Copyright © 2018 by Sierra Sparks;
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Published by Juliana Conners’ .

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Chapter 1

 

I was standing outside the Sea-Eagles’ locker room, nervous as hell.  The Sea-Eagles had pulled off a squeaker to move up in the playoffs; 14 to 13 over the Hawks.  Two birds of prey and only one emerged the victor. 

I was prepping for a stand up shot and checked myself in the monitor.  This gig was too important for me not to make a good impression with the network.  Sports Ring, the newest name in sports channels, promoted two things: sports and the beautiful people who reported on them.

Hey, I’m not full of myself— I’m just 23, with a body that many guys have referred to as “the perfect hourglass figure” and a face that was cute enough to win Ms. Baskin County when I was 17. 

On the monitor, I did my beauty pageant check in my head.  (You can’t do anything that girly in public on this network!)  Legs?  Toned and ready.  My beige skirt was midway between my knees and my butt.  My butt was out there, round, but not so my skirt was strangling it.  (This was a sports segment, not a night at the club.)  Boobs?  Still perky.  I was showing a little cleavage between the blue blazer and sky blue shirt underneath, but not a lot.  This wasn’t Hooters.  Teeth?  White.  Hair?  Black, silky and shoulder length. 

Finally, the face.  Yes, this is my money maker.  I had that girl-next-door look with just a dash of mischievousness.  Plus I had rosy cheeks and dimples.  I mean, I could’ve been one of the Campbell Soup kids if they hired models for that. 

Yes, this was my dream job and thankfully, I just happened to fit the look the network had wanted: attractive, tomboy-ish and curvy. I looked knowledgeable about sports.  That last part was totally optional in this business, with my looks being a lot more important for this gig, but it just so happened I knew tons about sports.  My dad had drilled Sea-Eagles stats in my going back to the 70’s.

Baker, my cameraman, had worked the field for every network.  A consummate camera jockey and freelancer, he had a great eye but the look of Jabba the Hut.  (I loved the guy, but he definitely belonged behind the camera.)  He was 50-something, with a beer gut, an always unshaven gray beard and a sloppy mess of clothes that looked like they spent time in a heap on his apartment floor when he wasn’t wearing or washing them.

Baker had just gotten a new camera from the network.  It was about twice the size of an iPhone.

“Jesus, this thing is small,” he said for about the fiftieth time.  “Back in the day, I developed real muscle tone lifting a camera.  These days, I don’t know whether to shoot with it or download a mobile game on it!”

“I think you can do both with that,” I pointed out.  “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as always,” he replied, while lining up the shot.  “And I mean that both professionally and as a guy who would totally jump your bones if I was 20 years younger.”

“Yeah, right,” I scoffed.  “Baker, as my dad would say, you couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse.”

“Nah, seriously.  I was a looker,” he insisted.  “I used to dress nice when I spent money on clothes.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’d you stop? And where’d you get those clothes you’re weraing?”

“The thrift store was throwing them out.  Can you believe it?”

“Umm, yeah. Totally.”

“And in answer to your first question, there’s no use in playing a part I’ll never get. Okay, the studio’s about to throw it to you.  Ready?”

“Always.”

Baker got quiet and gave me a silent three finger countdown that ended with him pointing towards me. It was his signature move, letting me know it was time to smile and shine.

“Hey, Sea-Eagles fans!  That’s all from Lincoln Financial Field. The final score, Sea-Eagles 14 and Hawks 13.  We saw a lot of amazing plays today.  Jackson Blake found his groove, especially in the second half.  Carey Ellis ran for over 400 yards.  And Kyle Fowler score the game-winning touchdown with just 12 seconds left.  But the big question is: can the Sea-Eagles make it to the Super Bowl?  We’ll find out next week when they play the Miners, right here in their home field!  For Sports Ring, I’m Lexi Aaron.  Back to you in the studio!”

Baker signaled that the segment was over.

“Real nice, Lexi,” he assured.  “You nailed it.  Only one thing missing.”

“What’s that?”

“My shoulder harness!” said Baker, finally realizing.  “You know if I had that, along with this little gizmo.”

“Shoulder harness?  That would be way heavier than the camera!” I pointed out, incredulous.

“I know, but that’s what I’m missing.  The weight.  It’s a shame we don’t have anything else to shoot.”
“Well, let’s go try and get an interview with some of the players,” I suggested.

Baker scoffed at the idea.

“No way,” he insisted.  “Look, kid, I’ve been doing this a long time.  Sports Ring is like a month old.  They never give decent press credentials to a network that new.  There are guys with YouTube shows with better access.”

“C’mon, I’ve talked my way into places,” I said.  “Remember that time I almost got an interview with O’Shea Hayes, the famous running back?”

“You were at the same car wash.  You didn’t even have a camera!”

“Look, if you let me try I’ll wait for you to run back and get your shoulder harness.”

“Dammit, Lexi,” relented Baker.  “But you owe me a beer and a cheese steak after this.”

“Done.  Let’s do it!”

Baker got his shoulder harness and strapped his new camera to it.  It sort of looked like an iPad sticking out of a shoulder pad.  He looked ridiculous, but that was something he was used to.  We reached the first security guard we’d encounter before we could enter the players’ area.

“Hi,” I said to the guard, who had his back turned.  “I’m Lexi Aaron from Sports Ring.  I was wondering if we could get past you?”

The guard turned around and I realized it was a 50-something squat woman with short hair.  Weather-beaten and craggy were the two best adjectives to describe her face.  She didn’t look too pleased to see me and I immediately got the vibe my sexy hair flip wasn’t going to work with her.

“Sorry Sugartits, you’re not on the list,” she said bluntly.

“Emma?” said Baker, astonished.  “It’s me, Adrian Baker.”

Emma squinted at Baker a moment and then a spark of recognition made her smile.

“Holy shit!  Adrian!  How have you been?  It’s been ages!  What are you doing here?”

“I’m a cameraman at Sports Ring now.  For Lexi here.”

“Baker and I go way back,” she explained.  “We used to go to Greatful Dead concerts together.  Those were some times.”

“That’s so sweet you two know each other,” I smiled.

“I guess you wanna get inside,” Emma said to Baker.  “Why not?  You’re going to charm me anyway!”

“C’mon.  You look amazing.  And that’s the truth!”

“Aw, stop it.”

“No, seriously.  We should catch up with beers.”

“Yeah, I know what ‘beers’ means to you!” she smiled, knowingly.  “That’s the old version of ‘Netflix and Chill.’”

“The old version of what?” Baker asked, with a purposefully dumb grin spreading across his face. “There’s only one version of ‘beers’ and that will never change, no matter what these millennials try and tell you.”

“Well, I get off in 20 minutes,” she said, leaning in closer to Baker.  “And maybe we can both get off in 40 back at my place.”

I guess Baker still had some game left in him, after all— thrift store clothes and all.

“Okay, yeah.  We’ll just pop in and get an interview.  You still in that place on Pine Street near Dirty Frank’s?”

“That’s the one.  Go ahead in,” she smiled hungrily.  “I’ll see you later.”

We got inside and I was genuinely impressed with Baker. 

“Wow,” I said.  “You really did have it going on back in the day.”

“I told you,” he laughed.  “You would be putty in my hands back then.”

I laughed too. If anyone heard the kind of banter that Baker and I regularly engaged in, they’d say I should sue him for sexual harassment. But I enjoyed being told I’m beautiful. Is that such a crime? Plus, I knew he was harmless.

“Well, it’s nice that you’ll pretend to take one for the team.”

“Pretend?  Lexi, Emma was hotter than you back in the day,” he assured.  “And she has other talents that, quite frankly, a gentlemen doesn’t discuss in public.  So with that, I’m outta here!”

“Wait!  You got me in and now you’re going to leave?!”

“Lexi, at my age, these offers are few and far between, ya dig?  You’ll be fine.  Take the camera.”

“But I’m going into the locker room.  I don’t want to capture… too much.”

“Are you nuts?  I thought you were going to wait outside.  The team could react very badly to that.  I’m out,” said Baker, taking the camera off the harness and handing it to me.  “Point and shoot.  You’ll do fine.”

“Aw, c’mon.  What about beer and cheese steak?”

Baker started to head back towards Emma with his now empty shoulder harness.

“You keep it.  I’m going to get some of Emma’s cheese steak!”

Now I was alone in the hall outside the locker room, doing my own camera.  I felt like such an amateur at that moment.  I thought about just leaving and forgetting the whole thing.  But then I thought about my dad and what a big sports fan he was and how he’d never pass up an opportunity like this.

“All right, Dad,” I said to myself.  “But if I see a lot of penises today, it’ll be partially your fault.”

I opened the door to the Sea-Eagles’ locker room and it was chaos.  There was a sea of green décor, of course, with images of the mascot everywhere.  The players were in various states of undress.  Most had already gotten out of the shower and were getting dressed, while some were still running around in their football gear.

Admittedly, I was intimidated.  Some of the big time sports reporters were here for Sports Center, Fox Sports, CBS Sports—  even the local newscasters, big names inside of Philadelphia, were here covering the event.  Most of the sports guys were fast talking guys with an amazing gift to keep players talking about the same one or two plays over and over again. 

Endless analysis was the order of the day.  “How did that play make you feel?”  “Did you think it was going to unfold that way?”  “What does this say about how you’ll play next week?” and so forth.

I spotted Jackson Blake, the quarterback, wrap up an interview with the ABC local and headed right for him.  Unfortunately, a woman from Sports Center intercepted me.

“I’m sorry, we’ve been waiting for Jackson,” she explained before I could even get in earshot.  “We’re next.”

“Yeah, but I just wanted to ask him---“

“Why don’t you find your cameraperson?  We’ll be a while,” she assured.

I tried to get to Carey Ellis and Kyle Fowler, but no way.  They were both locked in interviews with at least two other sports guys waiting their turn.  I didn’t even know who to ask.  I just thought they went up to them and started talking.  How did they schedule these things so fast?  The Sea-Eagles’ center, Dirk Hamantop, flagged me down for an interview, but he had chugged an entire bottle of champagne and kept yelling, “Yeah, baby!  Yeah!  Super Bowl!” 

After three attempts at trying to get him to say anything else, I thanked him for his time and moved on.  Guess I looked kind of dejected, because the next thing I knew, Ron Ignola, AKA Ringo, walked over.

“Hey, you look a little lost,” said Ringo, smiling.  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.  They call me Ringo.”

Ringo was a Latino guy with a mustache.  Not quite six foot, but solid muscle, Ringo currently had a towel around his waist, gold chain on his neck and a sports jersey draped around his shoulders.  He had gotten out of the shower only a minute ago, but already look perfectly groomed.  Handsome, but with a dangerous air about him, the guard was a talented player but caused problems for the coach and the team with his rowdy behavior off the field.

“I know you, of course!” I said, hoping not too awkwardly.  “I’m Lexi Aaron from Sports Ring.”

“Oh, that new channel,” he said.

“You’ve seen it?” I asked.

“No, not yet.  If a hotel doesn’t have it, I usually don’t see it.  I don’t think you’re in a lot of hotels yet.  But I’ve heard of it.  Online, right?”

“Oh, sure.  Who isn’t?  Right?” I laughed nervously.  “It’s not like we’re a YouTube channel or something.”

“Right,” he agreed.  “So did you have a specific question or…”

“Well, I noticed they didn’t play you the entire game…”

Ringo bristled at the question and I sort of faded out and didn’t finish it.

“Ya know it’s kind of loud over here.  Why don’t we move to the next row of lockers?” he suggested.

“Good call,” I agreed.

At that moment, I realized I hadn’t even turned on the camera.  While I followed Ringo to the next row of lockers, I pressed the icon and we were rolling.

“Okay, let me try that again,” I said, restarting.  “Coach Brenner brought you in and out of the game more so than during other games you played this season.  Was that to keep the Hawks off balance?”

“Yeah, when you take out your star player, then the defense has to realign.  Know what I’m saying?” explained Ringo with a wink, liking my rewording of the question.

“How are you enjoying your new position as guard?  Do you miss being halfback?”

“Well, you know, the coach is the chess player, we’re just the pieces,” laughed Ringo, suddenly very charming.  “I just get out there and do my thing, you know?  That’s why I recovered two fumbles tonight.”

“Yes!  Those would’ve been crucial turnovers for the Hawks!” I said.  “That second recovery, especially, you just seemed to stretch your arm out right past the defensive lineman.”

“What can I say?  I’m an amazing human being,” laughed Ringo.

I turned off the camera a moment.

“Some great sound bytes, Ringo,” I said.  “Thank you so much.”

“Thank you,” he replied.  “And speaking of amazing, may I say that you are an amazing human being as well.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said.

That’s when I got a bad vibe from Ringo.  He wasn’t giving me an interview to be nice.  He wanted to get into my pants.

Immediately.

 “Why don’t we continue this interview back at my hotel suite,” said Ringo, turning on the charm.  “There’s a great view of the Philly skyline from my hot tub.”

“Thanks, but I’ll have to pass,” I said, trying to keep the mood light.  “I have to interview some other players.”

Ringo moved in closer.  I backed away and found myself against the lockers.  The room suddenly seemed small.  I felt trapped and far away from the other players on the other side of the locker room.

“C’mon, Lexi,” said Ringo, mildly annoyed.  “You just said I gave you some great sound bytes.  At least have a drink with me.”

Ringo was a nice looking guy, professional athlete, but something about him just screamed “creep.”

“I’m sorry, Ringo, honestly,” I said.  “Another time, maybe?”

He punched a locker, not enough to do damage it, but enough to startle me with the noise.

“Bitch, what’s wrong with you?” he snapped.

Ah.  There it is.  Creep.

“I’m about to win a Super Bowl and you don’t want to get with this?” he said, incredulous.  “After I do you a favor?  C’mon, now.”

“You just called me a bitch.”

“Well, stop being one and at least have the drink.  Damn.”

“I think you’re very attractive, but—”

“Damn right I’m attractive!  I’m a professional God damn athlete!” he pointed out, taking the shirt from around his neck.  “Look at these abs.  I am cut!  Feel them muscles.”

“I don’t think I—”

Ringo grabbed my hand and rubbed it across his chest.

“You feel that?  That’s some hard body shit!  And you don’t want to get with this?!”

On the last sentence, Ringo moved toward me.  It was really uncomfortable.  Fortunately, Jackson Blake emerged from around the corner.  The quarterback was the “old man” of the team.  The veteran player had been in two Super Bowls, but had no rings.  He was pushing himself past the limits this year.  He wanted to end on a ring.

Jackson had what could only be described as “rugged good looks.” He was 31, white with brown hair and a full beard— in another time, he would’ve been a lumberjack or an explorer.  He had started life as a small town farm boy, but made it big.  There was still a lot of farm boy in him.  He had a kind of soft spoken nobility that made most players listen to him.

“What’s going on here, Ringo?” asked Jackson, sounding like a scolding father.

“Fuck off, Blake.  This don’t concern you,” Ringo said, visibly annoyed.

“This whole team concerns me,” corrected Blake.

“Yeah, well this ain’t high school.  I don’t have to listen to your shit, QB.”

“I don’t want another incident, Ringo.”

Ringo exhaled in frustration, then turned around and got into Blake’s face.

“Yo, listen here,” started the angry Ringo.  “I protect your ass out on that field, but I’ll damn sure kick your ass in here if you don’t get out of my face!”

“I ain’t going nowhere,” said Blake, standing his ground.

Things got tense for a minute, then Carey Ellis rounded the corner.  After four seasons on the Sea-Eagles, he was now the star player.  He was a massive African American with a completely bald head.  At 26, he had the world by the tail and would let everyone know it, in a fun way.

“What’s going on over here, QB?” asked Carey, turning the corner.  “Ringo stinking up the place?”

Kyle Fowler trailed in behind Carey.  At 23, he looked like some college kid who had snuck into the stadium and stole a football uniform.  Less gregarious than his colleagues, he hovered in the room, waiting for his moment.  He was a lean black kid with a short fro and kind eyes.

“What is this?  Gang up on Ringo Day?” demanded Ringo.

“Why you gotta do this?” asked Kyle quietly.  “We on the same team, my brother.”

“You call me brother after what you did?” snapped Ringo.

“I told you, I didn’t know you were dating Tina.  She came on to me,” insisted Carey.  “You know how it is.  We’re on the road, women throw themselves at us all the time, man!”

“C’mon, man,” added Kyle.  “You need to move past this.”

“You move past it, Kyle!” snapped Ringo.  “Y’all are against me, but I’m wise to you motherfuckers.  Never forget, I’m the key to this team!”

“Last time I checked, I was the quarterback, Ringo,” said Jackson.  “And Ellis is the star now.”

“Yeah, because of politics!” snapped Ringo.

“Oh, grow up, man!  You had a problem.  And you brought it on the field!” corrected Jackson. 

“I was still performing!”

“Not like before,” said Kyle.  “Stats don’t lie.”

“Is that why y’all gotta cockblock me with this honey?” said Ringo, gesturing to me.

“Look at her, Ringo!  She’s scared of you.  And she’s a reporter!” said Carey.  “Sure, she’s hot, but you can’t date in the workplace, man.”

“We all know what you did to that cheerleader,” reminded Jackson.

“I was just talking to her!” insisted Ringo.

“Yeah, talking to her until she started crying,” said Kyle.

Attacked from all sides, Ringo finally decided to give up the ghost.  He looked back at me, and, seeing that I still wasn’t interested, stepped away.

“Y’all whacked,” he concluded.  “I don’t need this bullshit.  Got plenty of ladies on my jock.”

Ringo brushed past his teammates as dismissively as possible.  I was thinking at this point, I should probably just leave.  The players looked pretty mad in my direction.

“Guys, I’m so sorry,” I began.  “I’ll just go.”

“It’s fine,” assured Jackson.  “It’s not you we’re mad at.  Ringo’s always been a handful.”

“The guy just can’t get out of his own way,” said Carey, looking after Ringo and shaking his head sadly.

“Look, some of the stuff that’s said, you can’t print that or broadcast that,” Jackson said.  “It would really hurt the team and Ringo’s already been punished for it.”

“I didn’t have my camera on.  What I did film with Ringo was actually really good,” I said.  “Would be great if I could get an interview with you guys too.”

“What network are you with?” asked Kyle.

“Sports Ring.  My name’s Lexi Aaron.”

“Sports Ring?  I never even heard of that,” said Carey.

“They’re new,” said Jackson, half laughing.  “I don’t even know how they let you in here.”

“I’m tenacious and a huge Sea-Eagles fan.  You guys, as my dad would say, are doing God’s work,” I added.  “He is just about the biggest Sea-Eagles fan ever.”

“We should sign a ball for him,” suggested Carey.

“Oh, my God, that would be amazing!” I gushed.

“Why don’t we get cleaned up first?  Can you hang?” asked Jackson.

“Yeah, great.  Tell you what.  I’ll buy you guys dinner, we can relax and do a laid back interview.  Sound good?” I suggested.

“I’m starving and I can eat two meals at once on a bad day,” said Kyle.  “You sure you want to feed three football players?”

“Sports Ring gives me a per diem,” I smiled.  “It’s all good.”

“All right, then it’s a date,” said Jackson.  “We’re gonna get cleaned up.  Just hang out here and if Ringo comes back, we should be in shouting distance.”

“Is he that bad?” I asked.

“Not that we’ve seen,” assured Jackson.  “He just acts very intimidating towards women sometimes.”

“I’ve seen guys like him before,” said Carey.  “They’re all full of themselves, but insecure deep down.  They gotta swing their, pardon me, dick around to impress everyone.  But really, everyone’s just annoyed by them.”

“Yeah,” added Kyle.

As tense and as creepy as it was talking to Ringo, it was pleasant and relaxing talking to Jackson, Carey and Kyle.  I was so caught up in the conversation, I almost followed them right into the shower.  I quickly backed away before I embarrassed myself, although I caught a glimpse of Jackson’s magnificent ass as he threw aside his towel going into the shower.  Professional athletes really just have the best bodies.

“You mind if I just look around out here?” I asked the guys.

“You can look, but don’t touch,” said Jackson.  “My locker is the third down.”

I spotted Jackson’s cubby hole.  It was neat, orderly and contained all equipment.  Some of the guys had pictures of their wives and kids.  Not Jackson— he had been divorced three years ago.  His sweaty jersey was on the bench nearby.  It was so close I got a wif of it.  I knew it would seem weird to admit to anyone out loud— so I wouldn’t, but, it smelled amazing.  God, it was addicting.  Sweating.  Manly.  It filled my head and made me stagger a little.

“You okay?” asked Jackson from the shower.

I came to my senses while shaking my head. I was glad he couldn’t read my mind.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I assured him, taking a step toward the shower.

It was at that moment I really pushed my luck.  I look a quick peek into the shower.  There was a privacy screen, so all I could see were soapy feet and hard bodies from the chest up.  Still, it was a good view.  For a second, I thought Carey made eye contact with me, but I looked away and pretended to be interested in another locker.  No way he saw me.

“Look at me,” I said to myself quietly.  “My first professional gig at Sports Ring and I’m acting like a high school girl in the boys’ locker room.”

Being around guys my own age was a welcome change.  I had been taking care of my father for the last five years, basically since I got out of high school.  I guess this was the down side of being a virgin at 23.  All the wildness and horniness I would’ve gotten out of my system in high school and college was finally bubbling up.

But we were all adults.  It was fine to be attracted to good looking men, right?  I wasn’t doing anything wrong by thinking that, was I?  And it wasn’t like anything was going to happen at dinner.  We were just going out as a group.