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Cut back to Lauren:
Lauren: That video started appearing on the internet around 6 pm this evening and the news organizations around the country have been abuzz with activity.
Larry: That's right Pamela. It's important to remember that by itself, this isn't that damning. It's not like Colt Stackford has a wife and kids. It's not like Julianna Heaton is breaking up any marriage. But...
Lauren: What's the but?
Larry: But, taken into consideration that it clearly indicates that Colt was in an intimate encounter with Julianna and prior to Sunday's game the gossip columns were ablaze with the drone video of Julianna and Ethan Blake, this one is going to do more than turn a few heads.
Lauren: What's wrong with a woman going out and sowing some wild oats of her own though, Larry?
Larry: There's nothing wrong with that. But from an image perspective, if Julianna Heaton were my client today, I'd be telling her that she is going to have an image problem with the general media. It's ironic that the wider population may excuse her sexual proclivities, but the media is going to latch onto this like it's a wild hyena and not let go until the next story breaks.
Lauren: Julianna didn't look like she was worried there much about anything, did it? I mean, she seems to have rushed to the door to say goodbye before he left. It’s almost as if she’s fighting the urge to care for him.
Larry: It actually didn't at all. And I have to hand it to her, she's always been a ball-buster. Wait, can I say ball-buster on TV?
Lauren (rolling her eyes): You just did. But that's beyond the point. What would you advise her to do?
Larry: I'd advise her to send put me on special retainer because the metaphorical poo is going to start hitting the fan. And not just for her, but quite possible for Colt and Ethan. Both having been seen with her in just a matter of a few days. Can you imagine with anyone else, but with these two, and their intense rivalry over the last decade and half, what kind of story that makes for our scandal-obsessed media? They might start running polls on CNN as to which man the public prefers her to be with. It's a foregone conclusion that for the next several news cycle's Julianna, Colt, and Ethan may have to move into convents and monasteries if they want any private life to remain.
Lauren: And there you have it - from the man who was responsible for rescuing Prince Sin from his legal troubles. Thank you, Larry Summers.
Stay tuned for our next segment, analyzing the lace in the panties that Julianna handed to Colt Stackford. Is the Queen of the NFL shopping at La Perla or Victoria's Secret? And then afterwards, have you joined the hottest new author, Alexis Angel’s mailing list yet? You may want to when you find out what she has cooked up for her readers.
Cut to commercial.
Ethan
"Now you've really lost your fucking mind," Colt says, anger flashing in his eyes. "I got that game ball for being the MVP, and I think you're forgetting that." I watched him as he spoke. Yes, that's Colt for you. Some things never change. It's annoying how arrogant he can be. He is blinded by pride, but I'm not about to let this one go.
"So my three sacks don't count?" I ask. "You played well in that game, don't get me wrong—but Julianna gave you that ball to even the score."
"What fucking score?"
"Come on. You know as well as I do. I knew you could be thick headed, but I thought you were smarter than this. Do I really have to spell it out for you?" I asked.
We were standing in the New York Nailers' luxury skybox. Besides Colt's raised voice, the room was especially quiet. The windows overlooked an empty football field, and the recessed lighting in the ceilings cast an almost muted orange glow, making the room feel even more hushed. During game days, this room was packed with high roller spectators vying for a good seat, but today, Colt and I had the room just to ourselves. After practice on most days, they put out a spread for the players. I usually skip it – but decided to stop in today towards the end. That’s when I ran into Colt. And one thing led to another, like it always does with us, and here we are.
Two large, round mahogany tables sat in the center, topped with a spread of food—an assortment of fruit, soft cheeses that looked like brie and camembert, toasted French breads, and thinly sliced prosciutto—sliced so thin they were almost see through. I grabbed a slice of the cured ham, balanced it on top of a hard piece of bread, and took a bite. The crunch of the bread was louder than I had expected. I chewed carefully before responding to Colt.
"She's the owner of this franchise. Don't you think she's trying to keep things fair?" I ask. It's clear to me that I'll never be able to get through to Colt. I'd like to hit him. I really would. I have an overwhelming urge to knock some sense into him, but I'm trying to take the high road. I can't do anything that would jeopardize my chances of making it on this team. I'm not going to let him bring me down. I take a sip of water to try to quell the fiery rage building inside of me.
"You're fucking jealous, Ethan. I can see it written all over your face. You can't keep riding my coattails. You've done it long enough—both on and off the field."
It was a good thing I drank that water. Now I really wanted to hit him. I had to blink back the heat that was building behind my eyes. I balled my fists almost involuntarily.
"Why do you care so much?" I ask through gritted teeth. "You can have any girl—and you do! You've slept with just about every woman from here to Miami to Los Angeles and every city in between, so why her?"
"She's a good fuck, what can I say,” Colt says this with a casual shrug of his shoulders, but I can read the forced indifference in his body language.
"You're a bastard. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I have a deep connection with this woman—that I might actually love her?"
Colt laughs. "Are you fucking kidding me, Ethan? What is this, elementary school? You think you have a connection with every woman who so much as smiles at you. You're more naïve than I thought. She's way too much woman for you. Besides, with the way we fucked, there's no way you have the kind of connection with her that you think you do. You should have heard her scream."
That was it. I throw my bottle of water to the ground, and a few drops hit Colt in the face. I advance closer to him, my heart thumping in my chest. Why do I keep letting Colt Stackford get under my skin like this?
"Don't talk about her like that!” I growl. “You want to know something? You're so mixed up, I almost feel sorry for you. A grown man like you doesn't even know the difference between sex and love."
