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nd all the journalists start asking questions at the same time.
“Does your performance have any anything to do with the girl from the game against the MILFs?” The brunette pushes her way back into the inner circle, materializing out of nowhere and holding her mic as if it’s a sword. Calm the fuck down, girl.
“It does,” I tell her, knowing that’s going to make everyone even crazier. I really don’t want to throw Fiona at the wolves, but I figure they’ll never give up before finding out who she is; and, let me assure you, they will. These reporters are like cyborgs, hunting down whatever it is they want. And if they don’t get it, they might just make up whatever story they want. So, fuck it, I’ll give them the truth. “That woman’s the reason I won today. She has helped me keep my mind in the game.”
“And who is she, Danny? A girlfriend?” The brunette asks me, and I can tell that it pains her to say the world ‘girlfriend’. She probably thought I’d want to do a post-game ‘workout’ with her. And if it wasn’t for Fiona, I’d probably do it.
“She’s just a --” I trail off as I see a blonde head at the end of the large corridor, a woman in a short skirt, stilettos, and a red tight blouse walking toward us. Shit, what is she doing? If the press sees her here they’re going to eat her alive. “Alright, time to wrap this up,” I tell the journalists abruptly, somehow managing to walk past them. I nod at the security standing by the side, and they cordon off the angry mob before they can pull me back in.
I close the distance between Fiona and I as close as I can, and I can hear the wild shutter of the cameras behind me.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I ask her, placing one hand on her elbow and pulling her after me. I step inside the by now empty Nailers locker room, the first open door that I see, and close the door behind us.
“A friend of mine hooked me up,” she grins, dangling a press pass right in front of my nose. It reads Ashley, which I recognize as the wife of some big time New York billionaire.
“You’re trouble, Fiona,” I tell her.
“You have no idea.”
31
Fiona
There's another one over there, I point out the window at a photographer.
"You shouldn't point," Danny says to me. "It's rude."
I stick my tongue out at him.
I know! I just stuck my tongue out at Danny Manning! Of the New York Nailers!
And as I did so, there were like 40 flashbulbs that just went off, capturing the act. My sticking my tongue out has now been immortalized in the annals of Western culture. I'll probably show up on the Sports pages of the New York Daily Journal. As the woman behind the quarterback.
Yeah, I know I'm getting a bit ahead of myself here but can you blame me?
I'm sitting with a handsome hunk of man at Il Bolina, in Midtown on 53rd and 7th. The restaurant sat us next to the window - I think they knew this was going to happen, but to be completely honest, I didn't mind. I didn't really know the crush of reporters that was going to materialize out of nowhere on the edges of Times Square, but then again, I'm new to this world, ya know?
"I think you should wave and smile," Danny whispers in my ear.
Boom. Another fifty flashbulbs that captured him whispering in my ear. Maybe they'll have a tagline that says "Secret, Sexy Whispers" as they put us on the pages of the newspaper.
Oh my God, this is so awesome!
I raise my hand and wave at the press. A few of them wave back but a lot more snap pictures. The flashbulbs are stronger for me waving that Danny whispering, that's for sure. Again, I can picture the headline. "Beauty! And Modesty!"
Can you tell yet that it's gone a bit to my head? I mean just a lil' bit? No? Well, then this should probably help.
I lean over and take Danny's hand in mine and whisper into his ear. "I'm having a great night tonight, Danny," I tell him. "Thanks for taking me out."
I've never been so forward with a guy before! But then again, I need to find something to tell Danny, because the simple fact that I'm leaning over and whispering into his ear is making the photographers crazy. It's like 200 flashbulbs go off, snapping away pictures of me whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He looks at me and smirks. "You're not shy, are you?" he asks me.
Another fifty flashbulbs.
I shake my head and bite my lip, coming closer to him. Do I really want to kiss him with an audience? What's that going to be? 300 flashbulbs?
"I'm not kissing you on camera, Fiona," Danny says to me, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not one of those athletes that looks to make bigger headlines off the field than on the field," he finishes.
