I blinked at him. “Yes, I would.”
“Okay, Katie Holmes,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Kate
I stood at the back of the room with one of the nurses who worked in the Children’s Cancer Center, watching Sean make his way around the dayroom, passing out hugs and little stuffed footballs to the sick children seated there.
The kids ranged in age from a few years old to early teens. They were all in pajamas and little bathrobes. Some didn’t have hair. Some wore knitted caps with the Kings gold crown logo sewn in. Some smiles, others didn’t seem to have the strength. They were all very sick little boys and girls.
Some of them knew who he was, but most didn’t. It didn’t seem to matter to Sean. He was clearly not there to stroke his own ego or have someone like me document how loving and kind he was. He was there because he wanted to be.
“How often does he come here?” I quietly asked the nurse.
“At least once a week,” she whispered back. “He always brings stuffed footballs or Kings t-shirts or caps to pass out to the kids. When he’s finished handing out goodies, he’ll either read them a story or play something on his guitar.”
“He plays guitar? I had no idea.”
“He plays beautifully,” she said, glancing at me from the corner of her eye. “Aren’t you his girlfriend?”
“No, I’m a journalist,” I said. I found it flattering that she thought someone like Sean Donovan would be interested in someone like me. I tried to sound professional rather than enamored of Sean.
I said, “I’m doing a profile on Sean for a magazine.” I’m glad she didn’t ask which magazine. I’m not sure she would have been as friendly after I told her I (supposedly) worked for Playboy.
I glanced over at her. She was watching Sean with a look of respect and admiration, nothing like the way the women were looking at him in the club last night. Of course, the man I was watching now was a far cry from the man who had humped me so flagrantly on the dance floor.
That was one side of Sean Donovan.
This was another.
I wasn’t quite sure yet which one I liked better.
“When you write your story make sure you mention how much money he has donated to this program,” the nurse said quietly. “I know he doesn’t like to talk about it, and all his donations are done anonymously, but I think it’s around a million dollars.”
“Wow,” I said. “I’ll remember to ask him about that.”
“He’ll deny it, I’m sure. Such a humble man.”
A humble man?
Sean Donovan?
Seriously?
I realized at that moment that I didn’t know Sean Donovan at all. I knew the Sean Donovan I’d watched on the football field, and the Sean Donovan that I had read about online and in magazines, and the Sean Donovan I’d see in viral sex videos.
Oh, and the Sean Donovan that made me cum on the dancefloor. But the man I was watching now was a new Sean Donovan, one I had never seen or heard about before.
I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the real Sean Donovan, or just another side to a man I hardly knew.
* * *
I used a napkin to wipe ketchup from my lips and picked up the chocolate shake and gave the straw a good tug. Sean was attacking the double cheeseburger like a man who hadn’t eaten in days. He barely took time to breath between bites. He caught me looking at him and smiled.
“Good, huh,” he grunted, chewing with his cheeks full. He swept his eyes around the little hole-in-the-wall burger joint he’d brought me to and smiled. “Ernie makes the best burgers in the city. Make sure you give him a plug in your article.”
“I definitely will,” I said, munching on the end of a French fry. “Can I ask you something?”
“It’s your interview,” he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.