Dirty Game

“When did you start playing? I’ve never heard you.”

He eyed me and I felt the guilt. This was the time when he was going to tell me I left before I got to know him. That there were parts of him I’d never bothered to find out.

He let out a long exhale. “A friend of mine in the music business started messing around with his guitar. I picked it up pretty quickly.”

I bit the inside of my lip. Of course. He had celebrity friends. Parties. Backstage passes. Island trips to the Caribbean. It was naïve of me to think that just because I watched his press conferences I still knew him.

I felt little needles of green envy surfacing at the thought of other people knowing a part of him I didn’t.

“I’d would love to hear you play some time. Will you tell me the next time you perform?”

“Uh, sure. I’ll let you know.”

Under the stars and low lights of the Dock House things should have felt normal. They should have felt familiar, but all I could think about was what had happened eight years ago. How much distance and history there was between us.

And suddenly, I found myself desperate to fix all of it. To discover who he was now. To know the man he had become. The problem was I had no idea where to start. I couldn’t get my bearings when he was near.

One look into those sexy eyes of his and my heart beat faster, my breath hitched, and my core twinged with deep desire. I wanted to know him in so many ways, but I was lost trying to find a starting point.

I cleared my throat. “So, what’s it

like being a Thrasher?”

He chuckled over his drink. “Is that your version of an ice breaker?”

I blushed. “Yeah. I guess so. Football is always a winner with you, isn’t it?”

He stretched his legs forward, taking up most of the bow. “Darlin’, I love football. You’re right. That much hasn’t changed.”

“Of course not.” I felt stupid. “I just meant what’s it like in the AFA? Do you like playing in Orlando?”

“Yeah, I like it. It’s Florida. I have a killer team. Coach and I get along. Money isn’t bad.” He winked.

“So it’s what you want? What you’ve always wanted?”

“Hell yeah. It doesn’t get any better than what I have with the Thrashers.”

I liked the Long Island ice tea, the lemon especially. “And you don’t care about the pressure or all the press attention?”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye. Those beautiful eyes. “You know you’re starting to sound like a reporter.”

“Well I am a reporter, smart ass.”

He laughed. The sound was deep and rich. “So let’s talk about that.”

“I took a job in Dallas at a medium-sized station for that market. I was a news coordinator. At least that’s what they called me. It was a total grunt job, but I took any shift they gave me. After a year of proving I could work hard they gave me a floating reporter spot.” I paused to inhale my drink. “Two years later, one of the weekend anchors got food poisoning right before the late show and they threw me behind the desk. I was completely unprepared. I had no idea what I was doing up there, but the producer loved it and offered me one of the anchor slots.” My eyes lifted to his. “So you are looking at the sunny face of Wake Up Big D.” I smiled brightly, playing up the cheesiness of the title. I felt as if I was listing off my resume.

“No shit,” he whispered.

“No shit.”

“And to think you ran the school paper.”

“Oh please tell me the Pelican Gazette is still running.”

He grinned. “Oh yeah. I think it’s online now, though.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course it is. Even on the island.” I sat back, feeling the boat rock slightly in the slip. It was soothing. “Blake, how do you do all this and the AFA? I don’t get it. Why come back here? Why try to blend in when you’re such a huge star?”