The crowd moans, and I see the offense leaving the field again. I glance at the jumbotron and watch the replay of McKay fumbling the ball on the handoff to Kelso.
“The Thunder has struggled to find their rhythm with Hartly McKay as quarterback. How do you feel when you see your team slipping farther behind in the division?”
I HATE THESE KINDS OF QUESTIONS. What does she want me to say?
I feel like I’m letting my team down.
I feel like I’m letting the fans down.
I feel like a loser.
This is a terrible question, Amy, and shows you have the imagination of a wash cloth. Maybe you should look for other work.
I don’t say any of that. Instead, I arrange my face like a big brother talking about his younger, troubled brother. “This is a hard game, Amy, and it moves much faster than college football. Hart’s just getting his footing. I’m confident he’s going to be fine. He’s made some damn decent plays today, and I’m confident that he’ll continue to do so. Let’s not forget that Hartly McKay was a first-round draft pick. He’s more than capable of doing this job.” I give the camera a quick grin, pretty proud that I successfully deflected the question and painted my back up in the best light possible.
The signal sounds for the end of the game. Amy ends the interview so she can grab Coach Rosser and Hartly as they leave the field.
I check the jumbotron again for the final score. Carolina 35, Thunder 3. Ouch.
I make my way to the dressing room and try to keep the skip out of my step. I feel bad for McKay, but he’s got a lot of years left in this league to make a name for himself. I don’t know how many more I have, and this is my damn team.
“Booya, motherfucker!” Guthrie bellows as he slams the ping-pong ball past me to win the game.
I lower my head. “I bow down to your ping-pong superiority.”
He throws his arm around one of the girls flanking him. “Damn right.” He points his paddle at me. “And don’t you forget it, Bullet.”
My hands go into the air in surrender. “Never.”
He laughs and spins the paddle in his hand, and winks at the girls. “Now, what else can I do with this paddle?”
They squeal and run, with him chasing them. I chuckle and shake my head.
“Some boys never grow up.” The smooth, slightly gravelly voice whispers into my ear. She’s behind me, but I know without looking who it is. “Hello, Sylvia.” I turn to see her beautiful upturned face.
“Hey, Cash.”
She’s a tiny thing, with long dark hair that cascades down her back and innocent big baby-doll eyes that can make a man forget his name. And yeah, I’ve forgotten my name a time or two with Sylvia. I like her—she’s uncomplicated, not argumentative, and knows the score. “It’s been a while.”
Her white teeth sink into her pillowy-soft lips. “I was hanging with some of the Rangers players for a while.”
“I didn’t know you were a baseball fan too.” Evidently, Sylvia is an equal opportunity sports honey.
She sighs loudly. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for the tight pants.”
I laugh. “I guess you are.”
She walks her fingers up the front of my shirt. “But now I’m back where I belong.”
“Yeah?” My arm goes around her waist.
A brilliant, happy look breaks over her face. “Yeah.”
Our bodies are pressed together, her fingers are toying with my buttons, our gazes are locked onto each other, and … nothing. Something’s off. I like Sylvia, always have, but the feel of her exposed midriff on my arm feels wrong. Her petite body is smokin’ hot, but all I can see when I look into her dark irises are a pair of cobalt blue eyes that are far less fond of me. Damn it. Why does the memory of me holding Tiger’s naked body take my brain hostage at that very moment?
“You look good, Cash.” Her soft, willing and sexy-as-hell body presses closer to mine. Warm hands reach around my neck and play with the hair at the base of my neck. “Mmm, you feel good too.” She rises up on her tiptoes, bringing her lips only millimeters from mine, and whispers, “Wanna party?”
Do I?
I should want her.
I want to want her.
I tighten my grip and think dirty thoughts, willing my body to do what it’s supposed to do when a half-naked woman presses herself to