name, and he looks at me. “You know, in case you forgot.”
“I can never forget you,” he says, grabbing the empty chair and pulling it out to sit in it.
“Since when do you ride a death trap?” I ask as I grab my cup of cold, gross coffee and take a drink, my mouth suddenly dry.
“I usually take my bike out when I want to clear my head,” he says. “It’s not every day you feel like you got ass fucked by a cactus.” He mentions last night’s loss, and I want to laugh, but the coffee goes down the wrong pipe, and I end up choking.
Air struggles to find its way to my lungs as I cough. Miller comes to save the day as though he’s some kind of hero by rushing around the desk and slapping my back. “Jesus.”
Pushing his hand away from my back, I say, “Get away,” between coughs. He continues to rub my back, and I shoo him away with both hands.
He grabs a water bottle and opens it, handing it to me. “Here, take a sip.” I can’t even argue with him if I tried. I take the bottle and take a little sip.
“We are back in one minute,” Brian says, and I look up at Miller, who just stands there over me.
Uncomfortable concern sits in Miller’s eyes. “You can go sit down now.” I push him away. “You know that when one is choking, the last thing you should do is slap them on the back. That’s for trick shots and squat challenges in the locker room.” Throwing his head back with a laugh, he sits in the chair in front of me, then grabs the headphones tucked off to the side.
“Welcome back,” I say when I see the on air sign light up. “You guys are in for a real treat today. Miller Adams stopped by the studio today. He’s not here to talk about last night’s game, that’s for sure.” I smirk at him. “I think you still have whiplash from Evan Richards skating by you.” He just looks at me with fire in his eyes. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I hold up my hands.
His laughter fills my headset. “I’m definitely not here to talk about last night.” He shakes his head. “It was a hard one, and we weren’t ready for them. But we need to give credit where credit is due.” He doesn’t even try to make excuses. “The good news is that we are still early in the season. The bottom line … we need to play better. Not just for ourselves but also for our fans.”
“I can agree with you there,” I say. “So tell us why you’re really here?” I look down at the notes that I made.
“To convince you to go out with me?” There’s that stupid smirk again.
“Not going to happen. Tell us about the Dallas Oilers’ charity auction coming up.”
“It’s a great event that we do every year, benefiting the children’s hospital.” His deep brown eyes go soft as he talks. “We raised a little over seven hundred thousand dollars last year, and this year, we are hoping to double that.”
“Is that why you are auctioning yourself off?” Brian says, laughing.
I swear, my head almost shoots off my body at his comment.
“I’m not the only one,” he says, humor coloring his words. “We have six or seven of us who are up for our bachelor auction. So if you want to come out this weekend,” he says, “there are still tickets available. Plus, the Oilers owner, Nico, sent me with a couple of tickets to give away.” He reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a white envelope. Dropping it on the desk, he says, “So, ladies, polish off that checkbook and come and support an amazing cause.” I swallow down the stupid lump forming in my throat.
“Well, ladies, you heard him. Come one, come all,” I say with fake enthusiasm. “That’ll wrap us up for the day. On behalf of Brian and myself, we wish you the best rest of your day and hope you’ll tune in for our show tomorrow.” My headset is making me hot, so I slide that off and set it on the table.
When Brian enters the room, he approaches Miller, who pushes his chair back, and they shake hands. “This has to be the first time I’ve met you without a woman or two draped over you.” He laughs and slaps him on