Chapter 37 – Jordie
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The press
Jordie
I wake up around dawn on Sunday morning with a smile on my face. Creeping quietly from the bed, I borrow a sweatshirt from Phoenix’s closet and put on my jeans from last night. No panties because my savage man ripped them from my body.
Memories of the evening flood me, and I stand beside his bed, staring down at the man I love.
Sleeping Phoenix is rumpled and sexy with the sheet pooled around his waist and his dark hair falling over his forehead.
I fight the urge to climb back between the sheets with him, stepping back and tiptoeing from the room.
I have to get to the stadium. We have a shit-ton of press events this morning and practice this afternoon.
Ninety minutes later, I’ve showered at my apartment and I’m back in my truck, mentally preparing myself for this week.
It’s filled with all kinds of media events that the team has been training us for.
I go over answers in my head to various expected questions when my thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of my phone.
I frown when I see it’s my mother calling. I haven’t heard from her in months other than a couple texts letting me know her excuse of the week as to why she missed my game. Despite me buying expensive season tickets for her and fucking Willie, they haven’t made a single game.
The phone rings again, and I reluctantly press the button on my steering wheel to answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby. It’s Mom. Did I wake you up?”
“No, I’m on the way to the stadium.”
“On a Sunday?” she asks, shock in her voice. “Oh wait, you have a game today, right?”
Is she for real right now? A game?
“I have the Super Bowl next week,” I reply, unable to keep the sharpness from my tone.
“Riiiiight,” she ruminates. “That will be the last game, huh?”
“Yes,” I say, seeing the stadium exit up ahead as my patience wanes. “Did you call for something?”
“Oh, yes. I just wanted to see if you could have lunch with me this week.”
I grit my teeth and answer. “Mom, I can’t. Pretty much every second of every day is planned out for me this week.”
“Oh.” Disappointment rings over the line, and I push down the guilt that always tries to crop up when I feel like I’m letting her down. “I wanted to talk to you about something I need help with, but I guess if you don’t have time for me.”
Sighing, I exit off the freeway and ask, “Can you just tell me what it is over the phone?”
She hedges. “I’d rather talk to you in person.”
“It’ll have to be after the Super Bowl,” I say firmly. “Are you coming or should I sell your tickets and try to get some of my money back?”
My mother pauses at my abrupt tone. “Um, I’m not sure if I can make it.”
“Fine, I’ll sell them then. Look, I’m pulling up to the stadium. Call me next week if you want to see me.”
She starts to say something, but I hang up, cutting her off. I’m fuming. Delphine hasn’t made time to see me the past few months, and yet when she wants something, she expects me to drop everything during the busiest week of my life.
My phone pings with a text, and I almost don’t check it. I don’t have time for any more of her shit today. But when I glance down, I see Phoenix’s name, so I open it.
Phoenix: Good morning my beautiful sneak.
My lips curve into an inadvertent smile.
Me: Good morning. Sorry I left without saying goodbye, but you were sleeping so peacefully.
Phoenix: You can wake me up any time. I just wanted to tell you good luck today with your interviews. You’ve got this, and I’m so proud of you.
I press a hand against my throat, feeling so full of love for this man. How did he know exactly what I needed to hear?
Me: Thank you. I love you so much.
Phoenix: I love you right back.
Placing my phone in my gym bag, I head inside to one of the team meeting rooms where Jane, our media relations guru, spends over an hour reminding us of all the things she’s told us a million times.
After that, we go out onto the field for photo ops with donors, followed by a brunch with some NFL players.
Carrie’s dad, Axel, is there, wearing the five Super Bowl rings he won with the Fort Worth Wranglers.
It could probably have been a fun event, but there are cameras in our faces constantly, and it puts me on edge.
I usually deal pretty well with the press, but they’ve really been getting on my nerves lately.
As it became obvious a few weeks ago that the Dragons were headed to the Super Bowl, the vultures began circling and following me everywhere.
They even trailed me in the grocery store, and there’s been much online discussion of everything I purchase, from what kind of vegetables I buy to my favorite brand of tampons.
It’s even thrown a wrench in my personal life, making it more difficult to see Phoenix.
For our Tuesday dance nights, he started picking me up in the parking garage, and we enter through the back door of the studio.
Phoenix talked to Esperanza, and she warned the class if anyone leaked any information about me, they would be booted from her establishment. Permanently.
And our after-class dinners have been relegated to take-out in Phoenix’s living room.
I’m thrilled everyone is excited about the first ever WNFL Super Bowl, but good lord. What do my tampons have to do with football?
As we head to the media room to meet with the press, Carrie nudges me with her shoulder.
“That was crazy. That one chick had her camera so close to me while I was eating, she could probably count my nose hairs. I was so afraid I was going to spill food down my chin and end up as a viral meme or something.”
I laugh. “Same. I know they told us to ignore the cameras, but it’s kind of hard to have a conversation knowing you’re being videoed and photographed.”
“Less than one week,” she says, holding up a single finger. “Coach said we don’t have to do any press stuff the day before the game because she wants us focused.”
I fist bump her. “We got this.”
“Jordie, what are you most worried about regarding next week’s game?
” a woman in the third row asks. I’m seated behind a table on a raised platform with Jane hovering at my shoulder as reporters hurl questions at me.
I’m not uncomfortable in this setting. In fact, I thrive in press conferences.
I could talk about football in my sleep.
I lean into the microphone, my forearms crossed on the table.
“Not winning,” I quip, flashing my best smile.
Everyone laughs, and when the room quiets, I continue.
“Oklahoma City is a very good team. As you know, we only had two losses, and one was to them. But I think we’re a better team now than when we played them in October. ”
“How so?” the same woman asks.
“I think our running game is stronger. Sabrina was out with an ankle injury for our last game with OKC, but she’s healthy now. That will give Zena the chance to call more run-pass options and really open up our offense.”
A man in the front row asks, “Will Miles Soren be at the game to support you?”
I do my best to keep my face neutral. “I believe Chicago has a game that evening, so he better not be if he wants to keep his job.” Then Jane’s training kicks in, and I deflect.
“I’m friends with some of the Philly Beavers, and some of them are making the trip to Houston for the game, and I’m excited to have them here.
And I’ll be attending some of their basketball games next summer.
We all believe women should support other female athletes, and I’m lucky to have these ladies as friends. ”
I feel Jane’s knee against mine in an approving nudge.
“Will Sulley be attending?” someone calls.
“She will, as will Kennedy Jeffries. Also, Kamryn Hart from the Anacondas will be coming, though that's probably just because she’s my agent and I’m paying her.” The room erupts in laughter.
Then the douchebag in the front row pipes up again, “Are you upset Miles won’t be here for you? Since he’s your boyfriend?”
Gritting my teeth, I glance at his name badge and level him with a flat glare. “Miles and I are friends, Bob. That’s it.”
“But you were seen having dinner with him in Chicago a couple months ago.”
“And?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow.
“And he was seen going into your hotel afterward.”
Jane steps in, which is lucky because I’m ready to go across this table and deck that overstepping asshole.
“Does anyone have any questions for Jordie about the actual game?” she asks in her cool, unflappable tone.
An older female reporter standing against the left wall lifts her hand, and I point at her since I can’t quite read her nametag.
“Jordie, can you tell me how it feels to have the very first WNFL Super Bowl in your home stadium?”
I offer her a grateful smile. “It feels amazing. Mr. and Mrs. Winslow and their team have done an outstanding job from the entertainment to the food to the facilities. I’m just happy to be a part of such a history-making event.
” Winking, I say, “And I’m sure all the Houston fans will be thrilled when the Dragons win the first Super Bowl in their own house. ”
The next question comes from a guy in the front row who appears as though he’s probably in college. He has brown eyes which are magnified behind thick glasses. “Um, Jordie, who would you say is the biggest influence on your football career?”
“Thanks for asking, Angelo,” I say. “I grew up watching Axel Broxton, and he’s the reason I wanted to become a receiver.
So he influenced me without even knowing he was doing it.
” The crowd chuckles. “But personally, I’d say my high school coach, Drake Cooper.
We didn’t have a girls’ team, but he believed in me enough to give me a chance and let me play with the guys.
I definitely had some natural talent when I came to him, but he honed and developed my skills, which led to me getting a full-ride scholarship to college.
I wouldn’t be here without him, and I’ll always be grateful to him for that. ”
Swallowing down my emotions, I add, “I’d also like to mention his wife, Lainey. If they gave an award for best coach’s wife, she would win hands down every year. She’s always been an amazing supporter of mine. And she knows the way to teenage athletes’ hearts—homemade cookies.”
That earns me more laughter from the reporters.
After I field a few more questions, Jane stands and claps her hand. “Okay, I think that’s enough for Jordie. I’ll bring in a couple defensive players now because the offense is headed to the practice field for the afternoon.”
I rise and give a friendly wave as cameras flash, resisting the urge to flip the bird at Bob, the nosy fucker. Stepping off the stage, I give Carrie a high-five as she comes up the stairs to take her turn.
Then I board the bus to the practice facility for the first of many practices this week.