Awhile later, I wake up, my naked body clinging to Brett’s. He had fallen asleep, too. So much for the ‘quick break.’ Not that I mind. He’s adorable when he sleeps. A peaceful look on his face opposed to the alpha-male expression he has on the field.

I look about the limo for the time. I spot Brett’s phone on the seat. I pick it up to check the time. It’s past three in the morning.

Ugh. I’m going to feel this later.

Then another thought crosses my mind. Brett is dead asleep. And I have his phone in my hands. Time to see what kind of boy Brett truly is. I carefully take his fingertip and press it to the phone, unlocking it.

Typically, if an athlete’s married, he’s got two phones; one for his wife and the other for his personal brothel. He’s got two emails for the same reason. If he goes to an out of town game, his woman of whatever city he’s visiting is in the hotel lobby waiting for him after the game. But Brett isn’t married. So, he doesn’t need a second phone or email. All his contacts from other cities would be on his phone. I go through his texts. There’s one from a woman named Dana back in Cleveland.

Essentials? What are essentials for Brett Brock? I continue to read and realize that Dana is his mother. She sent him a package of underwear and cookies. I don’t know if this is a good or bad thing. Naturally, I’m hoping that he’s not seeing someone else. But I’m praying he’s not a scarred and insecure alpha-male with mommy issues. Tristan had mommy issues. She abandoned him when he was young. When we first started seeing each other, he constantly wanted me to look after him; make him his stupid power shakes, go to all his games. At one point, he suggested I give up my career, so I could ‘emotionally support him’ as he put it. It was brutal. He hadn’t a care in the world that I had busted my ass to get to where I was. I wasn’t going to throw it all away to watch him throw and catch a ball.

I continue to swipe through his texts. There are a few nude photos sent to him from some random girls within the past few days. I had expected this. All athletes have a smorgasbord of women offering their bodies; Brett’s no different. But to my surprise, he doesn’t keep any of these photos and numbers. Nor does he respond. Going back a few days into his texts, I notice there aren’t any nudes sent by fans; he’s deleted them.

If anything, his texts are kind of sad. Many of them are between him and Hal. It’s clear that Brett’s been looking for a big break for some time now, hoping to get traded to another team to be a starting quarterback. He confides in Hal a few times that he feels bad for hoping that Dion will get an injury or become ill, so he can get his chance.

Hal has been trying to get him traded, too. But every time Hal has spoken to other team management, he’s told to get Brett more time on the field. Hal jokes that at least he’s getting paid hundreds of thousands for his ass to warm a bench.

It occurs to me that Hal and Brett have probably texted each other about me not too long ago. I continue to scroll through texts looking for my name. Finally, I come across it.

I continue to look for some more conversations. Then I find a message from Hal, written today.

Brett has been stalking me?! My cheeks flush. But this kind of behavior is not normal. On the other hand, at least I’m not finding phone numbers of porn actresses like I would on Dion’s phone. I continue searching and find out that Brett had dated a supermodel a couple of months ago; Izzy Avery. She was recently on the cover of Vamp magazine. I’ve seen her at a few parties, but didn’t think she was into athletes.

From what I can see, they dated on and off for a year. They had a lot of arguments. He wanted to go public with the relationship, she didn’t. He wanted to go to some of her fashion shows; she didn’t want him there. She explains that if people think they are together, it might ruin her career. She says she wants to appear ‘available’ so designers and agents will work harder for her image. Toward the end of the texts it’s clear that she’s cheated on him a few times to further her career, but she accuses him of doing the same. He vehemently denies this. But Izzy insists that he has been with some model she knows. He tells her he never wants to speak to her again. After that, there’s no messages from Izzy.

I go back to the main menu to check if he has any videos of Izzy. But then, Brett begins to rouse.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asks sleepily as he sees me with his phone.

“Checking the time.” I lock his phone and hand it to him.

He glances down at the time, “Hm, looks like we won’t get much sleep before today’s game against the Storm. Damn it, I got to be at practice in a couple hours. I need to get you home.”

He presses the button opening the window between passenger and driver. As he does, he realizes that the limo driver had parked the car and is now sleeping. “Heath, buddy, wake up!” The limo driver wakes, startled, “Sorry, Brett,” he mutters.

“Where do you live?” Brett asks.

I tell him my address in downtown Manhattan.

“You’re kidding. I live a couple blocks from you.”

I already know this, but pretend I don’t. “Oh good. It won’t be a long drive for you after you drop me off.”

Brett gives Heath the address and Heath starts the car. When we arrive, Brett gives me a soft kiss on the lips, “I’ll give you my number and you can text me once you’re safely in your apartment.”

I save his number to my phone, and he escorts me to the front doors of the building. As we walk, I feel as though someone took a power tool between my legs. It feels so overstimulated it’s numb. Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful and have no regrets.

“Don’t forget to text me,” he says once we reach the door.

“I won’t. Hopefully, I have an interview with you later.” I gaze up at him timidly. “Good luck.”

He gives me one last warm kiss, then walks back to his limo.

Last night was amazing. If someone had told me before Anne and I had gone to Keep a Secret that I would end the night with Brett Brock in the back of a limo, I would have thought they were crazy. What’s more mind-blowing is the fact that he wants to be friends with benefits. I have no problem with that. If anything, having a relationship in my line of work can be damaging. Casual works for me.

As I watch the game from a press room not far from the Blazers’ locker room, I’m filled with anticipation. I want to reward him after. Badly. I want him to go down on me again. Dammit, he had better go down on me. I can’t believe my horniness; it hasn’t been twenty-four hours and I’m as needy as a senior of an all-girls high school.

Thankfully, he plays an incredible game. But despite his best efforts, the game is tied, and they go into sudden death. It’s making me more antsy. Usually, I’d be honing my skills, jotting down questions. But my mind can’t escape the pleasures Brett can give my body. Overtime will only be ten minutes and I know with so much drama going on, I should be checking out my social media for questions. But I’m mesmerized, staring at an HD television in the coroner of the room.

The Storm’s kicker, Will Tyson, is attempting a field goal. Anxiously, I watch with my fingers crossed. He misses. I exhale, relieved. The countdown continues and within the last two minutes of the game, Brett throws a pass into the end zone that was caught by the Blazers’ Gil Thompson. He brings it in for a touchdown. Thank God.

“The Blazers have beat the Storm, despite their recent setbacks.” The announcer cheers. “What a game! What a day for the New York Blazers and Brett Brock!”

I glance down from the screen, happy that Brett has won the game for the team. But then I see a familiar face. “Jade, what are you doing here?” I ask in frustration. “I’m covering most of the Blazers’ home games right now. You told Steve you’d do most of the away games.”

She feigns an innocent simper, batting her fake eyelashes. “Well, the fall meetings weren’t too exciting, so I came back early. Steve said that if I took more opportunities to expand my interview skills, he’d let me do Super Bowl coverage for the network this year.”

“Super Bowl will be mine, Jade. You damn well know the network would rather have an experienced award-winning interviewer at the end of the game. When you have as much experience as I do, then you’ll be considered to cover the biggest interviews of the most important game of the year.”

“Well, like Steve said, maybe you’re a little too old? They’re looking for a younger face.” She tosses her hair back. “Once I get a little more experienced—”

“In what? Sexual favors?” I say, cutting her off. “It’s no secret how you got your job, Jade. Everyone knows you got down on your knees in his office during your interview with him.”

“I’m sure you did the same, Driver. I figure you must know how to suck and fuck a cock for your career to skyrocket the way it did.” She sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

I move closer to her, so my face is inches from hers, “I’m wiser than being somebody’s bitch, Jade.”

She steps back, “I’m still interviewing Brock after you, and I’m sure I’ll interview the Super Bowl MVP, too. You’re going to have to deal with that.”

“Be my guest. But you don’t have the ‘it’ factor, Jade. I watched your interview with Pete Truscott earlier today. I don’t know why I bothered. You’re worse than Bethany. ‘Did you practice hard, Pete?’” I imitate her in a frilly voice. “Yeah, he did.” I sneer. “How the hell do you think he got in the NFL?”

I turn on my heel and head to the locker room, frustrated. Confronting Jade has made me miss the first interview with Brett—or so I thought. Mike, Jax, and I reach the locker room doors, but there are several crews there and no one has gone in. One of the security guards is raising his arms, trying to calm the disgruntled crowd. “Sorry folks, but Coach Dietrick has decided to hold a press conference today. There will be no after game one-on-one interviews.”

Crap. Does this mean I can’t ‘reward’ Brett? Double crap. Jade will probably get in on this.

The security guard further instructs us to head to a hall where they’ll hold the press conference. Mike and Jax groan in frustration, “Alright, we’ll get headed down there,” Jax says.

“Chances are Coach Dietrick is formally announcing that Brett Brock is playing the rest of the season,” I say.

“Got any great questions, Lexi?” asks Jax.

“Do you guys?” Sometimes Jax and Mike do have some good input. But this time they shrug their shoulders.

“Lexi? Are you there?” asks Steve in my earpiece. “What the hell is going on? I’ve got Max and Ryan giving the stupidest sports analysis of the game. They are going in circles waiting on you!”

“Coach Dietrick has decided to hold a press conference.”

“How long do you think before we can get to air?” Steve asks in frustration.

“Go to commercial, Steve. Have Max and Ryan talk about the possibility that Brett Brock might be playing out the rest of the season.” As we enter the press conference hall, I’m startled to see Dion Calloway sitting at the table, next to Brett and Coach Dietrick. Dion looks angry. “Hey, Steve, I think we’re going to have some drama here. Dion Calloway is a speaker at the conference.”

“You’re shitting me? Usually they try to keep injured players from conferences, don’t they?”

I turn to Mike and Jax, “I’m curious of what Dion has to say. Make sure you have a good angle on both Brett and Dion. There’s some tension there.” I talk to Steve again, “I think I’m going to focus more on what is happening with the team and not the success of the game.”

“Sounds good, Lexi,” Steve says. “By the sounds of things, I think that’s what they want to focus on right now.”

In little time, all the crews from different networks get set up and all the hosts put their mics up at the table. The wheels in my head are turning, trying to think of questions that might spark a reaction from Dion. Though he can be hostile toward me after a game, Dion for the most part, has always been collected in front of the camera. It’s a well-practiced act. He’s been making the same speech for the media for ages now. There’s a reason for it; early on in Dion’s career he once reamed out Gillian Atkinson, another host that had worked for EAN. When I first became a journalist, Dion and I had an arrangement—I would ask him the questions we wanted to be asked to create the image he wanted to convey. He came up with a few well-rehearsed answers and he’s been repeating the same things since, trying to keep his temper in check. The network loves it if I can ask a question that works up a little drama. I think I finally have a situation that can get Dion to veer away from his usual script.

“Lexi, are you going to ask a question?” Mike elbows me. “Jade has already asked two.”

“Damn,” I mutter, coming out of my reverie. “What did she ask?”

“Two questions to Coach Dietrick. The first was how severe is Dion’s injury and how long will he be out?”

I’m beyond embarrassed, “What were the answers?”

“They don’t expect Dion to play the rest of the season—it’s that severe.”

I wave my arm in the air, and the team’s public relations agent, Helena Bradshaw points to me, “Yes, Miss Driver?”

“While I don’t expect a detailed answer, where did Mr. Calloway have his injury? Was it during practice or in his day-to-day life?” I watch Dion closely and can see he’s peeved by the question. Coach Dietrick looks sideways at Dion. Brett’s eyebrow has raised—they don’t know how Dion sustained his injury.

“Since it is Dion’s personal matter, I’ll allow him to answer,” says Coach Dietrick.

“I don’t see how it’s anyone’s business, but if you must know, I hurt myself during practice.” Dion folds his arms across his chest.

I can see by the confused look on Brett’s face that isn’t true.

Jade waves her arm in the air again, but she is denied, and I hear another host call out, “Coach Dietrick, with Dion’s injury and Brett Brock taking his place, what concerns do you have for the future of the Blazers?”

Oh, that was a good question. Who was that? It was a voice I had never heard before. My eyes dart about the room, looking for an unfamiliar face. My eyes spot a fresh-faced girl with long wavy black hair. There’s a mix of excitement and nervousness on her face. I glance in her direction. Very good, newbie.

Coach Dietrick takes a moment to reflect on this. There’s no doubt he’s got worries, but how he words it to the press in front of Brett and Dion matters. “While I will always be hoping for a great future for the Blazers, my concerns are with my players. There’s a lot—emotionally—that goes on for us as a team when a star player like Dion Calloway is injured. All the players want to see Brett do well, on the other hand, we all want to see Dion get better.”

Smart answer. I raise my hand again and Helena gives me another go. “Coach Dietrick, while we are on the subject of the future of the Blazers, when do you expect Dion to come back? Will he be able to practice in the off-season?”

Again, Dion is looking perturbed and Coach Dietrick is trying to choose his words carefully, “We haven’t gotten much information on how long this may take. But I can assure you we have the best physical trainers and doctors on it. We do know that this injury will require surgery.”

As soon as he says it, Coach Dietrick knows he shouldn’t have. Dion digs his fingers into his biceps. He is pissed as hell that the sports world now knows of the severity. I’m annoyed by his reaction and roll my eyes. It was going to come out that he would need surgery.

“Alright, enough questions for Coach. How about we move onto our players, Brett and Dion?” Helena’s eyes dart around the room, looking for another question. It’s clear she would like to diffuse the tension.

Jade once again has her hand waving, along with Bethany. Thankfully, the agent points to Bethany.

“Brett Brock, in the past couple of weeks, there’s been many different analyses of how you’ve been playing. Some sports panels are saying you’ve been lucky. What do you have to say to them?”

Brett gives his sexy smile, “Well, time will tell, won’t it?”

All I can think about is how I’ll be missing locker room time with Brett. I start to wonder how I can get the opportunity to reward him without looking desperate.

Jade takes the next question, “Dion, have you been working with Brett to help his game?”

Dion presses his lips together. It’s obvious that the injury is bad enough to keep him off the field, and likely out of practice. Does Jade think he’s mentoring from the sidelines?

“Look, girl, have you been in this conversation? Coach told you all that I’m out. The injury is severe. I’ve been unable to make it to practice.”

Coach Dietrick gives Dion a warning look. Helena points to the new girl again, “Yes, Miss Washington.”

She beams, “Dion, your career and your Christian attitude has been an inspiration to many young athletes out there. But I’m sure they are all wondering how someone like you deals with bumps in the road.”

Awesome. Intelligent questions, looking for inspirational answers. This girl could have a real future here. But Dion pounds his fist to the table, “You’re talking like my career is ending, Shonda.”

The crowd is stunned and Miss Washington—who I gather is Shonda—is tearing up as cameras are abruptly pointed in her direction. Dion you’re such an asshole. Looks like someone is going to have to put him in his place. My hand shoots upward. I’m given the stage again by the agent. “I hardly think that is what Shonda was trying to say,” I say. “I think she is referring to your unshakable belief in God. In times like this, do you think God is trying to teach you something, or are there any biblical quotes that keep you motivated?”

Truth is, I know Dion’s holier-than-thou front is to impress people. I’ve never seen the guy pray before a game or a meal. He is not philanthropic like so many other celebrities that make millions. Brett donates to local hospitals and diabetes despite not having half the salary Dion does.

“The Lord is my light and salvation … whom shall I fear?”

Ugh. How cliché. I question if Dion truly understands the phrase he has quoted or if he’s paying lip service to the millions of football fans that live in the bible belt. I decide to be facetious. Let’s test your knowledge of the bible, since your behavior isn’t Christian. “‘Whom shall you fear?’” I repeat. “Who is this ‘whom’ are your referring to?”

“It’s a phrase, Miss Driver. There is no one,” Dion answers.

“Oh, I thought the ‘whom’ may imply someone specifically. Could you possibly give us more of the verse, so we can understand the context and deeper meaning of what you’re saying?”

There’s an icy silence in the room.

That’s right, asshole. I know you only have a few quotes and numbers memorized to impress your followers.

“Well, unless there are any more questions for the players or Coach,” says the agent. There are a few hands up, but she ignores them. “I guess we are done here.”

I wait until all the other sports hosts get their mics. Then, I walk toward the table to get mine as Mike and Jax finish packing up and make their way to the studio van. Dion squeezes my wrist as I reach out for my mic.

“Ow! Dion!” I squeal. People still in the room turn and watch.

“Dion, that isn’t the way to touch a woman,” Brett says in warning. “Hands off.”

Dion notices all the eyes upon him and releases my wrist. “What the hell was that about, Lexi? What’s your problem?” he asks beneath his breath.

“You had it coming, Dion,” I answer. “Shonda asked a question that you could have answered inspirationally. But you tried to make an ass of her.”

“What should I care about another stupid little sports bitch like her?”

I ignore him and walk away.

“Fuck you, Lexi,” he calls out to me. “You think ‘cause you’re in front of a camera talking about my career that makes you something special?”

“Calm down, Dion.” Brett grips Dion’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the locker room. You need to cool off.”

“You’re getting old, Driver!” Dion yells. “You’re on your way out!”

I turn back around, “Hey, Dion, now that you have Sundays off, think you’ll finally go to church?” I chuckle as I walk out of the room.