Chapter 3
BECCA
"Thank you." I smiled politely to the woman who showed me to the interview room and stepped inside.
I froze.
I knew that posture all too well. Back straight, chest out, chin lowered a little.
When I first started to tutor him, he'd sit in a chair beside me, just like that.
I soon recognised it as his defensive posture.
By the end of the session, he'd be huddled over a book or screen, shoulder so close to touching mine I could hardly breathe.
Even then, his earthy scent drove me crazy.
I thought I caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I couldn't be sure it was there at all. He lowered his arms and put on the plastic smile I was so used to seeing from people in his position.
"Rebecca Anderson, I presume." He held out his hand.
He didn’t recognize me? Yeah right. Fine, if that was how he wanted to play this, I could play along. I waited a long time for this.
I shook his hand. His fingers and palm were rough with callouses. Were his hands this large back in high school?
I reminded myself to focus and gave him a brilliant smile.
Please don't let there be lipstick on my teeth. Why didn't I check when I got out of the car?
He showed no sign of noticing anything out of place. Thank fuck, I didn't think I could handle him laughing in my face again.
I locked my eyes on his chocolate brown ones and I tried not to drown in them. I might have fluttered my eyelashes slightly.
"Mr Florence, it's so nice of you to make time to speak with me today," I gushed, my enthusiasm as fake as his smile. I drew out so for so long it almost needed its own postcode. "Please, call me Becca."
Only my parents called me Rebecca, although they usually stuck to Beckie-Boo. Everyone has to have a cringey nickname bestowed by their parents, right?
"Becca." My name slid off his tongue like honey. "Call me Conrad, or Hawk. Whichever you prefer." The plastic smile didn't slip for a moment.
"Conrad." His name slid off my tongue like peanut butter or cum. I swallowed and pushed my own smile back in place. "Hawk is a little easier." It suited him better too.
"Yeah." He gestured for me to sit, while he remained perched on the table.
I sat. All the better to give him a view of my cleavage.
"I'm so sorry I was late. The traffic was terrible all the way here." I placed my bag on the table and my phone beside it.
"Yeah, it can get heavy at this time of day.” Was he talking about the roads, or my chest? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking, not even blinking.
Perfect.
"Yes, I'll come earlier next time," I said. "I mean, leave earlier." I gigged as though the innuendo hadn't been entirely intentional.
He smiled, eyebrows raised. This smile looked a bit more genuine, but still tinged with the football god persona.
"Right." He moved to the chair beside me. "So, what do you want to know?"
I turned on the voice recorder on my phone. "Why Hawk?"
A smile brushed over his lips.
"Why Hawk what?" he asked.
I giggled again. "How did you come to have the nickname?"
Personally, I could think of a few, more appropriate, names to call him. An alphabet full. From 'asshole' to… Some insult starting with Z. There had to be something, didn't there? Zebra-ass, or… I didn't know. I'd work on that.
"Is it because you're fast, or have keen eyesight?" I suggested, as if in awe of either. Okay, maybe I was jealous of anyone with perfect vision.
He scratched his ear. "It's because Hawkeye is my favourite character in the MCU. The Marvel movies," he added, when I gave him a mock blank look.
I knew exactly what the Marvel Cinematic Universe was. I introduced him to it. Grace was right, what a prick.
"Oh, is that the guy who turns all green and muscly and punches stuff up?" I asked sweetly.
He laughed. "No, that's the Hulk. Maybe I should be called that. I have his physique." He flexed his muscles and grinned, playing his assigned character perfectly for me, the press.
I wanted to snort. Instead, I laughed and put a hand on his bicep. "Oh my, I see your point." I locked my eyes with his as though I wanted nothing more than to spend the next hour running my hand up and down his arm.
Okay, a part of me did, down in my pussy, but she was a traitorous bitch. At least it added some sincerity to the moment.
"I'm far from green though," he said. He gave me a wink as I lowered my arm and sat back.
So I've heard, I thought. A lot of things had changed since high school, not just me.
"I'm sure you aren't," I said with a sweet smile.
"So, you like superheroes. Do you sometimes feel like you are one?
I mean, all those on-field feats, looked up to by children everywhere, hero of the city.
It must be daunting." I groaned inwardly at the inane wording.
I just wanted to ask how he felt being a role model.
Some players took the responsibility to heart. Others, well, they didn't.
He responded with a lopsided smile. "I wouldn't call myself a superhero, no. I'm just a guy who works hard because he loves what he does and doesn't want to let his team down. Or his fans."
And talks about himself in third person, cool, I thought sarcastically.
"That's admirable," I purred. "I'm sure you know children all over Australia look up to you and want to follow in your footsteps. What advice would you give to them?"
"Don't punch stuff up, like Hulk," he joked.
I touched my fingertips to his shoulder and laughed a bit longer than necessary. "Oh, that's great advice." I mean, it really was.
He chuckled. "Yeah. But seriously, I would tell them to work hard and focus on their goals. No matter what it is, they shouldn't let anyone tell them they can't do it." For a moment he seemed to be contemplating something or someone.
"Who told you that?" I asked without thinking.
He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. The point is, they didn't hold me back, because I didn't let them. It's not always easy to go after what you want, but it's worth it."
"Then what?" I asked. "What happens to a guy when all his dreams have come true? What is there to strive for after that?"
"Not falling on my ass," he said, his eyes wide, a smile on the corners of his mouth.
I laughed along with him. "Another admirable goal." For both on the field and in one’s personal life. Heaven knows it was one I tried to avoid as much as possible.
He exhaled softly through his nose. "I also want to inspire the next generation. What's the point of being successful if you can't give a hand up to those behind you?"
"Right," I agreed. If the tabloids were to be believed, he was trying his best to make the next generation, as often as possible.
None mentioned any actual kids, but honestly I hadn't paid that much attention.
The headlines usually caught my eye while scrolling social media.
Yep, I totally didn't hunt down articles about him.
Not me. Nope.
"What are your plans for life after football?" I asked.
"There's a life after football?" The smile he gave me was the first genuine one I'd seen since I entered the room.
Mine was the same fake one. I wasn't going to let my guard down around him, not for a moment.
That one second earlier was a bit too much already.
He still seemed like the same nice guy I knew so long ago, but with years of practice at getting what he wanted.
And who he wanted. Not this time. This time I would turn those tables and see how he liked it.
"I've heard some become coaches," I said. "Or maybe you prefer the motivational speaking circuit, or talking to schools?"
He looked so wistful I knew I took him by surprise.
"I thought about being a teacher, but that was a long time ago." He rubbed one hand over the back of the other. "I could have taught sports, or…"
"Or?" I pressed lightly.
He shook his head. "Um. It's nothing." His plastic smile was back. "I would have been a crappy teacher anyway. I was never the best student, no matter how hard I tried."
"Academics isn't for everyone," I told him. Especially those who were smart, but hid the fact, even from themselves.
"What about you?" he asked. "Let me guess, straight As, full ride to uni, aced all your classes."
I shrugged uncomfortably with one shoulder. "Something like that, but we're here to talk about you, remember?" I gave him another brilliant smile, eyes firmly on his. This was all about him and then some. He'd realise that soon enough. And no flirting from his end would deter me from my goal.
"Maybe I'd prefer to talk about you," he suggested.
Here it goes. My tongue darted over my lips.
His eyes watched intently.
"I'm not very interesting," I said. "Particularly when I'm working. I tend to be very focused. After work…"
Could I give him a bigger hint if I tried?
"After working, you what?" he leaned in toward me, so close we were almost touching.
I inhaled his scent, so him, but with a touch of something new. Aftershave or cologne. Maybe the stuff they rub on injured muscles. Whatever it was, it was heady. I could get drunk just from breathing in too deeply.
He closed his eyes and inhaled. He must have the same reaction to my perfume, which was exactly the point.
They didn't call it Entwine for nothing.
It wasn't my usual, floral fragrance, but for this occasion I needed to smell more enticing.
Or so Grace said. Something about leading men around by their cocks.
"After work, I…" I scrambled to think of the right words. "I like to let my hair down," I said finally.
Smooth, Becca, very smooth, I told myself. I gave myself a mental head slap. I was supposed to do better than that.
I lowered my eyes, curious as to what the tattoo, which peeked out of the front of his shirt, was an image of.
Only the tip was visible. It looked like an animal of some kind, maybe a snake.
My mind wandered further down his chest. What else would I find there?
Muscles, lots of muscles. Pecs hard enough to break eggs on.
He had a little chest hair, but not a lot.
Enough for me to picture it meandering down his belly, down to his…
I cleared my throat and let that line of thought go before I got entwined in it myself. I wasn't here for that, I reminded myself.
Stop thinking sexy thoughts. Think about bad things, like city traffic, or the state of the country's sheep industry. Hell knows why my mind went there, but it was a safer direction than the way it had headed. Only sheep were soft and curly and…
I swallowed.
"Let your hair down, hmmm?" He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Once again, he reminded me of the boy he was so long ago.
On the verge of manhood, trying to pretend he was Mr Cool, while he was just a regular, scared kid on the inside.
Nothing about him today was frightened, and he'd grown into the Mr Cool persona.
There was something more in the look he gave me now, calculating, like I was a play and he was trying to work me out.
"Yeah, I can see you letting your hair down," he said finally. "Stripping back the cares of the day and slipping into something more comfortable, like sweat."
He shook his head. "I mean, sweats." He set his mouth in a line and cocked his head to the side, just slightly. Those eyes turned sharp, no longer playful, and my heart leapt into my throat as he pinned me with his gaze.
"Becca Anderson. You wanna tell me what the fuck you're really up to here?"