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And Carter Donovan is nothing to sneeze at. He’s bigger, more toned and taller than Tyler Kane, but he oozes just as much sex appeal with his scruffy dark beard and rugged good looks. For most of the season, he’s been sporting the lumberjack look that a lot of guys do because of superstition though I have never understood that tactic.
Alex is new to the team, but I have a serious fangirl, freak out moment knowing that Alex wants me to meet with his teammates. I’m dying on the inside, so excited I have trouble forming actual words for a minute.
“Yeah, that works for me.” My voice is level and calm, unlike how I feel on the inside. “Just have Donovan or Kane call me to setup a time for us to meet.”
I squeal on the inside with delight, the prospect of one of them calling me too much to handle after such a long day on the road. And to think I almost missed the chance because of Sydney blabbing about cocks.
“And just so you know, Charlotte’s entire client list will be there. You can have all-access exclusives with whoever you want.”
Some players are near impossible to get within a five-foot radius. I have been dying to get an interview with NBA hotshot Dante Fisher, for over a year. Even after helping Coach out with Alex, I still haven’t been able to touch him. It also doesn’t help that he plays for the Chicago Bulls and is only in town a few times per year. I sure as hell can’t afford to fly out there just to stalk him. The opportunity Alex is giving me is like hitting the sports lottery.
“Count me in.” The childlike excitement is evident in my voice.
“Great. Thank for doing this, Kennedy. Well, I better let you go. It’s Friday night, and I’m sure you have other plans.”
Nope, not even close. I have the dating life of a sixty-year-old woman. My life is nothing but work. The last sex I had over the past few months was with a vibrator or vicariously through one of Sydney’s books. She writes some real steamy stuff.
“Thanks, Alex. I’m looking forward to the clinic. Have a good night.”
After I hang up with Alex, I write down a few questions I want to ask tomorrow. This event will be the talk of the sports world. Sports Buzz needs a boost now that people are comparing it to the TMZ of sports. I take my career serious, and comments like that offend me. I did not spend four years studying journalism at NYU to let it go to waste.
Despite the late hour, I make another pot of coffee, because I need to finish my articles by morning. The worst part about being a writer is not having the words to put on the page. Sometimes, I stare at the screen for hours until I find inspiration, and thinking about the event tomorrow has me so distracted.
I turn on the radio and sink into the high back comfy chair, staring out the window that overlooks the noisy street.
My neighbors are blasting music from the house a few doors over. The same people sit on their front steps every night to deal drugs and throw wild parties. If I were smart, I would have gone apartment hunting at nighttime instead of the day. I had no idea what I was in store for until my first night living in this neighborhood. Most night
s, I fall asleep to the sound of cop cars and ambulances.
Between the rent and upkeep for the apartment, I am barely making ends meet. My new lifestyle is much different from the one I had grown accustomed to as a child. Most people talk about rags to riches stories. Mine is more like riches to rags except my rags say Prada and Chanel. Or at least they do until I have to sell them to pay bills.
Within minutes of chugging coffee and reading through my notes, I find the right words to use for my article, adding some of my own flair to the story. News articles are boring, but I try to liven them up and do my best to make them sound less dull. Writing about a player with a torn rotator cuff or the Sixers practice report is not by any means the highlight of my life.
Where my writing really shines is on our blog. Our readers enjoy some of our features such as live Q&As where they can send us questions about love and sex that Sydney answers on Facebook and YouTube. Fans of her books and our blog followers love having the chance to ask a romance author for sex advice.
By the time I finish my story and add it to the queue for Monday, my phone rings again. Well after midnight, I assume it can only be one person and answer the phone without looking at the Caller ID.
“Syd, I told you I have to work on my piece. If you want another name for cock, you will have to Google it.”
A man laughs on the other end of the phone. “I think I can help you out with that. You have to start with the obvious—penis, dick, one-eyed monster—”
“Okay, that’s enough. Who the hell is this?” I yell into the phone, irritated. “You don’t go rambling off words like that to a lady.”
“Does a lady talk about cocks on the phone with strange men?” He has me there.
“You never answered my question. Who is this? Speak now, or I’m hanging up on you.”
“Tyler Kane. I assume you have heard of me since you’re a sports reporter. Parker gave me your number.”
He has such an arrogance about him that gives me the impulse to smack him through the phone. Sucking in a deep breath, I realize he makes me nervous, which is weird. I have fantasized about Tyler on more than one occasion while watching a hockey game.
What do I even say to him?
Somehow finding the words caught in the back of my throat, I speak, and with an intentional attitude. “Yeah, I know who you are, Tyler. Why are you calling so late?”
“Because I’m about to get shitfaced, and I plan to sleep in late tomorrow. I thought we should get this over and done with before I down a bottle of whiskey.”
“Right,” I snort. “You guys lost your wild card spot for the playoffs. Tough break. I guess a few drinks are in order.”
