Stone

It might be the final possession of the game, and we might be up 28–10, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to give everything I have. For one, I play the game because I fucking love the game. And every second I’m out here is another second that I get to prove—to myself, to the team, to the fans—that I’m in it to win it.

---

“You ready for this?” Savannah asks me as we wind our way through the halls toward what feels like my impending doom.

I’m not sure why this feels different. I’m no stranger to interviews, that’s for damn sure. Thirteen years is a long enough time to have perfected this, getting up in front of people answering random questions about whatever they feel they need to know.

Truth is, I hate this part. The structure, the bureaucracy. I prefer the ad hoc interviews in the locker room, although I hate those, too. But this feels scripted, which doesn’t leave room for emotion. I’ve seen the questions, pretty much know what’s coming. It feels fake to me, and I’m honestly having a hard time with that.

Doesn’t matter that we just won our thirteenth straight game, that the commentators are singing our praises, that the fans are chanting my name even all the way up here in Green Bay, against a team we weren’t favored against. None of that matters because I have to stand in front of these reporters, listen to their questions, and give them something just short of a scripted answer.

As we approach the door, Savannah turns toward me, halting me from moving forward.

She slides her hand down the front of my T-shirt. “You’re gonna be fine.”

I peer down at her, wondering why she’s trying to reassure me. I’ve never had a problem with this.

“I’ve given them the approved questions already, so…”

So? I’m confused. What’s going on here?

Rather than try to figure it out, I nod. “I’m good, Savannah.”

“That makes one of us,” she mumbles beneath her breath, then forces a smile when she looks up at me. “But the sooner we can get this over with, the sooner we can go home.”

Heat consumes me as I process what she’s not saying.

“And when we get home?” I want to hear her say it.

Savannah glances back and forth down the hallway, I assume to ensure no one can hear us. There are people moving about, but no one seems to be paying attention.

“Once we get there,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “we’re gonna go back to my place and resume our activities from last night.”

Admittedly, that should have some of the tension easing from my shoulders, but it doesn’t. And it’s not because I don’t want this woman with every breath I take either.

Rather than argue, I nod my head. It’s all I can do because it’s showtime.

Savannah backs away, then opens the door and leads the way into the room. There are only about five reporters in there, along with a table where I’m supposed to sit, the Dallas Wranglers logo on the backdrop behind it.

It’s not the number of reporters, that I notice first. It’s the one reporter.

Luke Devereaux.

The asshole of the sports world. The man is known for coming up with the most absurd bullshit. He’s accused players of having relationships with various fans merely because he likes to cause problems. He’s been known to claim to have seen players in compromising positions. Once, he even accused a popular running back of having an affair despite the fact said player had been on his honeymoon at the time of the occurrence.

I glance back at Savannah.

Why the hell would she let this asshole into this room?

I’m not even sure he can be called a sports reporter. The fat bastard doesn’t know the difference between a passing game and a running game.

Asshole.

Taking a deep breath, I move toward the table then pretty much fall into the chair. Every ounce of triumph I felt earlier is now overwhelmed by pure anger.

“Good game out there today,” one reporter says.

“Fantastic game,” another clarifies.

I’m not the only one who notices that their eyes are darting over to Devereaux. Everyone is probably waiting for the bomb he’s going to drop. I think they’re trying to ease my tension, but it doesn’t help. My fucking hands are shaking as I anticipate what this smug asshole is going to say to ruin my otherwise perfect fucking day.

I nod. “Yeah. It was.”

“We can get underway,” Savannah says, nodding toward the reporter closest to me.

The young man smiles. “How has it been working with such a young team this year, Stone? We’ve watched Aaron Andrews restructure for the past couple of years, and until you, he’s been going for green players in an effort to produce a winning team. It looks as though you’re utilizing Snyder more and more often. Is there a reason for that?”

I ignore all the previous questions and comments and aim for the last one. “Snyder’s gaining yards and as long as he continues to do that, I’ll continue to utilize him,” I tell him, grabbing the bottle of water on the table. “He’s good and I can only see him getting better.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Savannah nodding her head.

Then Devereaux speaks up. “The last time you were in Green Bay, the outcome wasn’t anywhere close to this. If I recall correctly, the score was almost reversed. Is that what you were expecting when you went out on that field today?”

What the fuck?

“If you recall?” I counter, pinning Devereaux with a stare. “Did you not do your homework before you showed up here today?” I pause for effect. “Because the last time I was in Green Bay was a month and a half ago and if I recall we won that game by a touchdown.”

Devereaux shrugs like he doesn’t really give a shit.

Not that I’m completely taken aback. Devereaux is a complete and total douchebag, who enjoys nothing more than nailing every player he possibly can. At least for now he’s keeping it game related.

I glance over at Savannah, but she gives a slight shrug.

“Were you expecting something more this time?” he tacks on.

“Why would I expect more?” I counter, staring back at Devereaux. “Why would you even ask me something like that?”

Savannah is shaking her head frantically, but I ignore her.

“When I walked out on that field tonight,” I tell him, “I didn’t have any expectations other than playing the best game that I could. I was thinking about the present, about the team, about winning.”

“And that wasn’t your same thought process back then?” Luke’s tone drips with condescension. “Can you tell us what else you were doing while you were here in Green Bay? Do you have another ritual that you perform in order to get ready for a game?” His beady eyes dart over to Savannah and then back to me.

Fucking hell. I can only hope that he doesn’t make accusations about me and Savannah. I wouldn’t put it past him to have been stalking me from the shadows.

“Really?” I glance from face to face. “Is that why we’re here? To find out what’s going on in my personal life?” I peer over at Savannah. “What the hell is going on?”

“We were told this was a getting-to-know-the-real-Jason-Stone interview,” Devereaux declares. “I’m just trying to give the fans what they want. And they’re curious”—his gaze slides over to Savannah once more—“what you do when you’re not on the field.”

I can’t make sense of the line of questioning. How the hell did this get off track so fucking early? Why aren’t they asking me about passing yards or the percentage of pass completions? Instead, Devereaux is leading this thing, asking me something as stupid as what I’m doing in my spare time?

Based on the way he’s looking at Savannah, I can’t help but think he knows something.

Another reporter raises his hand.

I instantly nod, signaling him to go.

“Stone, is it true that you’re still intending to retire next year?”

Okay, so I know that wasn’t on the list of approved questions. At least not the version I’ve got.

“As of right now, I’m not thinking about next year,” I tell him truthfully.

“But you’ve clearly stated you intend to retire,” Devereaux adds. “Is there another reason you might consider remaining with the Wranglers? Are they currently courting you?”

I glare at him, but his eyes dance over to Savannah once again, a smirk on his ugly face.

Another reporter raises his hand and I nod his way.

“The Wranglers’ fans are desperate for a divisional championship win this year, not to mention a Super Bowl win. People are starting to say that you’ll be the one to take the Wranglers all the way. How does that make you feel?”

I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to say to that. I glance over at Savannah to see she’s smiling at me.

Then all eyes are on me and no one is saying anything. I’m at a loss for words because I’m still caught up in Devereaux’s accusations. The anger is boiling and although the last question was something that deserves my attention, I can’t seem to put together words when I want to punch Devereaux right in the fucking mouth.

Savannah motions to the guy with the camera. She signals for him to shut it off. He does, then lowers it.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to cut this one short,” Savannah says, addressing the reporters. “The team played a phenomenal game today. As you can understand, Stone’s still trying to get his bearings after this one.” Her smile is bright. “And I’m sorry we don’t have much for you right now, but I do want to be the first to invite you to the Wranglers’ stadium next week for an all-access pass to Stone’s meet and greet with one of the local elementary schools. If you’re interested, leave me your card and I’ll be sure to send you all the details.”

“Except you,” I say, pointing to Devereaux. “You’re not fucking invited.” I don’t give a shit if they get that on film either. I’m merely saying what the majority of players in the league haven’t yet. No one wants Devereaux breathing down their neck because he causes nothing but problems.

Shoving my chair back, I don’t even flinch when it crashes to the floor.

All eyes are once again on me, but I barely notice as I turn toward the door. Savannah calls out my name, but I ignore her, leaving her behind to deal with the reporters who are lining up to hand her their cards.

I’m halfway down the hall when I hear her calling after me.

I spin around to face her, my anger making my muscles tense, my hands clenching into fists.

“What?” I snap.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says quickly.

“About what? About setting me up? About putting the biggest douchebag front and center and giving him free rein to piss me off?”

She shakes her head. “He wasn’t approved to be there.”

“But you didn’t think to check that out before you marched me in there?”

“I—”

“You know what? No. I don’t want to hear your fucking apologies. You set me up to fail in there, Savannah. And I don’t fucking appreciate it.”

With that, I turn and walk away.

And no, it doesn’t make me feel any fucking better.

Savannah

Okay, so that did not go at all like I’d planned for it to.

Not even remotely close.

For one, Luke Devereaux should’ve never been allowed in the room. As to how he got there, I don’t know, but I fully intend to find out. Unfortunately, that won’t happen tonight because I have to catch a plane back to Dallas and pray that my father doesn’t get wind of this before I have a chance to explain.

Walking Stone directly into the lion’s den was definitely not how I should’ve handled things. I wouldn’t even blame him if he never trusts me again. Which means I’m going to have to try a different tactic going forward. I’m just not sure what that is yet.

For now, I have no choice but to let him walk away. I’m not helping matters by trying to talk to him when he’s clearly pissed. Thankfully, my father wasn’t there to see it. I can imagine the ass reaming I would’ve received and it’s not pretty. As it is, there were cameras, and everyone knows that ratings are based on drama and Devereaux’s accusations and Stone’s defensiveness provided enough for a weekly segment. However, that’s something else I’ll have to deal with later.

As I watch Stone walking away, I feel a strange tightening in my chest. When he was being hammered by Devereaux, it took everything in me not to intervene. But if I had done that, I would’ve been giving the smug asshole exactly what he was after. I can’t help but think he’s onto something. That he knows about me and Stone. I don’t know how he would, but I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to have bugged Stone’s hotel room.

The thought makes me want to throw up.

What if he does know?

What if he saw me leaving Stone’s room before dawn this morning?

Shit.

I start walking, keeping a safe distance behind Stone. I don’t want him to turn his anger on me, although I deserve it. I don’t think he’s pissed at me personally, but then again, I could be dead wrong on that. I would offer to find him on the plane, but I truly think he’s going to want some time to himself. I can’t say that I blame him. For one, that damn reporter was a complete and total dickhead.

It’s my own damn fault. I knew exactly what he was capable of, and the second I saw him, I should’ve had his ass booted out of the room. However, I had held out hope, thinking maybe the others could drive the interview, curtail Devereaux’s nastiness. Honestly, I hadn’t realized it would be that bad.

Now I simply need to figure out how to do damage control.

Good thing I’ve got several hours before we’re back in Dallas and I have to plan my next step.

“Miss Andrews?”

I turn, forcing a smile on my face, only for it to drop when I see Devereaux approaching me.

“May I ask you a few questions?”

I shake my head. “They’ll have to wait until we’re back in Dallas, Mr. Devereaux.” I’m attempting to be polite.

“This will only take a second.”

“I’m sorry,” I say before turning to walk away. “I have no comment at this time.”

---

By the time we land and I get in the car my father ordered to take me home, I have yet to come up with anything to fix the problems I’ve caused. Worse than that, Stone bolted as soon as the team plane touched down, and I don’t have a clue what to think about that.

I know I should try texting him, but I’m a little peeved that he would ditch me the way he did without saying a word. Sure, I get that he’s pissed. But we’re adults. Shouldn’t we be able to talk through this?

Not like I’m going to call him up and ask him that. I know what’s going on. He’s pissed because he feels as though I set him up, and he had no clue how to handle it. I don’t really blame him, I guess.

And this is exactly the reason that having sex with him was the wrong decision. I knew better. Not because it wasn’t worth the fabulous orgasms. That was the best part. However, at this point, I don’t know how to fix this for him and on top of that, things are going to be awkward because we slept together.

“Way to fuck it all up, Andrews,” I mutter as I’m letting myself into my townhouse.

I flip on the lights as I go, and I realize how lonely the place is. I guess spending so much time with Stone has left me wanting something more than I had before he was planted in my path.

Not like I won’t get over it though. I have spent more than my fair share of time alone and it has never bothered me before. I have plenty to keep my mind occupied.

Then again, I may have to lock up my cellphone and throw away the key because as I glance down at it, once again I’m tempted to text Stone.

Perhaps I should sleep on it tonight.

And tomorrow…

Shit.

I don’t even know what to do about tomorrow.