Page 32 of Honey Pot

“Left field, you’ll get it straight eventually.” She smiled at me and it warmed the room. “You should come to the party at Hilly’s tonight. It’s a sports diner off campus. I’m going down early to decorate with Zoey and Cael.”

I had almost declined, but the opportunity to see him gnawed at me.

“That would be nice.” I smiled. “I should get to it, wouldn’t want to keep the Captain waiting.”

“He’s cranky today.” Ella laughed, grabbing something from the cupboard. “Take this.”

I stepped back into the kitchen and grabbed what was in her hand. “A chocolate chip muffin?”

“Trust me.” She smiled, and it crinkled delicately at the edges of her scar. “A favor for a favor.”

“Thankyou, Ella.” I waved it in the air and made my way through the house to the sitting room where Arlo was sitting on his phone in a dark Hornet’s athletics t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

“Mr. King,” I announced myself as I rounded the corner into the room and held out my hand to him. He stood, slipping his phone into his pocket, and laughed, looking down at the muffin in my palm.

“Did she say I was cranky?” His thick eyebrow raised, and mischief danced across his dark brown eyes. “I’m not cranky!” He hollered back over his shoulder and I heard Ella laugh in the kitchen.

“You two are cute,” I said as he took the muffin and shook my hand. “I’m Mary Matthews, we met briefly at dinner yesterday.”

“I don’t recognize you from any channels,” he practically interrupted, waiting for me to sit on the couch across from him before he settled back down.

“Am I not famous enough forThe Arlo King?” I smiled and grabbed my book from the bag at my feet.

“That’s not what—” He stopped, his brows furrowed. I could tell he wanted to ask the question, so I remained quiet and gave him the chance. “You know the family then? Is that why you took the job?”

“The Codys?” I said, as if there was anyone else he could be implying. He nodded. “I do. But I’m not here for them. I was sent here to interview the team on their win. Starting with their Captain.”

He waited a moment, staring me over with his lips pressed into a thin line, and then plastered on a smile that could only be described as a ‘Press Smile.’

I hit record on the tape.

“Congrats on the win. It was hard fought, and many people didn’t believe you could make anything out of the team last season. Your last season.” I said, and he narrowed his eyes. “From the very beginning, the Hornets were at a disadvantage.”

A tight, frustrated form of rage flickered over his face.

“At any time, did you question their ability as a team to take them to the World Series?” I asked him and, without hesitation, he ripped out a chunk of muffin and tossed it between his teeth.

“Their ability? Never.” He said carefully, leaning back on the couch, and he seemed relaxed. “Did I question my leadership? Regularly. A team is only as good as every working part. I…” He paused and thought about his words. “Unfortunately, I had been working at half speed the last few years.”

“What changed?” I asked him.

“Everything.” He was quick to answer.

“Are you comfortable elaborating?” I brushed a piece of my hair behind my ear and shifted on the couch as the air in the room became dense. “That feltpersonal.”

“That,” he pointed at me, lifting his hand from the back of the couch to snap, “right there is the problem.” He nodded. “Reporters all separate the game from the emotion when in reality, the emotions drive the game. If you aren’t feeling everything, you aren’t playing the game as hard as you can.”

“Interesting.” I nodded, urging him to continue.

“I’m not going to pretend I’m perfect, I’m not.” He sat up. “I let my anger fuel most of my decisions until,” he looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen, the movement smooth and almost involuntary, “I was given a new outlook on the team and on myself.”

“Behind every great man.” I smiled at him.

“Exactly,” Arlo sighed. “We all had growing to do, and we did it together. The team is on the right track to continue those wins.”

“So you are leaving?” I asked.

He swallowed hard and set the half-eaten muffin on the table in front of him. “I am.”

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