The Baller: A Down and Dirty Football Novel - Vi Keeland Page 0,14
for you?”
His answer was curt. “No. As long as he does his job, I’m not concerned.”
“Thank you.” I sat and the room began to buzz with chatter.
Brody stared at me with a gleam in his eye for the remainder of the interview. It made me question if I had just poked a lion. Colin, on the other hand, was sporting an evil grin, and it appeared he was enjoying our interaction.
I didn’t mill around socializing after the conference ended. I had a hot date with a month’s worth of laundry that I’d stood up on multiple occasions. I was texting Indie while walking down the long hallway toward the exit when a hand at my elbow startled me.
“Nice find. Did you have to call my entire dorm to dig up that little piece of information you just unleashed in there?”
“I’m sure if I interviewed your entire dorm, my ears would be bleeding.”
“You realize that every journalist will be watching every interaction between that asswipe and me now?”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
I stopped walking. Brody was still holding my arm.
I turned to him and shrugged. “Okay. So maybe I’m not. So what?”
He squinted at me.
“Oh. By the way. My station wants me to ask you to do a sit-down interview with Phil Stapleton for the Sixty with Stapleton show.”
“You're going to ask me for a favor after you just screwed me in there?”
I tilted my head and gave a sugary-sweet smile. “You sabotaged my first locker room interview and then asked me out.”
Easton’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re getting even with me?”
We reached the front doors of the stadium, and Brody opened one and followed me out. “Are you going to follow me all the way home?”
“Is that an invitation?” He shot me a damn cocky smile.
I shook my head and kept walking. Neither of us said a word until we’d crossed the parking lot and arrived at my car. I unlocked the door and got in. Easton stood outside, holding the door open. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll do the sit-down for Sixty with Stapleton.”
“You will?”
“Under two conditions.”
“And they are?”
“You do the interview. Not that old jackass Stapleton. He has guest interviewers all the time. They want me, you’ll be the guest interviewer.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. I’m sure Stapleton won’t be happy about it. But Mr. Cu—my boss will.”
“Then it’s settled.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why are you being nice to me now, when I just unleashed what will probably turn into a media shitstorm on you?”
“I like you.”
I shook my head. “I’ll talk to my boss and then call your agent to set it up.”
“Sounds good. Can I borrow your cell? Coach is probably wondering where I disappeared to.”
I handed him my phone. He dialed a number, hung up and handed the phone back to me without bringing it to his ear.
He read the confusion on my face. “You didn’t ask me what condition number two was.”
I’d gotten so excited he was going to give me an interview, I’d forgotten he’d said there were two conditions. “What’s the second condition?”
“You have dinner with me.”
“Dinner?”
“That’s right.”
“Does dinner mean sleeping with you?”
“Hopefully when it’s over. But if you want to switch things up a bit and get to the fucking first, I’m happy to oblige.”
“No thanks.”
“Relax. I’m joking. Dinner means dinner. You know, I take you out to some overpriced restaurant where we share a meal and I tell you how great I am.”
“Gee. How can I turn that invitation down?”
He winked. “That’s what I thought. I am sort of irresistible.”
“If you don’t say so yourself.”
I was pulling out of the parking lot and still wondering what the hell I’d just agreed to, when my phone buzzed.
Brody: Wednesday night. I’ll pick you up at your office at 6. Wear something sexy.
Chapter 7
Delilah
“What the hell are you wearing?” Indie arrived just as I returned to my office from the ladies’ room on Wednesday evening.
“A new outfit. For my date tonight.”
“You’re dressed like a sixty-year-old grandmother of nine about to go to church.”
I totally was. Some of it I’d actually had to purchase just for the occasion. The Goodwill store on Seventy-Second Street was perfect—a bag full of granny goods for under twenty bucks. I caught my reflection in the glass window. Oversized navy corduroy blazer. Navy elastic waist polyester pants (pretty damn comfortable). Cream-cotton-and-doily-lace button-up blouse, buttoned up to the top, of course. A string of fake pearls. Hair pulled back in a tight bun. Worn penny loafers. (Okay, so those might have been mine.)