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I give him a smirk. “Gee, I’d like to, but I have a position meeting?—”
“I’ve already cleared it with your coaches,” he replies with a grin, obviously knowing I’m trying to weasel out of the interview. “Come on. Get into the press room. The city of LA wants to get to know its newest superstar.”
Eric is standing on the baseline underneath the basket on the opposite end of the court giving me an icy glare. One of his buddies steps over and says something that makes him smirk. He shakes his head and turns his back on me.
I turn to Graham. “I don’t suppose this is optional?”
“Not even a little bit. Go. Press room. Now.”
With an irritated sigh, I turn and walk off the court, feeling Eric and his minions staring daggers at me as I go. It’s all I can do to not turn around and give them the finger. Insecure people annoy me. I manage to keep my cool though and head down the hallway that leads past the dressing rooms, hooking a right and making my way to the press room.
The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back on the floor.
People think a basketball court is a basketball court. That they’re all the same. They’re not. Every rim is different, and the ball comes off it differently. Plus, every arena has its quirks of design—the position of the lights, the seats, even something like the position of the scoreboard varies from venue to venue—and you have to account for how all those quirks are going to affect your shot. Which means I need all the practice time on the floor I can get. Which also means I don’t have time for this silly shit.
I open the door and step into the press room, ready to tell the beat writer I can give him five minutes. The words die on my lips and I freeze in place, half in the room, half in the hallway, my hand on the doorknob. My heart stutters drunkenly, and I feel a warmth that starts in the pit of my belly and quickly spreads through every cell in my body.
My cock twitches and starts to thicken, and I have to tear my eyes away from her and fight every urge flowing through my body to keep from getting rock-hard in front of her.
“Ben Givens,” she says with a smile that lights up the entire room. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you.”
Her voice pours into my ears sweeter than honey. Her toned and shapely legs look a lot longer than somebody who stands just five-three, and her rich auburn hair contrasts nicely with her cool, milky-white complexion. She’s young, with a thin waist, and full breasts, and looks at me with eyes that sparkle like polished emeralds. She’s an absolute stunner.
“You’re the beat writer?” I ask.
Her laughter is soft and musical. “You seem surprised.”
“I am,” I tell her. “You look like you’re barely out of high school.”
“My mother passed on some good genes. I’ve been with the paper for a couple of years now, but this is my first season on the LA beat.”
“Oh,” I say stupidly.
We stand there, on opposite sides of the room, in silence for several long beats. I’ve never been a Casanova kind of guy, but I’ve never been this awkward around a woman before in my life either. There’s just something about her that has me standing here fighting off a hard-on while staring at her like a horny, idiotic teenage boy as I try to get my bearings.
“So,” she finally says, “did you want to sit down and get this interview started?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Sure.” I walk to the front of the room and take a seat next to her. “Let’s do this.”
2
BAILEY
“So, I like to keep things casual if that’s okay,” I say.
“Casual is good,” he replies.
“Good. Then you can just call me Bailey. Is it okay if I call you Ben?”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
I laugh and tuck a thick strand of hair behind my ear as I look away. His eyes are the first thing that strikes me about Ben Givens. They’re such a light shade of blue, they almost look silver. More than that, they seem able to see right through me. His gaze is intense, and when he looks at me, I feel like Ben is stripping me bare. I’m naturally a guarded person and keep myself behind a high, thick wall. So feeling like Ben can take me apart and see what makes me tick with almost no effort at all is disconcerting, to say the least.
Beyond those eyes, Ben Givens is an amazingly beautiful man. Six-five with sandy blonde hair and a body that looks like it was chiseled from marble by one of the ancient Greek masters. It’s hard to not look at him. We’re sitting with a chair between us as we talk, but even still, I fear he can feel the heat coming off my body. My stomach churns, my mouth is dry, and I feel the warmth growing low in my belly, and try to keep the alarm off my face when the insides of my thighs grow wet and sticky.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to keep the look of mortification off my face. I’ve never had this sort of reaction to a man before. Truth be told, my experience with men is less than zero. I’ve always been too busy with school and now, trying to get my career off the ground, I haven’t had time for them. Or the patience, really. In this industry, I’m surrounded by men all day every day, and it has never fazed me. I’ve been so laser-focused on my goals that men are something I’ve never stopped to consider before.
But something about Ben has sparked something inside of me I never knew existed. I can’t explain it. I don’t even understand it. All I know is that he’s making me feel something I’ve never felt. Just looking into those steely silver-blue eyes is giving me cravings and urges I’ve never experienced. It’s as distracting as it is confounding, and it’s making it incredibly difficult to focus on doing my job.
