AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Pretty good. Just working, the usual. Um?—"
“Right. It’s nice to see you again.” He looks away.
Already, I am losing his attention. I need it.
I need him to pay attention to me for an hour or two.
I take a step toward him, my mind already spinning questions I want to ask. I think of the stories I need to coax from those all-too-knowing eyes. But first, I need an 'in', something beyond the formalities of mutual acquaintances.
"Didn't think you'd make it. The season keeping you busy?"
He turns fully, attention honed in on me like a spotlight. "It has its ups and downs. But I never miss an opportunity for good company... and great drinks."
"Ah, then you're in luck. Cole's been bragging about the vintage of his wine." I flash him a conspiratorial grin and sashay closer, close enough to breathe in his cologne, a mix of cedarwood and something else, distinctly him. "Though, between you and me, I think he's just showing off."
"Wouldn't put it past him," Rex laughs, the sound rich and inviting. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, and he flicks it back with a practiced charm. "You know, I could use a guide. Someone to navigate me through the perilous waters of Cole's wine selection."
"Perilous waters? Please, consider me your personal lifeguard." I offer a hand with mock solemnity, my fingers brushing against his. Electricity sparks—unexpected, thrilling.
"Is that so?" His eyes twinkle with amusement, and he takes a step closer, entering my personal space as if he belongs there. "Hope you're certified."
"Only the best for the Bennett-Taylors." I keep the tone light, playful. I'm threading a needle here, weaving between flirtation and professional curiosity.
I interviewed Rex for a brief piece about the trades his team made earlier this year. But I need to go deeper on him.
Rex is a treasure trove, just waiting to happen. This is the longform story I've been waiting for. It’s a chance to prove I can handle more than the fluffy stuff I’ve been writing lately. But damn if Rex isn't making it hard to focus.
"Good to know." He leans in, lowering his voice, and the crowd fades into a blur. "Because, Birdie, when it comes to navigating uncharted territory, I prefer someone who's not afraid to dive into deep waters."
Oh, this man is trouble with a capital T. But as I meet his gaze, feeling the magnetic pull of his presence, I can't deny it—I'm tempted to swim in those depths, reporter or not.
Rex's response comes with a lopsided grin, one that tells me he's game for the banter. "I've been told I have that effect on people," he says, leaning against the mahogany bar with an ease that speaks of countless hours spent in gyms and on fields. "Can't say I mind it when the outcome looks like you."
"Flattery will get you everywhere—or nowhere fast," I retort, sipping my drink to hide the flush I feel creeping up my neck. He's good, I'll give him that. And not just on the field.
"Let's aim for somewhere in the middle then." His eyes, a deep shade of brown, lock onto mine, and there's a challenge there, something that goes beyond casual flirting. It's like he's trying to read the plays before they're called, and I wonder if this is how he sizes up his opponents.
"Middle ground sounds safe," I concede, feeling like we are two players assessing each other at the start of a game. "You never know what you might find there."
"Exactly," he nods, and the conversation shifts, like we've silently agreed to drop the pretense and actually talk.
"Tell me, Rex, aside from dodging overzealous fans and hitting home runs, what gets you out of bed in the morning?" The question is bold, maybe too personal, but I want to see beneath the exterior—the man behind the stats.
"Sunrises," he answers without missing a beat. "There's nothing quite like the silence of the world before it wakes up. Plus, it reminds me that I've got another day to do something great."
"Sunrises," I echo, surprised by the poetic note in his voice. My mom would call that a sign of a soul that appreciates the calm before the storm, a sharp contrast to my dad's all-consuming blaze that left us more than once in the ashes.
"Ever tried capturing one on camera?" I ask, intrigued despite myself.
"Every chance I get." Rex pulls out his phone, swiping through photos until he finds a collection of dawn's early light captured in hues of gold and pink. "Not bad, huh?"
"Definitely not what I expected from the Atlanta Kings' notorious slugger," I admit, my voice softening. There's a vulnerability in sharing this side of himself, and it's as disarming as it is endearing.
"Life's more than baseball," he says, pocketing his phone. "What about you, Birdie? What drives you when the alarm goes off?"
"Stories," I reply, the word slipping out with a certainty that roots me to the spot. "There's something about unraveling the threads of someone's narrative, finding the truth amidst the noise."
"Ah, the intrepid reporter," he teases gently, though his gaze is thoughtful. "Seeking out the stories that need to be told."
