Married in Vegas: In His Arms

“Did you know?” I blurted, sounding way too spiteful.

When he asked, “Know what?” I tried my best to inject a lightness to my tone as if I didn’t care about his answer.

“About Cam.” When there were only crickets on the other line, I added, “About him getting married.”

The expletives that left his mouth had me holding the phone from my ear.

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“He didn’t tell you either,” I said more than asked.

I didn’t know what was going on with Cam, but I didn’t like this new version of himself.

“No. And how do you know?” he asked.

“It’s all over the news. That and his trade.” He went quiet. “You knew that didn’t you.”

At least Cam wasn’t totally lost to us.

“Why do you care? He told me it was a secret. I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

There it was. An opening for me to be honest with my oldest and dearest friend. Even though I knew I had to come clean, I thought it best if I did it in person.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I forced out through my lips. “Go to your wife. I need to get some more sleep.”

Chelsea’s voice could be heard calling him from another room.

“Yeah, okay. But we need to talk.”

“We do,” I said, somberly and ended the call.

The next time I woke was to the shout of my editor coming from the phone I’d answered once again oblivious to who was on the other line.

“Christina, tell me you are at the press conference.”

I made the mistake of sleepily asking, “What press conference?”

He let out a long string of curses each worse than the previous one. Superstition would say bad things happened in threes, so who would be spewing out the foul language next.

“You get your ass over to that fancy Dallas stadium for that press conference or you won’t have a job.”

It didn’t take a genius to guess what the topic would be about. I wanted desperately to make an excuse, but the truth was, I needed the job. As it stood, Jillian and I were giving up the apartment. The neighborhood was seeing growth which allow our landlord to raise our rent to unaffordable levels.

We had options, just not ones I relished.

“I’m on it, boss.” I said, hoping to get back on his good side.

“You do that. And you know McCabe don’t you?”

I sighed. The name dropping had been an interview opening that pushed me ahead of all the other applicants when I started the job two years ago. Of course I’d told Cam via email and he’d given me a few quotes here and there over the years. Now it was coming back to bite me.

“Yeah,” I agreed unwillingly knowing the likely place where his question was leading.

“See if you can get an exclusive.”

Then he hung up, not giving me an out.

Bleary eyed, I pushed up from my flat-on-my-face position on the bed. I rolled to my back before hoisting myself up. My boss didn’t have to give me the time of the event. I saw the string of texts he’d sent me all morning. I had about ten minutes to pull myself together and head over or I’d be late.

I took the world’s fastest shower and put on a shirt and skirt that would flaunting my best assets. No reason not to look good when I encountered the bastard. I had a plan and it didn’t include standing in the pool of reporters to ask questions.

Chapter 8

The parking lot was filled with news vehicles and reporters primping for on camera appearances. I slipped through the crowd and down the long hallway to the team’s locker room.

There were people milling about and I wasn’t surprised to find Claudia talking with another woman of the same approximate age near the locker room doors.

If I’d been a bull, I would have blown out steam and used a hoof to rub at the ground preparing for my killing charge. Despite her red dress and perfect hair, she wasn’t worth my time. Besides, she’d done nothing to me. My fight was with Cam.

I stiff armed my way into the locker room, holding my press badge out like a shield. I ignored the players in their state of dress focusing on faces and searching for the one I sought out.

Three rows in, I found him.

My heart stopped in my chest the second he turned and our eyes locked. Damn him for being so heart-stoppingly beautiful.

His eyes narrowed as did mine. My feet unglued themselves and I marched over. When I reached him, I held out my phone which I’d set on record.

It all would have gone perfect if I’d been watching where I was walking. Grown men, who had lockers less than a foot away, still left shit littering the floor. My foot clipped something and I ended up doing an impression of a baseball player sliding home as I hit the floor.