Page 3 of King of Hearts

“Put that orange lanyard on and don’t take it off until you leave. Good luck.” The first and only words she spoke to me since first reading my badge and the mockery in her voice made the butterflies in my tummy come to life.What wasI walking into?

“Arna, are you still there? Tell me you haven’t lost reception.” Marlee’s voice brought me out of my panic.

“Sorry. Still here. I’m ready, quick, he’s almost here.” I whisper screamed at her hoping she knew how grave this was.

“Okay, sweets, firstly, it isn’t soccer, it’s Australian football, dummy.” She scoffed good humouredly. “Secondly, you are going to ask him how he felt he played today. You are going to ask him how he feels the Hearts are coping as they move towards finals. Ask him if he thinks he has a chance at the Brownlow this year. That means the MVP, player of the year, top dog, man of all our dreams, blah, blah. Ask him if he is interested in dating and then tell him you are free tonight.” She giggled again as she shared that final diamond.

“Cut it out. I am two minutes from either wetting my pants in a room full of strangers or high tailing it out of here and losing my job. How do I even know which one he is?” I was frantic now as the players began entering the room and moving towards various people. I’d written down Marlee’s questions so I had something, but I was still standing alone, my t-shirt way too big and my sweats having seen better days. My hair was tied and pulled into a knot on top of my head, not to mention I hadn’t brought any makeup to work so au naturel with a side of last night’s mascara was the best I could muster.

“You don’t know what he looks like?” She screamed into the phone. I took my earbuds out and turned the volume on my phone down, searching the face of each player, hoping I would know when he entered. Maybe he would be wearing a different shirt or something, or maybe he wouldn’t show and I would be saved from the pure humiliation I was about to experience.

“I’ve literally never even watched a game. They all look the same, is he tall or –” I lost track of my thoughts when I saw what the perfect male specimen could quite literally be. Pushing his way through the netting and into the room was someone who I knew I would internally objectify later tonight. Happily. I wanted to ask Marlee more questions, but it was like my brain changed stations and I could no longer translate my thoughts to words.

Shorts strung low, bare feet and a gloriously muscled torso on display was accompanied with a Hearts hat shoved on backwards. He was still sweating, indicating it was clearly an intense game and when my disgustingly traitorous eyes made their way up to his face, he was glaring at me as if I was Lucifer himself.

“Holy shit.” I whispered into the phone. There were no other words. I wanted to scream to the hills that there was no way that anyone who looked that good could be sharing the same space as me, but his glacial expression sent a chill through me.

Why was he looking at me like that?

I pinched the hand that was holding my phone to make sure I was awake and not in some kind of daydream, because mother have mercy, he was fine.

“Arns, you okay, did you write down what I said?” She was still there, but I could not formulate a response between my physical attraction and the fervent glare that this guy was giving me. I knew at that moment, down to my very toes, that this fine arse man was who I was supposed tocoherentlyinterview.

He moved towards me, his eyes raking down my body and back up to my face. It’s not like he could see much in the parachute I had idiotically worn today, but the slight smirk that graced his face sent the butterflies on a collision course and I wanted to throw up. The hangover, the obligatory awkward situation, the 10/10 level of bang-ability. It was too much for a Sunday.

“Darls, I gotta go.” I was doing my best to whisper, and used my left hand to cover my mouth so he wouldn’t hear. He stopped no more than two feet from me and looked at my lanyard before returning his gaze to my face.

“Jesus, he smells like sin.” I mumbled, ending the call as the most masculine woodsy smell brought every single one of my senses to life. Wiping my sweaty palm on my pants, I held out my hand to introduce myself to both the scariest and sexiest looking man I’d ever seen.

Don’t fuck thisup, Arna.I thought to myself, instead saying, “Arna, Urban Pulse, it is so nice to meet you.”

My voice was shaky, my focus trained on the beads of sweat still falling down his forehead because I knew if I met his eyes I would melt into a puddle and could kiss my career goodbye — and possibly his chest.

He didn’t move to take my hand, instead staring at me with an intensity far from endearing. Chagrin, I took back my hand, feeling my cheeks warm. I was starting to see why Felicity’s interviews with him were so short. Did he even speak? Glancing around, the rest of the players were chatting and laughing with the reporters allocated to conduct their interviews, but I was stuck with Mr. Crabby over here and my eyes were the only appreciative part of me.

“Okay, quiet and brooding it is.” I mumbled, clumsily unlocking my phone to open my notes.

“So, how do you think you played today?” I pushed my shoulders back, refusing to allow this arrogant piece of work to intimidate me any further, and looked the long way up to meet his eyes. What was this guy, six foot five? God, they made them tall and salacious in this sport. His scent washed over me again and I wondered if he noticed that I moved a fraction of a step closer to discreetly savour the smell that was doing unholy things to my body. Mr. Angry-Sex himself still hadn’t answered, and I braved a glance at his tanned chest and into his deep brown eyes. Shrouded by dark lashes he was easy to look at although so was a blue-ringed octopus and they were deadly.

When he finally spoke, his words were laced with condescension.

“Where is Flick?” His voice was husky and rich and I wondered if he drank scotch in his free time.

Staring too long at his all too tempting lips, I remembered why I was here and shot my eyes back to his, clearing my throat and mentally slapping my thirsty self for letting my mind wander.

“Felicity. Right.” I was fumbling with my phone and now I couldn’t speak. What was my problem, why was I acting like an incompetent fool.

“I do apologise, Fel- Flick is unwell and was unable to make today’s interview. We are grateful that you have given us time to share your thoughts and I hope to ask only a couple of questions so you can go shower, or whatever it is you guys do after you finish playing.” I was pointing towards his unbelievably chiselled chest and now I was picturing him showering. This was fast becoming a disaster and I needed to snap out of it and get this done.

Why hadn’t he said anything else? Why was he now leaning against the wall, staring at me yet still not speaking, a smirk clear on his face?

I was going to lose my job and all I could think about was when this guy was going to shower. I mean, that would be hot. I wonder if the interview extended to watching that.

“Sorry, ummm, so how many points did you score today? Shit, do you score points? Oh my god. I’m sorry.” Mentally berating myself I valiantly did my best to continue.

“How do you feel the Hearts are going this year? Actually, don’t answer that.” Staring down at my phone, I scrolled the list of questions Marlee had given me, each one sounding more stupid than the last. “Darren is going to kill me.” I mumbled.

“Who’s Darren?” He asked.

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