AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It takes everything in me to tear my gaze away as I notice a fresh notebook lying on the desk next to a permanent marker, prompting an idea.
I grab the marker and rip a page out of the notebook, quickly scribbling a message on the paper.
Once it’s written, I tap on the glass loudly and hold the paper up against it, causing Warren to glance up in my direction. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, it’s as if I can see them soften before he looks down at the paper in my hands.
Thanks for giving me a chance, Coach.
It’s as subtle as ever, but I notice him toy with the collar of his dress shirt subconsciously as he reads the message. Rather than responding, he flashes me a brief nod as if to say, “You’re welcome,” turning away as quickly as he’d looked up.
As he walks off the field and towards the tunnel, I could have sworn I saw a smile on his lips.
TEN
W A R R E N
“It’s called a ‘thirst trap,’”Delaney explains matter-of-factly as she holds her phone in front of my face, forcing me to watch a slow-motion video of Wilks taking off his shirt while making his way into the change room.
“What the hell was that?” is all I can muster out in response as the video continues to play on a loop with a sultry song in the background.
“It’s going to attract a new kind of crowd, don’t you think?” Delaney beams from ear to ear, dimples forming on her cheeks—seeking out a sense of approval in my firm face. “It’s hot, right?” She looks at me expectantly, her hopeful voice inflating at the end.
I refuse to put the wordhotin a sentence describing anything Wilks is doing. Frankly, this whole ordeal is painful. I’m already stuck in mounds of paperwork ahead of the season opener next week, and the last thing I need right now is to be bogged down with this image of Wilks and any player on our team who Delaney has decided to make Mr. Hotshot of the week.
She’s full of ideas, I’ll give her that—and since allowing her to officially start her PR role last week, her constant need for my approval on everything has been excruciating.
I’ll admit I like that she comes to me before publishing anything that is a representation of the team. It’s important for me to know what’s going on around here at all times, but it’d be nice if it weren’t every 15 minutes…
“Delaney…” I take a deep breath in and a slow, pained breath out as I massage my temples. “I’m up to my knees in shit to do right now. How about you go and ask Alf instead? Alright?”
I wish she were that easy to dismiss. Hell, I’ve been tasked with finding unique ways to get her out of my office all week.
“I already did, and he told me to ask you!” She places her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side in a pout. It’s a cynical face that’s been the only reason I haven’t put a lock on my office door to keep her out. She has a tormenting way of endearing you. “So, can I post it or what?” She continues to push. “The last one of Green got, like, twenty thousand views!”
I sink back into my chair, grazing my hand along my forehead in thought. “Explain to me how this is going to help us?” I can’t help but question how “thirst trapping” the internet is going to make any sort of impact.
“I’m so glad you asked!” She skips into the spare chair adjacent to me.
Note to self:remove desk chair.
Anytime she sits, she does this thing where she crosses one leg over the other—and just my luck, today, she’s opted to wear a skirt. A skirt that so subtly rides up the smooth skin of her thigh before she gently tugs it back down, but it’s hardly enough.
“We need to make the audiencecare. Leave them with something to long for. Here’s my formula.” Her excessive use of hand gestures barely distracts me away from her exposed skin until she snaps her fingers in front of me, pulling me back in. “Are you listening, Warren?” She frowns. “I’m trying to tell you the plan.”
I gulp down a lump in my throat, reaching for the coffee on my desk. It’s cold now, but I don’t care. I’ll do anything to resolve this emotion she’s evoking…and everything to make sure she doesn’t see.
“I’m trying,” I tell her, swallowing the liquid and placing the mug back onto my desk. “I swear, I’m trying.”
She lets out a huff in frustration before she continues, switching the position of her legs now from one side to the other.
And here we are again, skirt riding high.
Great.
“What I’m trying to say is if we can rope people in online, we can make them start caring. If they start to care, they’ll attend our games. To root for us. To becomefans. See where I’m going with this?” Her eyes sparkle in delight as she seeks out my approval.
Even with her face like heaven, mine remains stoic. It has to. No amount of adorable smiles and eyelash-batting will make me agree to the absurdity of Delaney’s business plan.
This time, I’m the one who shifts in my seat, leaning forward across the desk, my hands interlaced. The way I gravitate forward prompts her to sink back. She’s staring at my lips. I know she is. She knows exactly what I’m about to say. I’ve said the same thing all week. Yet, she’s back here, groveling, shooting her shot, consuming my ability to do anything remotely productive.
