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“Oh, trust me.” I give her a blithe smile. “I’m tempted to kick him.”
“Perfect. Conflict makes for great stories.” She gives me a Grinchy smile. “If you don’t like Art in the Park find something else. The more local festivities that are in public, the better. We want buzz surrounding these articles. We want lots of online subscribers sharing them on Facebook. We want ad banners for KY lube.”
Okay, that was a little loud.
Barrett lifts his head from his laptop. Mia waves. I snarl. His eyes twinkle with mischief.
Dammit, Mia.
Chapter 3
Catarina
According to YouTube, the video has over two million hits.
That means at least two million pairs of eyeballs have watched Barrett Fox unravel online, more if you count when it aired on live TV. I heard about the incident, but I never actually watched it. When the office was atwitter about what had gone down on the beloved Ohio State Buckeyes field, I mostly ignored it.
I don’t watch football. I don’t particularly like football, though I can honestly say I don’t have a weighted opinion either way.
The reason for my pulling up a video marking the beginning and end of Fox’s field reporting career is simple. Research.
In the video, Fox is on the sideline holding a microphone and wearing a set of headphones. He speaks to the guys in the booth, excitement lighting those impossibly blue eyes.
“That was unbelievable,” he says over the roar of the crowd. “That touchdown brought us a much-needed tie—”
Then a whistle blows, and a referee waves her hands over her head. Yes, her head. The recent addition of female refs in college ball was another big topic of focus here at the Chat.
The ref makes a series of hand gestures and then the men in the booth let me know what it meant. She called OSU’s quarterback out at the two-yard line.
“Out of bounds! No way,” one of the older sportscasters in the booth comments. “Barrett, you’re down there. What did you see?”
The camera snaps back to Barrett, whose face is nearly as red as his hair. His brow is creased, his mouth pulled into an unruly frown.
“I saw a touchdown, Bob.” A tremor of anger lines his voice. I have a visceral reaction as adrenaline shoots down my arms in anticipation. I know what happens next, but I can’t look away.
The female ref walks to the sidelines and Barrett approaches, arms raised at his sides in frustration. “Are you blind? Was your hair in your eyes? Tits blocking your view? Anyone paying attention saw what I saw, and honey, that was a motherfucking touchdown!”
That’s it. His mic is cut, but Barrett’s still yelling. He doesn’t get physical, in fact, he lowers his arms and puts his hands in prayer pose while he argues. The ref doesn’t cower. Her face is equally creased with anger as she gives him a few choice words of her own. She blows the whistle in his face. Barrett rips off his headphones and throws them on the ground.
And that, my friends, was that.
There’s an awkward throwback to our boys in the booth, who attempt to pick up where Fox left off (minus the F-bomb). They change the subject as quickly as possible.
That’s where the video ends. I sit back in my chair and pluck my earbuds out before tossing them on the desk.
“Not my finest hour,” Barrett says from behind me, and even though I don’t mean to, I jerk in my chair.
“Seriously! You need a bell.”
He sits on the corner of my desk, legs spread, hands linked between them.
“Get off my desk.”
“What’d you come up with?” he asks.
I shove his thigh in a futile attempt to move him. His leg is like a steel beam. Rock solid. I snatch my hand back and grimace, but not before comparing him to North, whose leg has never felt that muscular.
“Harder spots on me than my leg.” Barrett grins.
