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Kurt chimed in. “You know what they say about female reporters?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Once she gets you to drop your pants, she’ll bend you over.”
Tony grinned. “I’ll do her so right she’ll want to brag to the world.”
“I hear that,” Kurt said, as he flagged a waitress and pointed to Brad’s empty bottle, taking the liberty to order for him. “But she’s still trouble, man.”
Grabbing the opening Kurt had given him, Brad eyed the blond hottie tending bar. “Forget the reporter,” he said and used his chin to motion toward the suggested target. “How about her?”
Tony broke out in a smile, pointing at Brad. “I know what’s up. I figured you out. You already tried with the reporter and got shut down. You know you can’t win this bet.”
“She busted your chops, didn’t she?”
The voice from behind Brad was distinct and all too familiar. A New York accent delivering a smart-ass comment could only be the rookie—Brad’s nemesis of the past few months.
Becker came into view, his pressed Dockers and collared shirt looking more preppy than cowboy. Even his blond hair was perfectly groomed—buzzed on the sides, longer on the top, maybe a hint of hair product to hold it in place. He looked like Mr. GQ. He always looked like Mr. GQ.
“Becker,” Brad said, giving him a nod.
“Hey, old man.”
Brad shook his head at the tired jab, wondering if the kid would ever grow up, or at least get new material. “What brings you out tonight?”
Becker lifted his draft beer—figured. The kid couldn’t even drink beer like a man, he had to sip from a glass. “Same as you, I suspect. A little celebration. A little drinking.” He paused. “That reporter from the Tribune…I saw you try to score with her.” Becker flashed his perfect white smile. “She shut you down.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, kid,” Brad said, refraining from making a much snider remark and taking a slug of beer. “If I wanted her, I could have her.”
“She’s not your type,” Becker said. “She’s what you call a lady.” He leaned on the pool table. “And a lady needs a certain kind of man.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Brad demanded, feeling the rise of his temper. The comment bit his ass, and it bit hard.
“You can hand a good ol’ boy money, but you can’t teach him about being a gentleman,” Becker said. His gaze was insolent as he eyed Brad’s faded Levi’s with obvious meaning.
Inhaling deeply, Brad managed to keep his sour words to himself. Not an easy task, considering the sorry little bastard not only had landed him in hot water today, but basically had insulted his mother. A mother who’d worked her backside off on a teacher’s salary to help Brad achieve his dreams, who’d kept him striving even after his dad had died during his junior year of high school.
But if he was honest with himself, the thought of Amanda with Becker didn’t sit well. The idea of that punk touching her, taking her, when Brad wanted her, brought a bitter taste to his mouth. If anyone on this team was getting Amanda naked, damn it, it was going to be him.
“You think Amanda, or any woman for that matter, wants a snotty nosed little boy?” Brad asked, then followed with a disbelieving sound. “She’d be screaming my name long before you could even find her bra strap.”
Becker’s face started to redden as he clenched his jaw. “Say what you will, old man,” he replied in a tight voice. “Talk is cheap.”
Tony pounded a fist on the pool table. “Now this is a bet I am in on for sure.”
Kurt spoke up then, clearly having realized why this was not a good idea. “Brad’s right. The shit’ll hit the fan if Coach hears you’re screwing with the press.”
“I like the press,” Becker said with a gloating look in Brad’s direction. “And they like me.”
Brad ground his teeth together. Despite Coach’s warnings to leave Becker alone, Brad wanted nothing more than to teach the kid a lesson in respect. “Fine, kid. You got yourself a bet.” He might regret this, but his pride had taken enough for one night.
Without giving Becker—or anyone else—a chance to respond, Brad walked away. The bet was made and once he’d committed to a play, he took it all the way.
Amanda would be his soon, and keeping the new reporter occupied might be a good idea. He’d give her something other than his arm to think about.
3
TO CELEBRATE her first foray into the Rays’ locker room, Amanda shared dinner with her assigned photographer, Reggie Sheldon. Considering she’d only met him that morning, Amanda was surprised she already felt comfortable with him. He’d guided her through what could have been a rough first day of work, and helped her make sense of all the new people and places. The hole-in-the-wall restaurant he had sworn she’d enjoy had indeed been an exceptional choice. The food was phenomenal.
