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“Enjoyed dinner?”
“Marriage?”
“Baby?”
Jesus fucking Christ, what’s wrong with these people? Take a fucking chill pill, everyone, I almost feel like saying.
“Thank you, everyone,” Fiona chirps merrily, beaming a smile at the journalists as they surround us like a pack of blood hungry wolves. Fuck, I just want to get out of here. “We’re enjoying our night, yes, and --”
“Fiona, how’s it like to be credited for Manning’s success as a quarterback?” A gangly guy with greasy hair and horn-rimmed glasses asks her, raising his voice above all others and shoving a recorder close to her face.
“Oh, I think it’s all been a bit exaggerated, you know? Danny is his own man, and his success belongs only to him. That said, I do my best to keep him in good spirits before a game.”
“What kind of things do you talk about before a game?” The guy continues, and the other journalists just fall in line, soaking in every word coming out of Fiona’s mouth. She’s the fucking star here, not me, that’s for sure. These guys would crown her Queen of the United States if they could.
“I remind him of how hard he works, of course, and I might give him a little incentive if he pulls a win, which he always does,” she chuckles, her voice as bright as blue skies. She then does a little wink, and you can tell that they’re loving it. Some are just jotting down everything she says in small yellow notepads, others are clicking away with their cameras, and one seems on the verge of asking for a selfie with her.
I’ve never seen the media fall in love so quickly with one person, and that has me worried: when that love starts dying down, Fiona’s going to be in for a rude awakening. I just hope whatever happens doesn’t come between us… because that’s usually how things go.
But, fuck, as far as I know that might not even happen. “Let’s get out of here, babe,” I whisper, leaning into her and flashing a wide smile at the cameras. Somehow, they all part to let us through and, by the time we get inside the Aston, there’s only one thing I’m thinking about: getting her naked.
15
Fiona
Two months.
That’s how much time has passed since I’ve met Danny. It’s been a wild ride too. It’s funny how much your life can change in such a short amount of time. I went from being a complete unknown to becoming the constant focus of the all-watching eye of the American media.
But forget about that; these two months have been the best of my life, and that has nothing to do with the way the media has been treating me. Do you know how amazing it is to have a man like Danny by my side? And no, I’m not talking about the fact that he’s a famous, rich athlete. As far as I’m concerned he could be a rugged farmer from a rural town in the middle of America and I would've fallen for him all the same. How could I not? He’s the perfect blend of bad boy and prince charming. And he has a gigantic cock, which helps too, of course.
Yeah, let’s not get started on the sex; words pale when describing how good he is. I thought that marathon sex sessions were a thing out of steamy books but, oh, was I wrong! It’s a miracle I’ve been managing to get any sleep and stay on top of everything going on in my life. It’s not easy clearing three hours on your schedule (and that’s daily!) for sex when you’re trying to prove your worth as an intern at such a competitive firm such as Price Coopers. Not that I’m complaining, far from that.
Eight.
That’s how many games Danny has won since we’ve started dating. And when I say ‘won’, what I really mean is that he blew everyone out of the water. Do you want to know how many touchdown passes he managed during the regular season? 49—which, for the non-football fans among you, means that he’s close to breaking the record for most touchdown passes during a season. There are just two games to go until the playoffs start, and the Nailers have already secured their place there. The hype around the team grew so much that I figured the league was already engraving the Nailers’ name on the trophy.
Seventeen.
That’s the amount of times I’ve been invited for an interview on live TV. You’ve probably seen me already on one of those talk shows. Why the media took such an interest in me, I have no idea, but I rode that wave as hard as I could. The Princess of the League, some newspapers started calling me. It was weird at first, seeing my face plastered on the cover of a bunch of magazines, but I grew accustomed to all that.
My Instagram account blew up from a measly 150 subscribers to more than a million in just a few weeks. Yeah, one million; how crazy is that? I never thought people would be that interested in seeing what I had for breakfast, especially taking into account that it’s usually just cereal and a piece of toast. I never thought I’d have so many notifications on my cellphone that it would crash. I actually had to buy a new one so that I could use Facebook and Instagram without it going batshit crazy every time I posted a new photo.
I also got some proposals to do a few modeling gigs, but so far I’ve turned them all down. I don’t want to get distracted with all the fame and blow the opportunity I fought so hard for at Price Coopers. I might be turning into some kind of celebrity, but I will never let that get to my head, or has that already happened? Because, I admit, I might've been somewhat unprepared to deal with all this. Why? Well…
One.
Danny lost just one game and the dark side of the media reared its ugly head. That happened two days ago; we were spotted leaving a restaurant a bit late (not scandalously late, mind you), and when Danny had a terrible game the next day, everyone started piling up on me. I went from savior to being the devil’s spawn in a matter of hours.
Right now I’m holed up in his apartment, my eyes puffy and swollen from all the crying I’ve done. Danny left a few hours ago for his morning workout and, since it’s Saturday, I sat down on his couch and propped my laptop up; I was in for a surprise.
I’m still reading through all the articles and thousands of Facebook posts made about me. Do you want to know how many times I’ve been called a gold digger? Too many to count. Not to mention that people got in their heads that there's a problem in our relationship, which translated as Danny’s weak performance two days ago.
It’s not like he played that badly, anyway. It was just an average performance, nothing to write home about, and since every single team is thirsty for blood, they did their best to steamroll the Nailers—and steamroll them is exactly what they did.
Trouble in paradise? One article reads, stating all the reasons why Danny wasn’t his heroic self during that last game, all of them, spoiler, concerning me.
“Fiona has to go”, some bald o
