Page 11 of Necessary Roughness

Maybe she had a point.

For a moment, I questioned myself. But looking around at the chef’s kitchen, I quickly snapped back to why I was spending my summer here: I had a job to do. And that job was to commentate on each and every NFL player with honesty and transparency. All of them, even Luke Dalton.

And that’s exactly what I was going to do.

Luke Dalton didn’t give two shits about me or my finances. Why should I care about him?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I finally said, an obvious lie.

Claire knew it. I knew it.

Even Stacy knew it.

“Mmmkay,” she said, dragging her words out slowly for maximum sarcasm. “If you say so.”

“Idosay so,” I rebuffed. “Now, are we having Clairsmopolitans or not?”

Stacy squawked in the other room. “If you say so!”

“Good,” I said with a sigh as Claire turned to resume the hunt for glasses, “maybe Stacy will learn a few new words.”

She squawked again. “Brett loves Luke!”

Later that night,I couldn’t sleep. Which came as a surprise considering the bed was the most comfortable thing I had ever experienced in my life. Once, years ago, I’d had the opportunity to stay at a five-star hotel on my company’s dime, and the bed I experienced there paled in comparison to the masterpiece I was lying on now.

After Googling the mattress brand earlier in the evening, I had seen the fifteen-thousand-dollar price tag and chuckled to myself.

These people were truly living in a different world.

Now, it was almost two in the morning and my restless body refused to stop tossing and turning, shifting the sheets around me. I tried everything: turning the air conditioning up, turning the air conditioning down, going for a walk on the beach, talking to Stacy for fifteen minutes. Turns out, she was afantasticlistener.

Nothing worked.

Claire had left after we’d drank only two Clairsmos, which was just enough to give me a slight buzz that wore off after thirty minutes. Now, hours later, only the headache lingered asI rubbed my fingers against my temples in an attempt to relieve the throb.

Something was off with me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

It wasn’t like me to be up all night, unable to sleep and feeling anxious.

Then again, maybe it was the house. During the day, it was a stunning place with beautiful sunlight bathing each room in splendor. At night, the mood shifted a bit, especially since I was all alone. After the sun had set, the place felt cavernous, unfamiliar, and winding. Sounds crept through the hallways with no recognizable source. Stacy had gone quiet as well. Obviously, she was used to this place.

But I, on the other hand, wasn’t.

I was starting to regret this housesitting gig.

But there was absolutely nothing I could do. My boss was counting on me to see it all the way through the summer. Stacy was depending on me too.

If I were to change my mind and back out now, Mr. Withers would have to find someone else at the last minute. My shot at the big promotion would be practically dead. I couldn’t let that happen. I had worked too hard, spent too many years grinding away covering every game, every story I could get my hands on.

I deserved that promotion and if I had to babysit a few parrots along the way, so be it.

The sheets felt as if they were suffocating me, so I cast them off and walked over to the glass door that led out to the balcony.

Suddenly remembering that I had a direct view into what would be Luke’s bedroom, I found my eyes involuntarily searching the room to see if he was there before stopping myself and snapping my focus away.

What am I doing? If he catches me looking, I’ll seem like a total creep.

“Get it together Brett,” I muttered to myself in frustration as I turned and went back to bed.

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