On a Wednesday (One Week 2)

“I never forget a face, you know,” he said, giving me his panty-melting smile. “Especially the face of a woman who told me to ‘fuck off’ after I offered her a ride home.”

“That’s not what happened.” I rolled my eyes, finally giving in to his game. “You offered me the chance to take a ride on your cock. That’s what you offered me every year.”

“Oh, that’s right.” He smirked. “So, if I were to offer you that chance right now, would your answer still be the same?”

“Mr. Stanton,” I said, attempting to play nice. “Can you please take this interview seriously?”

He flashed his infectious smile and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll try to, Miss Johnson.”

“Great.” I clicked my pen. “Let’s try another question. What motivates you when you’re on the field?”

“The cheers from all of my adoring fans, future endorsement deals, and well, fame.”

Like I said, Petri dish … I rolled my eyes, but I decided not to press him any further. “Do you have any hobbies off the field?”

“My answer to that question will depend.”

“On what?”

“The rating of this interview,” he said. “If you’re only allowed to write family friendly responses in your thesis, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to answer that.”

“I’ll move to the next question.” I felt my cheeks heating. “What’s your favorite thing about Pittsburgh?”

“No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “That’s a joke of a question. Ask me something else.”

“It’s on my list.”

“Can’t be.” He looked nonplussed. “I saw some of your notes at the play, and I’ve been reading your work online all week. I highly doubt that you would write, let alone ask, a bullshit question like that.”

I swallowed, unsure whether that was a compliment.

“I’m making an exception for you by doing this interview.”

“What are you hoping to get out of it?”

“That’s personal,” he said. “But I don’t want some bullshit, fluff piece like the idiots in the typical pressroom write.”

“So, you didn’t agree to this solely because you think there’s a chance that I’m attracted to you?”

“Okay, first of all, I know that you’re attracted to me.” He smiled, turning off my recorder again. “But I also know that you’re one hell of a reporter and you’re not like the others. You don’t do the click-bait shit, and you actually print people’s words verbatim with a thorough analysis. You give a fuck about what you write, and it shows in your style … That sets you apart.”

I was stunned. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me about my writing.

“So, all of that said, I’d like to know how we can get on the same page, and you can stop being mean to me.”

“I haven’t been mean to you at all, Kyle.”

“You have.” He placed his hand against his chest, feigning hurt. “And I haven’t done anything—minus the pointless group project to deserve your hate.”

“Your endless flirting with me on the sidelines over the years says otherwise.”

“I never knew that you noticed.”

“I didn’t.”

He smiled. “What else?”

“You have a terrible reputation—according to all of the rumors, so that’s why I’ll forever feel the need to keep you at arm’s length.”

“Your hatred is based off silly rumors?”

“Tons of rumors. All of them can’t be false.”

“All of them can’t be true either.” He leaned forward. “What have you heard?”

“That you’re an insatiable douchebag who plows his way through tons of underclassmen every year. That you keep count, and that you make it your personal mission to have sex as often as possible.”

His lips curved into a smile. “Is that all?”

“No, it actually gets worse.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve heard that you’re incapable of committing to anything for longer than five seconds.”

“I’ve committed to this conversation for longer than five seconds. Does that count?”

“You’re obsessed with going to the professional league and you don’t plan on keeping in contact with any friends that you’ve made here.”

“What?” He laughed. “I feel like you just made that shit up.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then what source gave you that one?”

I tried to think of a response—tried to hold back a laugh, but I couldn’t help it.

“Okay, okay. I made that one up. But everything else is a culmination of what I’ve heard, though.”

“Okay, well some of that may be pretty accurate,” he admitted. “But I honestly haven’t had sex in a while. Contrary to the rumors, it looks like that won’t be changing anytime soon. Unless you’re interested, that is.”

“I’m not.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in a slight surrender. “Is this typically a good time for you to meet me?”

“Not really.”

“Care to give me a time that is?”

“Seven in the evening is better.”

“Okay, that works for me, too.” He stood up. “You’ll meet me at Fuel and Fuddle next week, and I get to pick every week’s location until you’re done. And since I’m agreeing to this, you won’t make me look bad with your words. Or else.”