AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Drowning your sorrows?”
I turn and when I see Bailey standing there, although I’m a bit disconcerted by her sudden and unexpected appearance, a smile automatically crosses my face. Dressed in jeans, a black turtleneck, dark coat, and black Doc Martens, she doesn’t look like the power-suited professional journalist I’m used to seeing. She looks just as sexy, though.
“May I join the pity party?” She points to the stool beside me.
“Please. The more the merrier,” I reply and motion for the bartender. “Get her whatever she’d like. The lady’s drinks are on me.”
“What’ll it be?” he asks.
“I’ll… I’ll just have what he’s having.”
The bartender gives her a nod and pours her a bourbon. He sets it down in front of her before turning back to the ballgame on TV that I’ve been studiously ignoring. I should be out there on the court with my team, but here I am, sitting in a bar, drowning my sorrows, and having a pity party. Just like Bailey said.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, sipping our bourbon. She’s doing her best to keep from grimacing when the amber liquid burns its way down her throat. It’s obvious she’s used to fruity drinks with little umbrellas in them. Not wanting to embarrass her, I hide my smile.
“Good, huh?” I ask.
She nods, her eyes watering. “Yeah,” she croaks. “Real good.”
Taking a swallow of my drink, my eyes roam her body. They linger over the way her jeans cling to her round, heart-shaped ass. Even through the denim, it seems like the perfect ass, and I find myself wanting to see it for myself. Same with her full breasts, which strain against the black fabric of her turtleneck.
I force myself to look away. This is not how I behave around women. The truth is, I’m not usually in this position with a woman simply because I tend to avoid them. It’s not that I don’t like women. I do. But at this stage of my career, with the legacy I’m building, I want to keep myself from emotional entanglements. I don’t want or need the distractions right now.
That’s why it’s been killing me that ever since I met Bailey, I haven’t been able to get her off my mind. And it’s more than just wanting to see her naked. My reaction to her is visceral. It’s deep. There’s just something about her that’s caught hold of me and won’t let go. It’s one reason I’ve been trying to avoid her when I see her tooling around the arena.
“Not that I’m not glad to see you, but how did you find me?” I ask.
“I’m a working journalist. I’ve got connections all over the city,” she says. “When I heard you got suspended, I put a few feelers out and here I am.”
“So, you figured you’d show up just to make fun of me?”
She shrugs. “I might as well, as long as I’m here. But that wasn’t the primary reason I tracked you down tonight.”
“And what was the primary reason?”
She takes another swallow of her bourbon, and her grimace isn’t as big this time. “I wanted to thank you again for keeping Murray off me. I mean, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have actually done anything to me in that hallway, but he was making me really uncomfortable. So, thank you for stepping in,” she says. “But I also wanted to say I’m sorry you got suspended. I tried to speak with Coach Holman and Gary. They didn’t want to hear me out. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. This isn’t your fault,” I tell her. “And besides, I’d do it again. That prick was making you uncomfortable, and I wasn’t going to stand by and let him do it. If Gary and Coach want to punish me for that, I’m good with it.”
She glances at the TV and frowns. “Yeah, well, I still feel bad. You should be out there on the floor tonight.”
“It’s not so bad. I get to enjoy a night off.”
“You don’t strike me as the enjoy-a-night-off kind of guy.”
The corners of my mouth curl upward, and I hold her gaze. “Depends on the company.”
Bailey’s cheeks redden. She looks away just as the air between us grows charged with a sense of anticipation. She drains the last of her bourbon and quickly signals for another. I do the same. When our new drinks arrive, she picks up her glass, but instead of drinking, she looks down into the amber liquid, swirling it around.
“You and Murray seem to have some history,” she says.
I shrug. “No real history. We just don’t like each other very much. Never have.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t respect his game. Or him as a person, to be honest. He doesn’t play the game for the love of it. He’s chasing the paycheck. He takes shortcuts, and he tends to play dirty.” I motion to the TV. “Shouldn’t you be there covering the game instead of sitting in a bar with me? I mean, you’re the beat writer and all, right?”
“It’s a preseason game. I’ll write something after I watch the highlights. Besides, I think the story is right here,” she says with a grin.
