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I do my best to keep my expression neutral, not wanting him to see the way he is managing to get under my skin. Jeez—what is his issue? It wasn’t bad enough that he was trying to basically embarrass me on my first ever live interview, and now he’s set on seemingly trying to make me feel uncomfortable at this event?
With that thought crossing my mind, I break my gaze with him and turn back to Andrea and set out on doing something that Reed Maxwell probably isn’t used to—ignoring the shit out of him.
Chapter 4
Reed
Iftherehadbeenany hope to get Willow out of my mind, it all goes out the window the moment I lay eyes on her across the room. She is standing at the bar, ironically enough chatting with Leo’s sister, wearing an emerald-colored dress that hugs her body, showing off her curves in a way that would bring a grown man to his knees to worship them. What’s worse: I know she knows I’m looking at her, unable to do anything else. She had met my gaze, clocked me, and then turned away like she couldn’t give a shit about me.
I don’t blame her one bit for that. I had been an ass, not making the best first impression, and for the first time in my life, I want to make up for it. Normally, I don’t particularly care what people think of me as a person. I’m here to play football, not people please. Being a decent human to fans whenever I interact with them, especially the younger ones, is one thing. But I haven’t given a single thought to journalists and holier-than-thou executives who see football as more of a business than a game. And, yeah, maybe football to themisa business, but that’s never been the case for me. And I let them know as much.
During my interview with Willow, I treated her like she was just like every other reporter on that field. But there is an annoying, incessant voice in the back of my head that keeps telling me that she isn’t, and I find myself wanting to get to the bottom of that idea. What is it about her that I can’t seem to let go of? It’s no secret she’s gorgeous, but I have seen many beautiful women in my life. Sure, Willow seems to stand above all of them, but that isn’t enough of a reason for me to not be able to stop thinking about her.
Tuning out the conversation of the guys around me, I look toward where I last saw Willow. She’s no longer talking to Andrea, but instead she’s chatting with our linebacker, Greg Morgan. My eyes narrow, ever so slightly, as they talk like they’re old friends. I know that she is here for work, as are all of the other journalists here tonight, but I see her laugh at something Morgan said, and when the grin lights up her face, it hits me like a bolt of lightning why I can’t stop thinking of her.
That smile. I’ve been around and have interacted with plenty of reporters during my time in the NFL. Almost every single one of them put on a mask as they interview us, their smiles empty and their eyes simply hungry for a story of any kind. They work fast, wanting your answers before moving onto the next one. But during those few minutes that Willow interviewed me, despite my attitude, I saw the genuine interest that lit up in her green eyes. Even with the dismissive way I spoke to her, she didn’t let that spark die. I watched her interviews with Leo and Caden afterward, and while that spark of interest was the same, she had been much more at ease with them than with me, understandably. They smiled as they talked to her, engaged in her questions, gave proper answers—like they always do. I didn’t ever care for any of it until she came.
And she smiled. A lot. Anddamn, it was all genuine. Her excitement for simply being there lit up her entire face, and I was an asshole to tell her she did too much of it. I made the mistake of treating her like she was like every other reporter that’s out there, but all it took was the aftermath of that one interview to realize that she’s not like them. That damn smile that I can’t get out of my head—it’s the reason for it all.
“If you’re gonna stare at her all night, might as well try and talk to her,” comes Leo’s voice from next to me, a low murmur within the chatter of the group we’re standing with. He hides his words behind his glass of Coke; the man doesn’t drink much, not when he’s got a daughter at home to look after.
My gaze slides over to him, arching a brow. “Because the last time I talked to her it went so well,” I mutter.
My friend shoots me a small smirk. “Maybe this time, try being nicer,” he quips, and I shoot him a withering look that he merely chuckles at. “Just apologize to her, man. Show some remorse and take it from there.”
My lips curl downward at his suggestion.Apologize?Clocking the look on my face, Leo raises his eyebrows and smirks, “You are familiar with the concept, right?”
“Fuck you,” I grunt quietly, making his smirk widen.
“It won’t kill you, you know.”
“What won’t kill who?” I suppress a sigh as JJ jumps into the conversation, his curious gaze flickering between Leo and me.
I don’t answer, lips pursed, but of course Leo does. “It won’t kill Maxwell to apologize to Willow for being an ass.”
Leo ignores my scowl as JJ’s lips part and his head tilts back in realization. “Oh, yeah, no, you should apologize to her.”
My scowl darkens, but my two best friends don’t shrink under it. “I’ve never apologized for the way I am in interviews before.”
I don’t know why I’m defending myself when I know they’re right. Maybe because if I don’t apologize to her, even knowing I should, I’m trying to write Willow off as any other journalist I’ve encountered. Apologizing to her, as ridiculous as it may sound, would be putting her above all of the other ones, and that’s precisely what I’m hesitant to do.
“And that’s shitty, man,” Leo says, never one to sugar coat things. “Besides, Willow issweet. And she’s going to be interviewing us a lot in the future, so you might as well make peace now.”
“And maybe smile when you do it,” JJ suggests. At my contemptuous look, he shrugs, unfazed. Then, quietly so no one overhears, he adds, “You gotta loosen up. No girl wants a guy who’s allergic to smiling.”
I stare at him, his choice of words turning around in my head. My scowl never disappears as I tell him, “What makes you think I want her to want me?”
Now JJ is the one who looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Because you’re debating on whether to apologize to her or not. You never give a shit about what people think. Obviously, there’s something more here.”
Obviously?My jaw clenches as I glance over at Leo, who merely shrugs and is so clearly trying to suppress a knowing grin. Pains in my asses, all of them. Caden would probably be the only one who would be on my side on this, but the fucker skipped out on the event altogether, citing some issue his neighbor was having that he was helping out with.
My gaze tears from the guys and I search the room once more, and it’s as though she is a magnet, because my eyes seem to find her almost immediately. She’s talking to some people I’m not familiar with—probably other journalists—and I run my tongue along my teeth, debating for a moment. I can feel the guys’ gazes settle on me expectantly, and I wait until Willow breaks away from the people she’s talking to before I tighten my jaw and start making my way toward her.
She wanders around, not for one second looking uncertain, but I’m able to catch up to her and catch her attention. “Willow,” I say by way of greeting. I doubt we’re on a first name basis, but calling her Miss Burke seems too much.
Besides, I can’t help the way her name rolls off my tongue, smooth and tasting sweet.
Her green eyes immediately snap toward me, and I see them widen subtly in surprise. Her full lips are painted a shining red, and the sight alone is enough to get my blood pumping. But unlike before, they are not pulled up into a smile—not a real one, at least. Instead, Willow gives me a small, close mouthed smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and it tightens my muscles in mild aggravation, even though I know it is no one’s fault but my own. I made an ass of myself, and no one can try to fix that but me.
