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“I don’t have time to talk to them,” I said.
“They’re waiting for you,” he insisted, guiding me toward a door. “And it’s in your contract. You’ll be fined if you skip out.”
The members of the press were already gathered in the room. They were standing and craning their necks to get a look at me in the hallway, and cameras began to flash. If I ran now, it would just make the story bigger.
Five minutes, I thought. That’s all I’m contractually obligated to give them.
I hurried to sit behind the table, which was covered with microphones and tape recorders.
“Mr. Carter!” said the first reporter I pointed to. “I wanted to ask you about the story that just broke about your relationship—”
“I’m here to talk about the game,” I said bluntly, pointing to a different member of the press.
“I have a question about the play you made in the first half… But first, do you care to comment on Taylor Fox?”
I groaned. I wasn’t going to get away from these kinds of questions. But beneath that, closer to my heart, I didn’t want to avoid them. I was sick of lying. I was sick of hiding the amazing woman who was in my life. I couldn’t hide my feelings for her any more than I could hide the sun with my palm.
“Yeah, we’ve been seeing each other,” I said. The machine-gun fire of camera shutters intensified. “Taylor Fox, a member of the cheerleading team and an Associate Professor at Utah, is my girlfriend. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. If y’all asked me to run through that wall for her? I’d do it in a heartbeat. Now, who’s got questions that aren’t about my lady-friend?
More hands shot up, but none of them were to ask questions about the game.
