Chapter 4
HAWK
I recognised her the moment she stepped into the room.
She'd changed. A lot. But I still knew the face, those blue eyes, her full lips.
She was bigger in the breasts and smaller in the hips, but it was still her.
You don't sit so close to someone for weeks on end, learning what you need to know to keep your dreams on track, and not know them.
I owed her a big chunk of my career. Without her, I would have flunked out of high school.
No university team would have touched me. From there, I went pro.
And here she was, in front of me, pretending she had no idea who I was. I played along for a while, but in the end, I couldn't hold back. Curiosity, amongst other things, wouldn’t let me.
"What's going on? I know you remember me, I saw it on your face when you walked in."
I hated it when people played games, but the girl—woman I knew wouldn't have done that without a reason. She was the most honest person I knew. Back then at least. The differences might not only be on the outside.
Her posture changed. She sat back, away from me. Her pouty mouth became a line.
"I don't know what you're talking about." She was quick enough to turn off the voice recording and hold her phone in her lap.
I arched an eyebrow at her. "I know when someone is faking it."
"Happens often?" she quipped. Her eyes snapped with something that wasn't there before; anger. No, maybe it was there already and I hadn't wanted to see it.
I smiled. A real smile. She wasn't the only one putting on an act. Frankly, it felt good to drop it.
"Only out in public," I replied with confidence. "In private, it's always real, and satisfying."
I expected her to blush, but she didn't. Instead, she gave me an epic eye roll. Yeah, I guess I deserved that.
"Sure," she said sarcastically. She crossed her legs at her knees.
I stared. I admit it, she had longer legs than I remember. Smooth, soft-looking. They'd look perfect over my shoulders. Were her bigger breasts real? I tried to get a good look when she entered the room, but I couldn't tell.
I shook my head to clear it. "You didn't answer my question. Why did you pretend you didn't know me?"
"Why did you?" she shot back. "I had no reason to believe you did. It was a long time ago."
It was. And it wasn't. The fuzzy memories of high school came back in a rush that almost knocked the wind out of me. I lowered my arms and gripped the sides of the chair beside my thighs.
I lowered my face and closed my eyes for a few moments, gathering myself.
"Yeah, it was." I looked back up at her.
Her blue eyes watched me intently. Were they always that colour?
They weren't contacts, or she wouldn't be wearing glasses too.
I guess they were then. My mother used to have a painting of the ocean; it was almost that exact shade.
Where was that painting now? I had no idea. Maybe Dad threw it out after…
Before I could say another word, she spoke.
"Why do you think I did it?" She gave me a challenging look beneath her long lashes.
I hissed in a silent breath through my teeth. "I don't know," I said. "Maybe you thought I would open up more if you acted like a groupie."
She snorted. Now there was the Becca I knew.
I rested an elbow on the arm of the chair and hid a smile by rubbing the stubble on my upper lip.
"If you were actually Hawkeye, it might not be an act," she said.
I couldn't hold back a grin now. "I can't believe you actually pretended not to know who the Hulk was."
She responded with a smirk. "I can't believe you think you have his physique."
Touché. "It sounds like you're the green one," I retorted. I puffed out my chest. It didn't hurt to remind her how fit I was. It took a lot of work to get this cut and I was proud of myself. The fact women seemed to like it was a bonus.
She barked a laugh. "Hardly."
I shrugged with one shoulder. "At least I didn't compare myself to Thor." I only did that in the mirror. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to do that in front of Becca.
"Not in public," she said, shooting my words back at me. "What about in private?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" She seemed bitter about something, but I enjoyed the banter. Other than Mary, few women were so real. She always was, except for these past few minutes.
"Not if you were the last guy on Earth," she replied, eyes hard. She seemed to mean it.
"Ouch." I rubbed my cheek as though she punched me. Truthfully, it stung a little. Not the rejection, just the stone cold look on her face. For some reason, she really seemed not to like me.
"Should we finish the interview?" I suggested. "I have a feeling there are things you wanted to know, but didn't feel comfortable asking." I spread my arms. "Ask me anything." No guarantees I would answer, but I would give her the chance to try.
She hesitated, then put the phone back on the table and restarted the voice recording.
"How do you feel, going into the new season?" she asked.
Not exactly a hard hitting question, but the kind I expected for a National Daily article. The answer was one I'd given so often, I could recite it word for word.
"I'm feeling confident in the team this year. We have the best lineup we've ever had. We're hungry and ready."
"Even after Coach Franks’ resignation?" she asked, her face expressionless.
I frowned. "How did you know about that? We only just found out."
"So did I." She gave me a sly smile. "Rumours have circulated for some time now."
I sat back and ran a hand over my hair. I wanted to kick myself. At the end of the day, she was a journalist. She'd be looking for the angle, the scoop, to take to the world to further her career. I should’ve known a member of the press would’ve gotten a leak.
"Turn off the recording," I said softly.
For a moment I thought she'd refuse, but she pressed the pause button and looked expectant.
"This is off the record until after the press conference," I said firmly. "If you don't agree, then this interview is over."
She nodded. "Fine. I can keep a secret, as long as what you tell me is exclusive."
I huffed out a sigh and rubbed my temples for a moment. I wasn't sure I could trust her, but by the time she published anything I was about to say, the press conference would be over.
I put a hand on hers to stop her before she turned the recorder back on. Electricity raced through my palm from the touch, and I wondered if she felt that too.
"Off the record," I said firmly. Typical journalist. Give them an inch…
Her lips twitched, but she slipped her hand from under mine and placed both of them in her lap and turned all of her attention on me. Not in the way she had before, with her Groupie Barbie routine, but with genuine interest and professionalism, even if it was lightly laced with hostility.
I let my eyes unfocused. "Lori Franks has weeks to live."
Becca nodded, her eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry."
"What were you expecting to hear?" I asked. "Something juicy? He was caught with someone's wife?"
"Was he?" she asked.
"Of course not," I spat. "He has more integrity than that." I don't know what pissed me off more, the suggestion Coach Franks would cheat, or her apparent disregard for a sick woman. Was she that heartless?
"Of course," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to suggest he doesn't."
"But juicy stories sell better than reality?" I said bitterly.
"Unfortunately." The sides of her mouth turned down.
"What? Not interested in furthering your career with some gossip about the Coach. Or me?" I asked.
"No," she replied. "Unless you have something you want to share. Exclusively."
Now I snorted. "Sure. I have thirteen wives.
None of them know about each other." I shouldn't joke.
It might be tomorrow's headline. For some reason, I knew she wouldn't do that.
If she did, the National Daily wouldn't get another word from me.
Until now, we had a reasonably good relationship.
No doubt she was told that before she was sent here.
I imagined that conversation.
'Don't piss him off, he makes for good copy' or whatever the terminology was.
Sometimes I regretted taking so much time out of my life for things like this, but it was a part of the job.
I could be nice to the press or let them eat me for lunch.
It wasn't much of a choice. Bigger celebrities than me have to do it.
Some even have to be nice to their stalkers. That thought makes me shudder.
"Lucky number thirteen," she said, the side of her mouth pulled up into a half smirk. "How do you find the time to juggle them all?"
"Time travel," I joked. My inner nerd was having way too much fun here. If I wasn't careful, I'd have to hand in my jock card. I held back a sigh. I'd always been frustrated with the perception that people can't be both. My ability to play football didn’t diminish because I liked comic books.
"Along with an unhealthy dose of Viagra," she said. "Are they all bikini models?"
I let out my sigh. "That old chestnut. Do you wear bikinis?" I hadn't meant the question to be provocative, but now it was out there, all I could do was imagine her in one. Maybe a red one, sheer and cut high across her thighs. The kind that tied up in the back. And untied there.
I swallowed, wanting to shake my head to dispel the thoughts swirling. We were at work, and these were decidedly not safe for work.
She gave me a look as though she knew exactly what I was thinking. From the way she glanced at my groin, she might have.
I cleared my throat and lowered my hands to my lap. No need to embarrass myself further.
"The point is, people are quick to judge," I said, my voice a little higher than usual.
"It's…hard," she drew out the word, "not to judge when photos are plastered all over the internet."
"Ever heard of Photoshop?" I asked. "I bet you're no saint."
"Sure I am," she joked. At least, I thought she was joking. No saint I'd ever heard of wore skin tight dresses or bright red lipstick that would be the perfect decoration for the base of my cock. If they did, I might have paid more attention when Grandma took me to church as a kid.
"Right. If you say so," I said, disbelieving. "Should we get back to the interview?"
"Who is replacing Coach Franks?" she asked without missing a beat.
"I'm not telling you," I shot back.
"I could name everyone on the coaching staff until your face reveals the answer."
"My poker face is flawless," I said. "Besides, I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. It's not up to me to say." That wasn't technically true. I told her about Lori. The truth was, I didn't want to talk about it, not yet, not to her. And not here.
"I'll tell you what." I cocked my head at her. "I'm sure you'll have questions after the press conference. How about we have dinner and you can ask them then? I might not be able to answer, but I'll try to. Better it come from me than be made up and spread everywhere."
Her eyes widened, those pretty lips parting in surprise. She glanced at me sideways, expression full of skepticism. "Why me?"
That was a good question. I wasn't certain myself. It had nothing to do with me thinking about her in a bikini, or out of one. Nope, no way, not at all. I knew her for a long time and I owed her one. This was my chance to repay it.
Yep, let's go with that.
"Why not you?" I replied with a shrug. "You either want the story, or you don't. Can you recommend someone who—"
"Yes," she said firmly.
"Yes you can recommend someone?" I asked, deliberately misunderstanding.
She gave me another epic eye roll. "Yes, I'll have dinner with you. So we can talk about the future of the Humpbacks."
"Great. I'll meet you at Gianna's at seven." Gianna's did the best pasta and pizza in town, hands down.
Her eyebrows twitched. "I'll be there," she said.