as she drove her Challenger down a busy Loyola Avenue.
“So, we’ve got some juicy, juicy stuff for you freaks,” the lead host Billy said, his voice a thick haggard sound that reminded Reese of gravel and too many packs of Kool Menthols.
She drove with her knee, spilling the water when the light abruptly changed. “Shit!”
“Tell me.” Bud, the second host, had a weasely quality to his tone. He sounded a little nasal and obnoxious. “And what level of juicy are we talking about here?”
“Wet t-shirt sorority girls in Jell-O.”
Ugh, Reese thought, slinging water from her hand while she hit her blinker, trying like hell to keep her phone dry.
“Give it to me, oh, Mighty Soda…I mean, Yoda.”
She pulled down Poydras and waited at an intersection for a group of red tutu-wearing tourists to pass by.
“So we all saw the kerfuffle with the Steamers’ new feminazi kicker?” Billy asked.
“Her yelling like a mega-bitch at Ryder Glenn?”
“That’s the one.” There was a laugh in Billy’s voice and the second she heard herself referenced, Reese’s insides burned and her face began to flame. She went deaf to the noise around her, focusing on the radio as though just looking at it would give her some insight to what might come next.
“Word is when they played South Carolina last week, there was another argument right in the hotel lobby. My source tells me Noble and Glenn thought they were alone and started screaming at each other, mainly the feminazi.”
“Can we still call her that?” Bud asked, his tone slipping to something that sounded smug. “I mean, if Lennox Murry clearly finds her hot…”
“And we all love that mother fucker.”
“Hell yeah!”
Reese blushed again, sinking lower down in her seat when she heard the UFC fighter’s name. It had been a stupid idea, but Reese would not complain about it.
“You sure I can’t tempt you, love?” That thick Scottish brogue had done something to her as they waited in the lobby of the hotel restaurant. Lennox knew it was all bullshit, the date, the attention, but that didn’t mean he tried to play off what he thought of Reese as he stepped right in front of her, his massive hand flat against the wall over her head. He wanted her to go upstairs with him. To his room.
“Oh, you could so tempt me,” Reese admitted, her face warming when Lennox licked his lips.
“But?” he asked, pulling on the end of Reese’s hair lying against her bare shoulder.
She swallowed, trying to ignore that lush, rich scent coming off his thick neck. He shouldn’t be this handsome. Don’t fighters usually have crooked noses and big ears? Lennox was not remotely flawed. He was rugged with a thick, russet beard and short hair a little longer on top, shaved at the sides. His lips were full, face angular and sharp, and that voice was something out of a ‘Make Me the Perfect Man’ guidebook.
“But…” she started, feeling like an idiot all nervous and flustered, especially when he wound her hair around his finger, smoothing his thumb against it. Reese couldn’t even manage to look him straight in the eye. “But you’re busy and…I’m…I’m busy. You’ve got matches, I’ve got games…”
“Not tonight we don’t, do we now, aye?” God, he wanted to make this so easy for her. Too easy.
It seemed like the perfect set-up: get dressed up, forgo the skin and seduction for class and sophistication. Gia had picked something from her own closet, knee length, strapless sheath dress gathered on the side paired with understated gold Jimmy Choo sandals, also Gia’s not Reese’s, and delicate gold jewelry—the colors all a subtle shout-out to her team. Her hair was all wavy and soft around her face, just hitting the center of her back, makeup professional, but classic. Reese had caught one look at herself in the mirror on the way out of her apartment and took a double take. No jock-garb. No low cut lace. Just Reese, looking like a woman. A woman that Lennox Murry had doted on and praised and flirted with all the while pretending to be irritated that the paparazzi had caught them having drinks at the Decadence, the bar visible from the street, and dinner at Secrète, a new, exclusive French restaurant that was private but not secluded.
“I gotta see this picture again. Hand it over,” Billy said, a laugh already in his voice.
There was a rustle of paper, and Reese understood that the DJs were passing images of Lennox, leaning close to her,