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19
Taran walked on to the plane early. None of the big names were close to boarding, and only a few players were already settling in. Not wanting to stand out, she made sure to look like every other staff member in blue and black. Most of them were on the plane already, and a few waved her way. She smiled and greeted them before finding her seat. Seven A, the window seat. Tillerson would be in the aisle seat next to her. She knew he’d be one of the last on the plane; he was constantly late for everything.
She was facing the struggle of every not quite five-foot person, attempting to get her bag into the overhead bin, when his scent hit her nose like a tanker truck. Not again. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet. She’d boarded early so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
The bag was no longer in her hand as the fingers of the million-dollar hand took over and easily put the bag into what had been the unreachable bin. She was swamped in Obsession.
She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him today. She had let her guard down for twenty minutes, and he had managed to stomp on her. Agreeing to dance with him had been a mistake to begin with, but as she’d tried to tell him she needed a drink, he’d offered her a one-night stand. Maybe it wouldn’t have offended some people, but as a female reporter in a business where men swore women only got ahead through one-night stands with the talent, she was more than affronted. And she was mad at herself too. She knew better than this.
Taran had never had to worry about sleeping with the talent before because she’d never had the inkling, and no one had ever shown serious interest.
That was until Corey Matthews.
Which was ridiculous. The man wasn’t even known as a playboy, and she’d never heard stories of him sleeping with a reporter. So his sudden interest seemed not only weird but completely out of character for him. And on top of that, she wasn’t anything most people couldn’t ignore. In fact, it was rare that anyone but her subject and one or two people close to that person even noticed her when she did a story. But Corey seemed to always find her.
“What do you want, Matthews?” she said instead of thanking him, and she moved into her window seat.
He slumped into the seat next to her. No way in hell was she making the five-hour flight to Phoenix with him.
“You want some coffee?” he asked, and she met his gaze. Besides the locker room, Taran had never seen Corey look anything but perfect, and today was no exception.
The Metros required a suit to travel, and Corey’s charcoal gray jacket with the white button-down was perfection. Cool gray accented the ring of light brown in the center of his eyes, causing the contrast to make them sparkle. He didn’t have a tie, so the open collar rubbed against his tan skin. He held a beverage holder with two cups and a brown paper bag. She had no idea how he’d juggled that and her suitcase.
He’d asked the question, but when she didn’t answer fast enough, he lowered her tray table and set a to-go cup on it before pulling a butter rum muffin out of the bag.
“How did you know those are my favorite?” she asked and opened the coffee. Sure enough, it was black, just the way she drank it.
“Can’t give away trade secrets.”
And finally, after over a month, she found herself on the receiving end of one of Corey Matthews’s trademark media darling smiles. She should’ve been happy to get a smile and not a glare. But the fakeness of the gesture left her disappointed.
“Thanks,” she replied and then looked out the window toward the tarmac. A few more cars arrived, dropping the many Metros men at the plane.
“Taran.”
Something about her name coming out of his mouth gave her goosebumps every single time. What she needed to say was “Matthews, I’m a female sports reporter. I can’t casually hook up with athletes on the team I’m traveling with and keep any of my respectability, so please leave me be.” She turned to say just that, but he beat her to the punch.
“I’m sorry.” In his two-tone brown eyes, she saw genuine remorse. “I get the impression that I made you feel like one of those trashy women who throw themselves at athletes. I’ve thought of you a lot of ways, but never like that. I never intended to make you feel like that. Plus, even as a young athlete, I never had any interest in that type of woman. I’ve avoided them my entire career. I don’t go within a few feet of them, and they stay away from me.”
Taran had noticed none of the women surrounding the team went anywhere near Corey last night. Like it was some unspoken understanding that he wouldn’t welcome them. Still, when Corey talked about Tillerson leaving with them, it almost seemed like he’d been there. Taran had nearly asked him about it before she realized it was none of her business. However, it was clear Corey wasn’t lying now.
“Apology accepted. But Matthews, I’m here to do my job, and I have to focus on that.”
He nodded. “So that said, I’ll take a hint and leave you alone, plus the damn kid should be here any minute. If I have to go get him again, I’ll kill the little shit. He’s like a ten-year-old sometimes.” Corey grabbed his coffee and the empty brown bag and left.
Taran smiled at Corey’s retreating back. Tillerson had told her the story about the flight he missed and how Corey had to come to drag him out of bed. The two had to take a commercial flight to St. Louis, and Corey had promised to kill Tillerson if he did it again.
She didn’t know how long Corey Matthews would leave her alone, but she was grateful he seemed to understand that she needed to focus on her story.
