmur began. The sound grew as the men made their way into the restaurant. Brody was with the offensive-line coach.
He didn’t see me at first, but I couldn’t look away. He looked sad, tired even, his normally cocky smile nowhere to be found. It opened a crack in me, and I was suddenly nervous that a wave of emotions would smash that crack open wide, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself sitting in the restaurant.
Halfway to his table, he stopped. I watched his eyes roam the room, searching for something. Since the day I’d met Brody, I’d felt him before I could see him. It seemed impossible, so I thought it was just my crazy romantic heart playing tricks on me. But when his eyes landed on mine, I knew I wasn’t crazy. He had felt me in the room and searched for me.
Our gazes locked. The impact of seeing the hurt in his dimmed green eyes was like a direct blow to the chest. I felt as though someone had kicked my chest open with a steel-toed boot and reached in and gripped my heart in their hand.
We stayed that way for a few seconds, yet it felt like so much longer. Then, somehow, his eyes managed to hold mine while they swept over the table. His jaw tightened at finding Michael Langley sitting next to me. I saw the shutters go up on the window of pain in his eyes, right before he turned his head and walked to his table.
“What the hell just happened?” Marvin said. The entire table had been watching the exchange go down. With his head buried in equipment, Marvin was quite possibly the only person at the station who didn’t know about my relationship with Brody.
Indie kicked Marvin under the table and answered for me. “Just some baller making goo-goo eyes at a pretty girl.”
The waitress appeared from nowhere. “Are you ready to order your main course?”
“I’ll have an apple martini.”
“Okay. And for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Indie mumbled, “Shit,” under her breath. Rightly so. I wasn’t much of a drinker. And the last time I drank martinis, I was in bed for two days. I couldn’t even remember half the night. At the time, I’d thought it was the scariest thing ever and never wanted to get that drunk again. But right then, I wanted whatever it would take to make me forget. And fast.
During my first martini, I stole fleeting glances at Brody.
During my second martini, I glared at him like he had just kicked my dog.
After my third martini, I could barely hold back tears.