Page 8 of Fumble

Chapter Three

FAITH

Hunter Vaughn might be,actually, let me rephrase that, he definitely is the most arrogant, self-centered son of a bitch I’ve had the misfortune to spend time with. Talk about bipolar! I was ready to admit defeat and head back home this morning after the boob incident. He was the one who told me to stay and start over. I thought everything was going well. Our ride over to the studio was great. We talked, we even flirted a little. Then he turns into a complete dick because I was trying to do my job.

I understood the role of personal assistant to include asking him if he needed anything! Apparently, I’m supposed to read his mind. God, that’s a scary thought. It must be a minefield in there. I guess my dad was right about him—he’s a player through and through. I was stupid enough to think I saw a glimmer of a different side to him this morning, but I was wrong. I’m more annoyed at myself than I am at him.

I came out here to find no-strings-attached sex. I don’t need a relationship or a commitment. My only requirement is a hot guy who knows exactly how to make me scream. Why am I bothered that Hunter Vaughn is out with that fame-mongering whore, Brittany Dobbs? It’s none of my business if he wants to contract an STD. His junk is of no interest to me, except it is. I understand attraction. I’ve dated some really handsome guys, but I’ve never understood the visual attraction of a cock. Its function—hell, yes—but the aesthetics aren’t exactly amazing. I think a guy in a towel is the sexiest thing on earth. Dropping the towel is a damp squib for me.

Choosing to make my way back to the hotel, I opt to hit a small restaurant just off Central Park. I eat here whenever I come to New York. They make the best Bolognese I’ve ever tasted, and I’m not afraid to eat alone. I’m a people watcher by nature.

The streets are filled with tourists and Manhattanites alike. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is, New York earns its name as the city that never sleeps. Today was a long and relatively boring day for me. I didn’t realize just how much prep goes into an hour segment. We were there all damn day, and my most exciting task was the lunch run. I went to Stanford for this?

As I walk toward the restaurant, I remind myself that this is just a foot in the door for me. Most people in my graduating class would kill for this up-close access to a sporting personality like Hunter Vaughn. If I stay detached, I can get a lot out of this summer. I can’t let my brain be distracted by his smoking hotness. He’s my boss, and I need to focus on that.

Dinner is delicious as always, and by the time I arrive back at the hotel, I’m ready to get up to speed on tomorrow’s itinerary, grab a shower, and get a good night’s sleep. As I wander through the lobby, I see a familiar face walking toward me.

“Faith, how nice to see you again.”

“James, I’m so sorry about last night.”

“Don’t apologize. Do you have time for a drink? I was just going to grab a beer before heading to my room.” I hesitate for a moment.

“Sure.” He leads me over to the bar, his hand on the small of my back. One drink turns into two, and thirty minutes becomes three hours. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. We laugh a lot, regaling each other with stories of college moments of idiocy. It’s a lot of fun, and by the time we find our way to the elevator, he knows more about me than most guys I’ve dated.

“Where are you going?”

“Seventh.” Silence descends as the tension rises with every floor.

“Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night? It’s my last night in town.” My head says yes, but my heart says no. If I don’t push myself now, my life is never going to change.

“Yes. I’d love that. Pick me up downstairs around seven?” The doors open, and as I turn to leave, he grabs my hand to stop me and kisses me on the cheek, waiting just longer than a friendly peck.

“It’s a date.” I step out of the elevator and watch as the doors close. Just before he disappears out of sight, James gives me a wink and a smile. I don’t know why, but it irks rather than endears me. I open the door to my room and find a box on the bed. No bows or wrapping, just a note that says:

It changes time zone automatically. Use it. H

He bought me an alarm clock? Passive-aggressive much. I get that I pissed him off, but it was a mistake. I didn’t intentionally make an ass of myself on the first day. I figure I may as well use it—my old one is set to the right time now, and will go off at six tomorrow morning. Just to be safe, I set the new one for 6:10 a.m. and my phone alarm for 6:20 a.m. I’d be on the first plane home if I messed up twice.

I quickly shower and settle down with my work schedule for tomorrow. Hunter has a visit with the New York Giants during training. The coach wants him to give a motivational speech to the up-and-comers. That should be much more exciting than today. A locker room full of football players in their twenties—yum! I research the team and run over times and places for the day. Tomorrow is a new day. I’m going to impress Hunter if it kills me.

* * *

“This is the speech.Check it over for errors before we get there.” Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I politely take the papers from him and head for the SUV that transports staff to wherever Hunter needs to be—his entourage car.

“Where the hell are you going?” The rasp in his voice speaks to a late night and little sleep.

“To the car. I’ll have this ready by the time we arrive, Mr. Vaughn.”

“You’re riding with me.” My pulse races as the fire in his eyes burns through me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Get in the car. We need to go over the speech together.” He runs his fingers through his hair before opening the door for me. I look to the safety of the SUV—the rest of the staff staring at me as I reluctantly get into the waiting town car.

I busy myself reading what he’s given me. It’s good, really good. The way he talks about his journey and my dad, it’s definitely motivational and truly inspiring. I knew he was a great player, but this is a side I’ve never read about or heard my dad discuss.

“You’re a slow reader.”

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