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“You good?”
Exhaling, I drop my head between my shoulders. “Yeah.”
“I’ll talk to you in a few days.”
After that, he ends the call and I’m left wondering how the hell this is going to work out.
Part of me wants to tell everyone to suck my dick. If that means losing out on the big endorsements, then that’s what it means, because I’d rather live my life without lies and deceptions.
But the other part of me, the one that wins out in the end, knows pulling this off and getting the endorsements is what will set me up for whatever happens next. If I blow out my knee next season and my career ends, I’ll be fine.
And so will my mom.
And everyone else who depends on me.
For them, I can do this.
CHAPTER FIVE
GREER
Sitting at my desk,I have to blink a few times to keep my eyes from glazing over as I look at last night’s stats. Not just for the Revelers, but for every damn team in major league baseball. I’d forgotten how much this sport loves its numbers and I swear, there’s a statistic for every second of the game.
This is my life now. Just click-click-clicking away on my laptop until it’s time to get prettied up for the next game, waiting to be surrounded by sweaty guys preoccupied with spitting and scratching their balls.
Not gonna lie, I really don’t mind the sweaty guys. But being the professional I am, I can’t let it be known I’m enjoying the locker room show.
Lucky for me, the New Orleans Revelers are quite pleasant to look at, even that smart-mouth, Mack Granger. I just need to handle myself better when I’m around him. He’s one of those people who instinctively knows when he’s getting to you and doubles down on his efforts. I know from Sophie he’s a genuinely nice guy, but I can’t help my automatic response to him.
I can’t even put my finger on why he irritates me.
Maybe it’s his arrogance?
Maybe it’s that smirk that makes me want to drop my panties and then slap him for making me react that way?
I don’t know. But whatever it is, every time I’m around him, I feel hot and flushed. My heart rate spikes and I have to talk myself down from the rafters.
Once I’m done with stats, I start working my way through emails. The amount I receive now has nearly tripled since starting my new position a couple of weeks ago. Besides the quantity, the tone of my emails has also changed. Long gone are the sweet grandmas emailing to tell me how thankful they are that the cat made it out of the tree, or the kids who would email me after I did a report on one of the local schools. Now, I get misogynistic emails from men who think they own the sport of baseball.
Ask better questions.
Learn something about baseball before the next game.
Your skirt is too short.
Your skirt needs to be shorter.
All of it does nothing to soothe my workplace ire.
“I watched your last few tapes,” George mentions as he approaches my desk. “This new position seems to suit you well.” He stands by my side looking pleased. “The camera loves you.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, giving him a fake smile in hopes he’ll go away and just let me do my job.
“Having said that,” he says, clearing his throat, “I do have one critique.”
How did I think I’d get lucky enough for him to compliment me and move on?This is George we’re talking about and he always has something critical to say, even to his best reporters.
Leaning back in my chair with my arms crossed, I wait for him to continue and brace myself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth, knowing it will more than likely piss me off.
