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“Bailey?”
His deep, sultry voice saying my name sends goosebumps up my arms and makes that fire burning between my thighs that much hotter. But it also snaps me out of my head and back to the moment. I give him a small smile.
“Sorry,” I say, giving myself a small shake. “What did you say?”
“I asked where you went to school.”
“Oh. Right,” I reply. “I graduated from USC… the school of journalism.”
“A local girl, huh?”
“I am.”
“Why sports writing?”
“My family’s big into sports. I guess it’s genetic,” I reply with a shrug. “But I’m too small to play competitively, so, as they say, those who can’t do, write about it.”
“I’m not sure that’s how that saying goes.”
“Close enough.”
His laughter is a deep rumble, like rolling thunder that sends chills along my skin that aren’t at all unpleasant. My panties are soaked through, and I shift in my seat again, uncomfortable as hell.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to get myself back on track, “you’re in LA now. I have to say, the trade that brought you here caught the entire league by surprise. You’re a two-time champion in your prime, led the league in scoring and assists last season. You’re even getting some MVP runs this offseason. What happened in Dallas?”
“You’d have to ask the people who made the trade,” he says as his smile fades. “So, how’d you get on the LA beat?”
“I’m used to being the one who asks the questions.”
He gives me a cocky smile. “I like to think of interviews as give-and-take propositions. You want my time. I want to know more about you.”
“That’s not really how this works?—”
“It works however we say it works. You’ve got to give to get. So… how’d you get on the LA beat?”
I can see him digging his feet in and know he’s not going to give until I do. He’s the first athlete I’ve interviewed who’s more interested in talking about something else than he is in talking about himself. Most are arrogant and love to hear themselves speak—especially about themselves. I’m just thanking God he doesn’t refer to himself in the third person.
“Fine,” I say. “I was in the right place at the right time, I guess. The old beat writer quit suddenly and nobody else wanted it. So, I volunteered.”
“Volunteered?”
A laugh bubbles up out of my throat. “Demanded. Honestly, I had no business demanding anything, let alone a spot on a plush beat like this. But they had no other options, so I had them over a barrel, and they gave it to me.”
“Ballsy. I like it.”
“I guess so. Now, I gave, it’s time to get,” I say. “The trade. It sounds like you were caught as off guard as the rest of us.”
“Honestly? Yeah. I didn’t see it coming.”
“So, there’s no truth to the rumor you asked for a trade?”
“In my experience, there’s usually not a lot of truth in any rumors.”
“That wasn’t really an answer.”
His expression tightens, and his face grows stony. “Why would I demand a trade? I was happy in Dallas. For the most part anyway.”
“Still not really an answer.”
