I hate professional athletes.

That’s maybe an overstatement. I mean, I make my money off the guys. I went into sports journalism because I love sports, plain and simple. I played lacrosse in high school and a little soccer in college before I decided to quit to focus on my studies. Well, I also wasn’t starting, but whatever.

When they’re on the field, athletes are amazing. They’re graceful, incredible. They can do things I never thought possible and make it look totally easy. I fell in love with sports while watching Sunday night football with my dad when I was a little girl, and I just couldn’t shake the magic I felt back then.

Now though, I realize something important.

Athletes are a bunch of cocky jock assholes.

It’s just the truth. As much as I want to deny it, they’re all the same. I mean, some of them are worse than others. Sean isn’t so bad, as far as athletes go. He’s arrogant, but at least he’s not obnoxious like Felix.

Still, I can’t get involved. No, I won’t get involved. I don’t care that Sean’s tall, handsome, intelligent, funny, exciting, and kind. I don’t care if he ticks off all my boxes and sometimes, alone in my bed at night, I think about him when I slip my hand down my panties to relieve a little stress.

I don’t care. I can’t get involved.

I just won’t do it.

It was tempting when he asked me out. I mean, I could easily just say yes and see how it goes. There’s no harm in that, right?

But I can already hear the rumors. I’m a woman in a male-dominated field. If I get involved with an athlete, especially the QB of the team I’m assigned to cover, I’ll never hear the end of it.

I know what they’ll say. I’ll be called a slut, a whore, and worse. They’ll say I’m just fucking him to get a better story. It won’t matter if I’m really into him, if we get married and have a million babies.

I’ll always be the whore that gave it up for a story.

I can’t risk that. I want a career in this field, one that’ll last for more than a season or two. I want to achieve things, and if I let myself fall prey to all this toxic bullshit masculinity, I’m screwed.

So I have to stay away from that cocky jock, no matter what.

I don’t see Sean for the rest of the week, which disappoints me more than I thought it would. I mean, I did kind of reject him, so I figured it would be awkward to run into him again and have to ask him more questions.

Instead, I actually miss him a little bit. Maybe not the cocky attitude, but the joking, the teasing. I don’t laugh with anyone else like I do with him.

That’s an odd thought, actually. Even in my real life outside of sports, nobody makes me laugh like Sean does.

It’s not unusual that I don’t see him. Nobody gets to talk to Sean all week. Teams love to keep their franchise QB away from the spotlight as much as possible. I don’t know why, probably to keep them all mysterious or whatever. Coaches always say it’s to keep the QB concentrating on the game ahead, but that’s bullshit.

At any rate, I go into Sunday anticipating a great game, and Sean gives me one. They come back during the last quarter to win by a field goal in a really dramatic moment.

When it’s over, reporters stream onto the field, shoving cameras and microphones into players’ faces. I try and find Sean, but can’t spot him through the sea of burly assholes.

Instead, I spot Felix, and make a beeline toward him.

He grins as I approach. “There’s my girl,” he says as I hold up my microphone.

“Hi, Felix,” I say. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“Give it to me, girl.”

We run through a pretty typical interview. Felix can be pretty charming when he wants to be and he really seems to understand how the media game is played. His answers are short and sweet but show a little personality.

When we’re done, he leans in toward me. “So, you looking for your boy?”

“My boy?”

“Sure, Sean’s around here somewhere.” He winks at me. “Gonna go home with him again?”

“Home with him… again?”

“Don’t worry, girl,” he says, laughing. “It doesn’t matter to me who you hang around with, you know? I’m just saying, Sean’s cool and all, but you’re missing out.”

“Missing out?” I feel like I’m missing out right now. What the hell is he talking about?

“If only you came home with me, you’d know how it really goes.” He winks and turns to leave.

“Wait! I went home with Sean?”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” He laughs. “Although it’s not much of a secret since the whole locker room knows.” He walks away without another word, getting sucked into another media interview.

I’m left standing there on the field, feeling completely alone.

What just happened? I never went home with Sean, hell, I even turned him down. I never hooked up with anyone on the team.

And now there’s a rumor going around, saying that I did?

I don’t understand. I don’t know who would do something like this…

Unless Sean did it to get back at me.

I clench my jaw.

That fucking asshole. He spread a rumor about sleeping with me, all because I turned him down. And here I am feeling bad about it.

What a bastard. What a cocky asshole bastard.

I want to scream at him, shout in his face. I can’t, though, and I know it. That would ruin my career faster than anything else.

Faster than actually sleeping with him.

That’s what gets me the most. Even when I do the right thing, I still get screwed. If the whole locker room knows about this rumor, that means everyone in the freaking industry is going to know sooner or later. These things never, ever stay secret.

That bastard. I’m going to get so much shit for this.

And I don’t know what to do. I could deny it, but would that change anything? People are going to assume I did it and I’m just trying to cover my tracks or something.

No matter what I say, I’m screwed.

And I never even got screwed.