Page 34 of Wrong Score

"Oh really. You're eighteen years older; what does that make you?" She challenges me.

I take a step closer, watching as she holds her breath at my nearness.

"What do you want me to be?" I ask.

A waiter stops in front of us, breaking Rowan's eye contact with mine. She clears her throat and stares up at the waiter with a forced smile.

"Your beer, sir," the waiter says, handing me the ice-cold long neck. "Can I get you another miss?" he asks of her champagne glass.

Rowan's champagne glass is nearly empty, so she takes the last sip of it and then places her empty glass on his tray.

"Actually, can I get one of those?" She points to my beer.

He nods and then leaves us.

She turns back to the canvas, not returning to my question.

Just as well.

There’s a moment of silence between us before I break it. "You know more than I would have guessed about art," I say, turning to study the piece as well, standing side by side with her.

A small smile plays on her lips. “Is that a compliment, Coach Bex? I don't think you've ever paid me one before. Did it feel weird rolling off your tongue?" she teases.

"A little," I admit, taking a pull off my beer.

She shoots me a playful scowl in return for my honesty and then eyes my beer longingly.

I hand her the bottle.

I've never shared a beer with anyone like this before but maybe I feel a little like a wanker for shutting her down when she came by to ask for a truce. However, I'm not completely ready to let my guard down. This is as close to "I'm sorry for being a horse's ass" as she's ever going to get.

She takes a sip and then answers. "I’ve always loved art,” she says softly. “It tells a story without needing words. When I first dreamed of becoming a journalist, I thought I’d end up writing about travel or art. But then...”

She pauses as if considering how much to say. I take a sip of my beer. It tastes like some of her lipstick left on the rim of the bottle—I don't mind it. “Then my dad happened. He’s a big-time sportscaster. I applied for an open columnist position with Northwestern's campus newspaper, but when the editor-in-chief found out who my father was, she put me in the sports section of the paper. I didn’t get much of a say, but it ended up working out,” she says and then takes another sip of my beer before handing it back. “I don't know if it was growing up as a kid watching my dad on TV to feel close to him, but sports journalism comes naturally to me. Not that I'd ever admit that to my dad. He might feel vindicated that leaving me as a small child to chase his dreams was good for me or something.”

Shit, I didn't know her father left her when she was little. That must have been hard. Now Rowan's resilience makes sense in this new light.

I watch her as she speaks, taking in the way her eyes light up when she talks about art, and her voice tightens just a bit when she mentions her father. I feel a strange pull, like I’m seeing a side of Rowan I haven’t before. A side I… don’t dislike.

I take a pull off my beer, taking the faint flavor of her lipstick and the champagne she drank earlier. The taste of her shouldn’t have me wanting to guzzle down this entire beer just to get another taste, but it does. I hand it to her again and she chuckles. "You're sharing?"

"I think you need it more than I do."

More like,“I need to pace myself or I’ll get drunk off the taste of you.”

She takes a long pull and I memorize the way she tilts her head back as she drinks. The way her red lips look around the lip of the beer bottle, the way her throat swallows.

I clear my throat and glance away. She hands me back my beer after she finishes her sip.

“Have you ever thought about going back to that? Writing about art or travel, that is?” I ask, curious.

Art journalism is completely different from what she's doing now.

One thing is for sure, we wouldn't be at odds if she were writing about a hole-in-the-wall art gallery in Italy as my younger brother Archie does for the magazine. He travels around the world, writing about art in all the unique places he travels to.

I think about how different things between Rowan and I might have been if we had met while she was a journalist for my family's magazine instead of as the woman who wrote a less-than-flattering article about me… and might have more unflattering articles to write about my players.

She shrugs. “Sometimes. But the world of sports keeps me busy. And I can’t deny I love the thrill of it—the rush of the games, the stories behind the players. Traveling with the team has shown me a totally different side. You're all so close when you're on the road—like family.”

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