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I tamp it down as Clare tells Vick, “You should’ve seen them, V. They were all up in each other’s space and the sexual tension waswild.”
Vick looks more and more thrilled by the second, on my behalf, a grin splitting across her face. And while Clare’s words have my heart picking up its pace, I try to tamp down my own foolish excitement by telling Vick flatly, “She’s being overdramatic.”
“And you’re not being dramatic enough,” Clare shoots back. With a huff and a shake of her head, she says to me, “I’m telling you, Willow—that man wants youbad. I swear, I thought he was, like, seconds away from ripping your clothes off!”
I throw her an exasperated look becausethatreally is an overdramatization of last night—ithasto be. I remember the mirth dancing in Reed’s eyes, especially because I thought I was imagining the sight of it, and I remember feeling the warmth of his body seep into mine. The club had been hot, unsurprising given how many people were inside, but the warmth from that had been vastly different compared to the heat of Reed standing so close to me.
I remember being unable to look away from his mouth, drunken thoughts teasing me with fantasies of kissing him, feeling his lips and getting a taste. I had to pull myself back, push away those thoughts before I got ahead of myself. And I guess I was so focused on not giving into them, that maybe I missed just how close Reed and I had gotten. Maybe desire blinded me to the reality of the situation, which wouldn’t be surprising. My own attraction to Reed isn’t surprising.
Whatissurprising, however, is the idea of him feeling that way aboutme.
How does he go from acting like a complete jerk, to apparently wanting to hook up?
I’m no fool. Reed has offered, twice now, to give me a ride home. And I’ve rejected both offers because as tempting as getting into a car with him is, I know it’s just as complicated. I will consider myself extremely lucky if photographs of last night don’t surface on the Internet—specifically photos of when Reed and I were talking by the bar. The last thing I need is to see some headline about NFL star Reed Maxwell spotted chatting—flirting?—with some reporter and have my face be out there in that kind of context. It could make or break my career, most likely the latter, and I don’t have any intentions of finding out which.
“It doesn’t matter what happened last night,” I say over Vick and Clare’s excited chatter, their voices quieting as they look at me. “Hooking up with Reed is a terrible idea, and it won’t be happening.”
Vick’s shoulders fall. “That isnotwhat I want to hear you say.”
I blow out a long breath, setting my mug down on the counter. “I’m finally in front of the camera, you guys. I’m just starting out, and the last thing I need is for people to recognize me as Reed Maxwell’s latest fling instead of a reporter in my own right, you know? A one-time hookup isn’t worth risking my career.”
Even if that very hook up could silence my fantasies and see if reality lived up to the dream. As much as he scowls and grunts and barely smiles, none of that takes away from how mouth wateringly attractive the man is. How, despite his attitude during our first meeting, it hasn’t stopped me from thinking of Reed’s face—his arms, his hands—when I’m alone in my bed at night, my hand creeping down the length of my body before my fingers brush against where I desperately want him.
But that’s all it is—a fantasy.
Clare lets out a breath, clearly disappointed for me. “I guess that’s fair enough.”
Vick hums in agreement. She cracks a smile, then, and asks, “You think you can work closely with him without wanting to jump his bones?”
I snort out a laugh, despite the heat blooming in my cheeks. “I can’t stop myself fromwanting, but I can stop myself fromdoing,” I answer truthfully, earning laughter from my friends.
I mean, I doubt I’m going to give into whatever fantasies involving Reed on live television, but practicing self-control never hurt.
“You might wanna give Reed that advice, too,” Clare says with a dismissive snort, taking a sip from her coffee. “Even Alex made a comment on how Reed looks at you. If he keeps it up, people are gonna start to notice.”
I freeze, eyes widening slightly as I stare at Clare in bewilderment. “Alex?” I repeat with a shake of my head. “What’re you talking about?”
Clare pauses, staring at me in confusion. She looks at Vick, then, and when I look at the blonde I see that she doesn’t look as surprised by Clare’s words as I do. “Um,” Clare begins, and I raise my eyebrows, silently urging her on. “I mean, it’s nothing, I think? Alex was watching your latest interview with Reed when it was on TV, and he said something about how, uh, Reed was looking at you the whole time. He didn’t look away once, not even at the camera. It was kind of intense.”
I swear, I think my heart skipped a beat or two or three. “What?” I squeaked out, my body suddenly running hot. I try to think back to my last post-game interview with Reed, but Clare’s words block my mind from being able to picture it in my head. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
It’s Vick who shakes her head. “We talked about this last night, Willow.”
If my eyes could physically pop out of my head right now, they would have. “No, the hell we didn’t!” I exclaim, though my words come out as a confused yell.
Clare whispers to Vick, “We talked about it when she was blacked out.”
“Oh, my God,” I rub a hand down my face, huffing out a heavy breath.
Maybe it’s not as big of a deal as I’m making it out to be, but I also know that if Clare’s fiancé noticed Reed apparently staring at me in a certain way during our interview, then there’s a chance other people watching may have, too. Other people who may or may not include the higher ups of the network I work at, who might think they want to save themselves a scandal and get rid of the newly appointed interim head reporter because I may start up rumors involving Reed.
All of this isn’t out of the realm of possibility, and that’s what worries me. How can I possibly, one day, become a head reporter if people look at me and only see me as the woman who hooked up with one of the most eligible bachelors in the NFL—regardless of whether or not it’s actually true?
I can’t let that happen. I can’t risk my career for a silly attraction. I’ll get over it. And hope that if Reed currently feels the same, he gets over it, too.
Chapter 8
Reed
