Taken (Dark Desires 1)
“You never know till you ask,” I said weakly.
“Sean Donovan is not going to let anyone follow him home, or follow him around nightclubs and watch him get shitfaced and fuck groupies in the bathroom. Even Sports Illustrated has never been to his house. And he has body guards that keep reporters and paparazzi at bay when he goes clubbing.” He leaned back and scratched his chin. “You’d have to work for Playboy or Rolling Stone or GQ to get that kind of access. And even then, I doubt he would agree to do it. He’d be insane to let the public peek behind that curtain, and I don’t blame him. For Christ sake, the guy’s gotta have a private life. You wouldn’t want someone poking around your underwear drawer, would you?”
I blinked at him. “My underwear drawer?”
“Figure of speech,” he said, making a sour face. “The point is…”
I stared at my hands in my lap as Walter rambled on. I didn’t look up when something he said sparked an idea in my mind. I just nodded slowly as if I understood and agreed with everything he was saying.
Walter took my nodding head to mean that the discussion was over. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. He began to rock, welcoming a change in conversation.
He asked, “So, how’s the profile on Serena Williams coming?”
“It’s almost done,” I said, looking up with a forced smile. “I’ll have it to you this afternoon.”
“Excellent,” he said. He brought his hands down and rubbed them together, making a sound like sandpaper on rough wood. “I’ll give it a look and decide where we want to run it. Maybe we can make room for it in the magazine. Would you like that?”
“Sure, that would be great,” I said, getting out of the chair and walking toward the door. I ignored his feeble attempt to pacify me.
Walter was always dangling the chance that your work might make it into the magazine, which was much more prestigious than just getting it on the website.
At this point, I couldn’t give a shit what he did with the piece. He could shove it up his fat ass for all I cared.
As my coworker Drucilla would say, “What-the-fuck-ever, man.”
“Kate,” he called after me. “Keep up the good work.”
“Thanks, Walter, I will,” I said. I waited until I was down the hall before finishing my sentence. “You asshole.”
Sean Donovan
I passed the joint to Leon, the three-hundred-eighty-pound lineman slouched on the couch next to me, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
I squinted at the screen and nudged him with my elbow. “Okay, man, watch this catch…”
“I’m watching, motherfucker,” he said with the joint at his lips.
On the big screen was the video of yesterday’s game against the Chiefs. I was lined up wide-out right, and Leon Lewis, the black monster sitting next to me, was blocking right of center.
When the center hiked the ball to Matt Murphy, our quarterback, Leon blocked like a fucking brick wall to give me time to run down field so Matt could hit me with the ball.
“Here’s it comes…” I said, leaning forward with my fists clenched. “Watch this catch.”
A split second later, Murphy launched a long spiral that fell perfectly into my hands as I ran into the end zone. I jumped off the couch and did a happy dance.
“Touchdown, Sean motherfucking Donovan!” I yelled, throwing my arms in the air and dancing around. I glanced down at Leon and clapped my hands. “Did you see that fucking catch?”
Leon waved a huge hand at me and rolled his eyes. “Man, my granny could have caught that fucking pass.”
“Bullshit!” I said, reaching for the joint. “Let’s see your fat black ass run downfield and catch a ball like that.”
He chuckled and snorted smoke. “Shit man, my fat black ass is too busy giving Matt Murphy time to throw. I swear, that motherfucker moves in slow motion sometimes.”
I grinned and dropped back on the couch beside him. I took a long hit on the joint and passed it back his way. I choked out the words through the smoke.
“Yeah, but when he does throw it, it usually hits the mark.”
“Fucking A,” Leon said, taking the joint, which looked tiny between his thick fingers. “I’m getting hungry. You got anything to eat?”