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The only exception was when Brenda, the girl who had traded spots with me, walked by and whispered, “Sorry this is happening to you. Isabella is such a bitch.”
She said it quickly in passing, and continued walking so nobody would know she said anything to me. But the acknowledgment of what I was going through made me feel a little bit better.
Just a little bit.
I left the locker room and walked down the hall toward the employee parking lot. On the way, I passed the press room, where Stallions players gave post-game interviews for the media. All I wanted to do was go home and feel sorry for myself, but when I heard who was speaking inside, I stopped outside the door and poked my head in.
“Nah, I don’t ‘believe in any Carter slump, even if y’all want to pretend like it exists,” Brody was saying. He was seated at a table at the front of the room with a bouquet of microphones in front of him. “Honestly, I don’t believe in luck at all. The only thing I believe in is myself. And right now? I believe I’m gonna dig deep and find a way to get back on track.”
“Do you really think you’ll get back on track next week?” one journalist asked. “Considering who you’re playing…”
“I’m not afraid of no ghosts, and I’m definitely not afraid of no Broncos—even if they do have the best defense in the league,” Brody replied smoothly. “Don’t worry, y’all. The Brody Carter you love and adore is just around the corner. And when he shows up?” Brody whistled. “Watch out, league.”
Everyone in the room chuckled and thanked Brody as he got up from the table and left. Even after his lackluster game, he was managing to charm everyone with his smile.
That smile deepened as he left the room and came face-to-face with me. “T-Foxy?” he said. “Well now, this day just got a whole lot better.”
“Can we talk a minute?” I asked.
Brody glanced over his shoulder, put an arm on my back, and led me a little ways down the hall. His fingertips on my back felt warm and strong and comforting in a way that made me hold my breath.
“What’s up?” he asked. “You jonesin’ for some Luna playtime? Because I think she misses you, and I can arrange a doggy play date.”
“Yes!” I said with a laugh. “But no, that’s not what I want to talk about.”
He jabbed a finger at me. “I’ve got it. You need another trivia partner to answer all the sports questions.”
“It’s definitely not that. I wouldn’t make you suffer through my ex’s ridicule again.”
Brody’s eyebrow rose. “Ex?”
I waved it off with a hand. No need to get into that right now. “It’s actually about Isabella. She’s punishing me for what happened on the field today.”
Brody winced. “Aw, hell. I figured as much…”
“You can’t just act like that around me,” I said. I was angry at Isabella, and that heat crept into my voice. “My spot on the cheer team is in jeopardy thanks to that cheesy pickup line. If it happens again, she might kick me off the team entirely.”
He grimaced. “I know. I was just showboating a little bit during the game…”
“Well, don’t,” I insisted. “You can showboat anywhere else, or with anyone but me. All right?”
Brody furrowed his brow and scratched his beard. Then his face twisted in frustration. “You know, I’ve got my own problems to worry about. I’m under a hell of a lot of pressure.”
I nodded down the hall. “You seemed fine in front of the press.”
“That’s part of the pressure!” he snapped. “I have to go out and perform for four quarters, in front of millions of fans. But it doesn’t end there. Then I have to sit in front of a bunch of sports journalist jackals and let them pick my bones. It’s exhausting.”
“I understand that,” I said. “But I’m just asking you to—”
“I don’t think you do understand,” Brody said, his voice growing more heated. “Because I’m getting my ass kicked out there, and then I have to go home and hear about my ass-kicking on SportsCenter. And the first words out of your mouth are complaints about my behavior during the game? Did you ever think maybe you’re distracting me, Taylor?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
His phone dinged in his hand. He glanced at it and cursed. “I’ve got to go. My agent just told me Adidas is pissed because I wore the wrong sneakers to the press conference.” He shook his head at me. “But don’t worry. I’ll stay away from you on the field. Because that’s what’s really important.”
He turned away from me, kicked a trashcan, and then disappeared into the team locker room.
I was a confused jumble of emotions on the drive home. He thought I was distracting him? I was just doing my damn job out there! He was the one who proactively decided to say something to me during the game.
