8. All The Way To The Tip
8
ALL THE WAY TO THE TIP
Hunter
I’m never late.
Producing Webflix documentaries on two different continents means I’ve done this airport drill half a dozen times.
But it’s always nerve-wracking, especially with traffic. Like the snarl I’m slogging through in Los Angeles currently. Watching the clock, I’m hoping I make my flight to New York even though it doesn’t take off for two and a half more hours.
Provided I don’t spend eternity on the highway, I should make my flight. I check work emails to pass the time when my boss calls.
I’m already tense, and now the man who signs my paychecks needs me. But it’s always best to put on a cheery hello, so I do when I answer immediately.
Bernard wastes no time. “Hunter, do you know anything about football?”
“Of course. I love it?—”
“Blimey. Not our football. Everyone loves our football. I mean the other kind,” he says. “American football.” He sounds like he’s talking about turnips. “The one with the fifth downs and the right ends and the welcome backs, and what-the-hell-ever.”
That’s what I was referring to when I said I loved it—American football. I simply laugh and say, “Yes, I’m familiar with how it works. Touchdowns, extra points, holding penalties, pass interference and whatnot.”
“Oh, bless you. I had a feeling, since you spent that time in the US in uni and whatnot. Anyway, this is totally a last-minute thing but we’re expanding our team—ha ha, I’m getting into the sports analogies—for our coverage of the NFL games in Europe that we’re streaming. We need you on the production straightaway,” he says.
I knew Webflix had acquired the streaming rights to the NFL games in London, Paris, Vienna, and Prague, but this was not on my personal goals list because it seemed impossible. “You are?” I ask, confirming he’s for real before I go full holy fucking amazeballs.
“I’m taking you off the New York trip and I’m sending you to San Francisco right now. You’ll meet with the Hawks PR department tonight to go over the plans for the game next weekend.”
All at once, every system in my body slams into overdrive. My mind races around the bend. I can use this high-profile chance to show my boss what I’m capable of as a producer.
Hell, I can show my father that he’s not the only one in the family who knows what the hell he’s doing when it comes to TV creativity.
My libido races into overdrive too.
Since, well, that fucker is always busy. But c’mon. San Francisco was the site of my last hookup. San Francisco is where Nate ‘Strapping Stud’ Chandler lives. I hooked up with the pro athlete there a few months ago. Sure, there’s probably little chance he’s free after the game, but you never know. Maybe I could see him tonight? He did say to look him up if I was in town.
I will look him up so fast. I will text him faster than any man has texted another man.
Wait.
I slam on the horndog brakes.
Did Bernard mention a dinner tonight with the PR department?
I slump, all my dirty plans taking a backseat. Even if Nate’s free I won’t be able to see him tonight.
But…tomorrow is another day.
And where there’s an eager dick, there’s a way.
Perhaps I can see the American hunk in the morning. We have serious unfinished business. But when I’m on the phone with my boss it’s not the time to go down dirty rabbit holes. “Perfect. I would love to go,” I say to Bernard.
“Excellent. There’s a flight to San Francisco that leaves in two hours. Have you got enough time to make that? It’s thirty minutes earlier than your prior flight.”
I’m a bloody genius for giving myself extra time. “Absolutely,” I say, thanking the planner in me.
“Great. Consider it booked. And since we won’t need you in New York next week, we’ll bring you back to London right away to get working on the pre-game coverage. But we can’t get you out of San Francisco until Saturday morning now. Can you amuse yourself in San Francisco for a day?”
Does my dick get hard all the way to the tip and into the next county?
“I’m sure I can find a way,” I say diplomatically.
The moment we ring off, I stab open my contacts and search furiously for the man I’ve wanted to text ever since I met him at the carnival.
I find Nate’s deets and start a message.
Hunter: Hey gorgeous…Remember me? The guy who pied you?
Cringe. I erase that written monstrosity and start over.
Hunter: Hey handsome. It’s the guy who got down on his knees and blew you in your kitchen last summer.
But what if lots of guys blow him in his kitchen? He has both a really nice kitchen and a really nice dick. I could be one mouth among many.
I try again.
Hunter: Hey Nate. It’s Hunter. We met at the carnival in June, and you pitched me on a show idea and then rocked my world when I sucked you off.
Slow the fuck down, mate. I pause, take a breath, square my shoulders. One more go.
Hunter: It’s not been a year but I’m still single, and if you are too, as luck would have it, I’ll be in San Francisco tonight. Any chance you’re free at all tomorrow? I’ve got the whole day in front of me.
There. I don’t think twice. Since, well, I’ve already thought four times. I hit send and leave it to fate.
As I wait for my flight at the gate, I don’t check incessantly for a reply. His Thursday night game starts in thirty minutes after all, and he surely won’t be on his phone.
Instead, I do some quick research on the players we’ll be covering, then catch up on work emails, touching base with the team heading up the sports streaming, including an exec I’ve been dying to work with—Ilene Brancuso. She’ll be meeting me at the stadium tonight, and she’s a goddess in this biz.
And I must behave like the model of an up-and-coming producer.
Especially since my father’s reputation precedes me.
But this new assignment is the perfect chance to show I earned the gig on my own merits.
After I answer the emails and settle into my seat at the back of the plane, I click over to my texts once more.
But there’s no answer.
What, did you think he’d be checking to see if you texted during a commercial break, you twit ?
I bounce over to a book on my e-reader on styles of storytelling, but I can’t focus on the pros and cons of different structures. I’m thinking of Nate and the possibilities of tomorrow.
Would he want to spend the whole day in bed?
Well, I’d be game for that kind of schedule, though nervous too. But I’m an expert on covering nerves, worries, and other assorted fears with a happy face. Plus, of course, I’ll be fucking nervous until I finally, finally experience everything on my long list of Very Specific Sex Fantasies.
I re-read my last message to the guy, reviewing it in my head for tone and charm. I’ll give myself an A-minus—I sounded enthused but cool.
Oh, fuck.
What if Nate’s wondering why I never reached out to him about his pending trip to London? I knew he was traveling to England, since I’d be a daft idiot not to know about the game in London between the San Francisco Hawks and the New York Leopards. But I didn’t get in touch since I was supposed to be in New York for other work.
Fucking hell. Don’t want him to think I was avoiding him.
Well, he won’t think that once he gets your message in oh, say, an hour, genius .
Right, right.
Best to just settle down and wait for a reply.
Though admittedly, when I land in San Francisco I’m hoping he leapt on his phone at halftime and sent me a yes, get your sexy ass over at once and I will fuck you senseless for hours.
But no such luck.
After I ask the driver to drop my bags at my hotel, I head straight for the San Francisco Hawks stadium. Once I find my way to the media suite, I give Sarah a quick hug. “Can you believe we’re working together on this too?” I ask.
“We were meant to be,” she says, like it’s a marvel.
I focus in on the pink-haired woman munching on a carrot—Ilene Brancuso. We’ve been on Zoom and conference calls a few times, but this is my first chance to meet her in person. Ilene is a legend, bursting with energy and ideas. I wait until she’s finished the carrot and then introduce myself, “I’m Hunter, and I’m thrilled to be working with you.”
“Oh, please.” The exec has a breezy, speed-of-light way of talking as we shake. “I’m the one excited to work with you . So unbelievably excited. You’re the new guy.”
What’s the deal with her emphasis on you ? Is she excited because of my dad? It’s not like I have a long track record. I only landed this gig earlier this year, so there’s not much to know of me. Plenty to know of him, though.
But she flips her attention back to the game, rattling off stats on the team. I follow the change in subject. Best to just impress her with my work acumen than to marinate too long on what she meant.
“The Hawks new cornerback has such a great story,” I say. “He’d be fun to do an interstitial on.”
“Oh my god, yes, yes, yes. That is so true,” she says. “Let’s put that on our list, stat.”
There. That’s a good start.
When the game ends, Ilene guides us through the facility to meet the PR team and some of the players we’ll be working with in London over the next week.
My pulse kicks up.
Any second. I’ll see Nate any stinking second now. It is a good thing I look sexy. As my little sister says— don’t leave the house unless you’re ready to run into a hot firefighter who has to rip off all your clothes to save you.
Words to live by.
I’ve got on trim trousers, a fashionable button-up shirt that hugs my arms in all the right places, and a smile that says I’m hoping Nate’s still single.
Oh, and that I’m completely chuffed to be working together and all that.
Obviously.
Sarah nudges me as we walk, reading my mind. “I’m pretty sure he’s still single,” she whispers.
“But what if he’s not?” I whisper back. “What if he thinks I’m stalking him? Or clingy?”
She pats my arm, smirking. “Look at you. I’m sure he’ll be as excited to see you as you are to see him.”
Doubtful. Is it possible someone could be this excited?
When I reach the entrance to the locker room, my stomach is a tight knot of nerves.
Then it flips when I see Nate standing in the middle of a clutch of big, sweaty players.
I try to fight off a grin, but it’s useless.
His eyes find mine and his gaze is inquisitive. His eyes say what are you doing here and come over tomorrow .
At least, I hope they do.
Because I just discovered that I like jocks even more when they’re sweaty and dirty and all banged up after a football game.
Also, that beard is new, and I approve.
A pretty blonde introduces herself as Reese Kingsley, head of PR, then presents the players—Jason McKay the quarterback, Xavier Walters the cornerback, as well as another receiver, Devon, and a tight end, Orlando, then Coach Tierney. Finally, she gestures to the guy I already know. “And this is Nate Chandler, a wide receiver who’s having a hell of a season,” Reese says.
Ilene shakes his hand first. “So nice to meet you. Big fan, big fan. Absolutely love this team. We’re so excited to be working with you,” she says, apparently turbo-charged from her evening carrot snack.
Sarah says hello, then it’s my turn, and I hold out my hand. Nate takes it, his blue eyes locked on mine.
“Nice to meet you, Hunter,” he says, like he’s enjoying our secret.
“And you too, Nate,” I say.
He lingers, squeezing my fingers longer than necessary.
That’s a helluva sign. A great sign.
I want to tug him into that nook over there at the end of the hallway and ask the questions filling my head. Did you get my text and what are you doing tomorrow and how the hell do you look so fucking good?
But everyone’s talking and I don’t get a chance to steal a minute.
Then, Reese tells the players, “All right. I’m sure the guys want to shower and head home.”
I whimper inside. I want to watch him shower.
Ilene waves goodbye to the Hawks. “We’ll see you in London soon. Cheers and carry on,” she says, then she spins around, flashes a big smile at Reese, Sarah, and me. “It’s the London crew. Why don’t we head to dinner to The Happy Cow? I’ve been dying to try the kale burger.”
I’m torn. I’m still so damn new at Webflix, and I don’t want to misstep, especially in front of an exec like Ilene.
But this might be my chance to make plans with Nate. And I’ve got speed on my side. As Ilene peels away to chat with Reese, I snag my moment. “Be right back,” I whisper to Sarah.
“I’ll cover for you,” she says.
“You’re the greatest friend,” I say.
I hurry after him. “Do you have a second?”
Nate’s lips twitch. “Yes.”
As we move several feet away from others, Jason exchanges a look with Nate—a look that means I’m pretty sure Jason knows who I am. Maybe it’s even a go for it type of look?
Yeah, I bet it is.
I am such a glass-full person, it’s dangerous. But exciting too, especially when Nate and I stop at the corner. His smile spreads, like an invitation, then he says, “So I was going to?—”
“I texted you before the game,” I blurt out. Oh, shit. He just said something and I was so eager I cut him off. “Oh, sorry. You were going to say something?”
“It’s okay. You go first,” he says, eager too. “Your text?”
“I sent you,” I say quickly.
“I haven’t checked my phone yet.” He reaches for his pocket then laughs when he realizes his mistake.
“I only learned five hours ago that I’d be here tonight. Webflix wants to put me on pre-game coverage when I return to London on Saturday. I’m going to be slammed the whole week working and I’m sure you are too. But if there’s a god of hot, sexy, single men, you’ll be free tomorrow,” I say with my best cheeky grin.
His instant smile is straight out of my dreams, but a moment later his face falls in genuine disappointment. “Shoot, Hunter. I’m going to Vegas tomorrow—meeting a bunch of buddies there to see a concert before I head to Europe.” He pauses, assessing me, then glances around and drops his voice. “But what about tonight?”
Are you fucking kidding me, universe?
This is not fair.
“I have to go to this dinner right now, to plan the coverage,” I say, fighting to mask my dejection. But I’ve got to float the possibility of a Europe date. “That sucks. I don’t suppose you’ll have any free time in Europe?”
He frowns. “They’ve made it pretty clear there’s hardly any breathing room.”
I don’t need much .
Ilene calls me from the door, “Hunter, are you still able to join us?”
I grimace, chastened, and try to leave things with Nate on a positive note. “Maybe I’ll see you in Europe,” I say quickly.
“Maybe you will,” he says, like he wants it as badly as I do.
But just because you want something doesn’t mean you’ll get it.
It’s ridiculous to think I’ll see him in London. He’ll be busy. I’ll be busy.
As I’m turning around to join the Webflix crew, we exchange a wistful look.
Then say goodbye.