Catarina

According to YouTube, the video has over two million hits.

That means two million pairs of eyeballs have watched Barrett Fox unravel on live TV. I heard about the incident, but I never actually watched it. When the office was atwitter about what had gone down on the beloved Ohio State Buckeyes field, I mostly ignored it.

I don’t watch football. I don’t particularly like football though I can honestly say I don’t have a weighted opinion either way.

The reason for my pulling up a video marking the beginning and end of Fox’s field reporting career is simple. Research.

On the sideline, Fox is holding a microphone and wearing a set of headphones. He speaks to the guys in the booth, excitement lighting those impossibly blue eyes.

“That was unbelievable,” he says over the roar of the crowd. “That touchdown brought us a much needed tie—”

Then a whistle blows and a referee waves her hands over her head. Yes, her head. The recent addition of female refs in college ball is likely the very ruling that caused Barrett to lose his beloved job. Had she had a pair of balls he might have treated her with the respect she deserved.

The ref makes a series of hand gestures and then the men in the booth let me know what it meant. She called OSU’s quarterback out at the two-yard line.

“Out of bounds! No way,” one of the older sportscasters in the booth comments. “Barrett, you’re down there. What did you see?”

The camera snaps back to Barrett, who’s face is nearly as red as his hair. His brow is creased, his mouth pulled into an unruly frown.

“I saw a touchdown, Bob.” A tremor of anger lines his voice. I have a visceral reaction as adrenaline shoots down my arms in anticipation. I know what happens next, but I can’t look away.

The female ref walks to the sidelines and Barrett crowds her. “Are you blind, honey? Or PMSing? Did your tits block your vision? It’s obvious to all of us that it was a motherfucking touchdown!”

That’s it. His mic is cut, but Barrett’s still yelling. He doesn’t get physical, but the damage is done. The ref is giving him a few choice words as well, her face equally creased with anger.

And that, my friends, was that.

There’s an awkward throwback to our boys in the booth, who attempt to pick up where Fox left off (minus the F-bomb) and they change the subject as quickly as possible.

That’s where the video ends. I sit back in my chair and pluck my earbuds out, tossing them on the desk.

“Not my finest hour,” Barrett says from behind me, and even though I don’t mean to, I jump in my chair.

“Seriously! You need a bell.”

He sits on the corner of my desk, legs spread, hands linked between them.

“Get off my desk.”

“What’d you come up with?” he asks.

I shove his thigh in a futile attempt to move him. His leg is like a steel beam. Rock solid. I snatch my hand back and grimace.

“Harder spots on me than my leg, honey.” He grins like a jackass.

I gesture to my laptop. “I suppose you’re proud of that tirade you delivered on that poor woman? Do you have a lick of manners?”

“Poor woman?” One of his reddish eyebrows arches high on his forehead. “Santiago could best me in arm wrestling. She’s a monster. She’s also blind as a fucking bat if she thought Looser was out at the two. I was standing there, and he was in, and for the record, the Bucks lost that game thanks to her shitty call.”

“She was also mailed countless boxes of tampons from fans and had to be transferred after that incident. Don’t you take responsibility for that?”

“No.” He shrugs.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“If she was a dude I’d have insulted his balls. Or his tiny dick.”

Charming.

“You should at least apologize to her.”

“Did.” He stands from my desk and starts to walk away.

“What do you mean you did? You apologized to Santiago?” That, I’d never heard.

“Yeah. I asked her to sit down with me and talk. I brought her a bouquet.”

Oh. Well, that is surprising.

Then he adds, “Of tampons” with another grin and I’m back to wondering what penance I’m serving getting stuck with this caveman for the better part of my summer.

---

In Mia’s office later that week, I’m in one of the chairs opposite her desk and Barrett is in the other. She’s reviewing our lists of date ideas and nodding her way through mine. I smile when she gives me a well-earned “Nice choices, Catarina.”

I shoot a smug glance over to my cohort, whose about to be schooled on how to work at a real job. I saw his list. It was ridiculous. I also caught a few typos I helpfully pointed out. My perfectionism wouldn’t allow me to overlook them.

Mia reviews his choices and I watch her face carefully. A smile spreads her lips and then she lets out a loud, appreciative “Ha! I love it!”

She’s shaking her head with approval when she removes her glasses.

“This is going to be fantastic. Both of you will be in the other’s element but out of your own. It’s brilliant. Is there any way I can talk you into some platonic PDA? Hold hands. Walk close. Lay your head on his shoulder?”

Since she’s directing that to me, I answer with, “Platonic would imply we were friends.” I slice Barrett with a look. “I bet Fox can’t even spell the word platonic.”

He flinches—just the slightest pull of his mouth and narrowing of his eyes—before recovering. What a wilting lily. So he had a few typos. Who cares? It happened to me when I first started, and still does on occasion.

“Damn. I was hoping I could leak a few photos to Twitter of you two being cozy,” Mia says. “You could explain to your fella it’s for the story. North seems reasonable.”

“North?” Barrett asks with a token amount of derision. “You’re dating a guy named after a direction?”

“I’m dating a guy named after his great grandfather who was a duke.”

Idiot.

“Since you were reading up on cheaters and lack of heat in the bedroom, I question if you’re dating him at all.” Barrett crosses his leg at the ankle over one thick thigh. The hand resting on that thigh boasts an expensive, stylish watch.

He’s arrogant and disgusting and annoyingly good looking. Shouldn’t he be better suited to a hoodie and jeans? What gives him the right to wear trousers and button-downs with such ease?

“Perfect. Perfect,” Mia says. Barrett and I tear our eyes off each other to regard my boss, who is smiling with dollar signs in her eyes. “You two are delightful. Now get out. I have a conference call.”

Barrett and I leave Mia’s office, and I do him the courtesy of waiting until the door is shut behind me to lay into him.

“Do not bring up my love life in this office ever again, Fox.”

“Honey, for the next few months I am your love life. Besides, you were the one researching your own love life in this office, Kitty Cat. I happened to notice. I’m a noticer.”

“That’s not a word.”

“Sure, it is. I just said it.”

I growl my frustration and pivot on a heel, but I feel him behind me.

“Hang on.” He catches me as I storm for my desk and when we’re behind my one privacy wall he catches my upper arm and turns me to face him. “I’m sorry.”

I slide a look at his hand and he pulls back, holding both palms out in front of him in “I surrender” fashion.

“I’m sorry I gave you shit about your boyfriend, West.” I roll my eyes and he corrects with, “I mean South. Southwest?”

“Get out of my cubicle.” It’s a weak plea. He’s exhausting.

“North. I’m sorry I insulted your relationship with North.” He lowers himself onto the corner of my desk again and folds his hands together, giving me a look that’s almost…caring.

Weird.

“If you seriously think he’s cheating on you, you owe it to yourself to kick him in the balls. You’re too beautiful and too intelligent to put up with shit like that from any guy.”

Since I don’t know what to do with what might have been a compliment intermingled with sage advice, I say, “I put up with shit from you. Should I not?”

He gestures to himself. “I’m your job, honey. You have to put up with me. You get paid to put up with me. But unless you’re North’s hired honey, I suggest you spell out what you allow and what you won’t. Guys like that, you give them an inch they take all one hundred yards.”

I blink and shake my head to realign my thoughts. I never said North was cheating or that we were having problems, even though we are—that was something my temporary co-worker assumed.

“Why do you have this job anyway? Can’t you retire on your NFL paychecks?”

“If I expect to have a microphone in hand again in the future, it’s going to take some really good press.” He dips his chin. “You’re good for my rep, Kitty Cat.”

I snort. “Well. They don’t pay me enough to put up with you, but I’m a professional. You’d do well to remember—whatever your reasoning—that this is your job, too. Next time you set fingers to keyboard, take the time to review your shoddy spelling before you get us both fired.”

I wait for the quip. The smartass remark. None comes. He slides off my desk and walks to his cubicle where he shuts his laptop, stuffs it in a black leather shoulder bag, and…leaves.

I tell myself he deserved it. That being kind to someone who is unkind to almost everyone is a waste of time.

---

I feel badly about my assessment on and off throughout the day. Barrett may behave like a cocky ass, but “unkind” didn’t exactly describe him.