Page 18 of Score to Settle
HARPER
MIA:Did the hot tight end try to get into your pants last night?
HARPER:No, he did not.
MIA:And how disappointed are you?
HARPER:Hello! Professional journalist working here. I’m taking my job seriously!
MIA:The only serious thing about this is how seriously you have the hots for Jake.
HARPER:This is why I don’t invite you out.
MIA:You love me really.
HARPER:True!
Notes for the feature: I still haven’t seen any sign of a sweeter side to Jake. If it’s in there, it’s well hidden behind a cocky confidence that irritates the hell out of me.
The embarrassment hits the second I wake the following morning.
Have you and Flic ever dated?
Seriously? Jake agrees to answer questions and that’s the one I go for? I can’t even use it in the feature. My cheeks burn with heat and I want to bury my head in the covers. I sounded like a jealous girlfriend and nothing like the professional sports journalist I’m trying to be. I need facts I can use. Jake can say all he wants that he’s nothing like the man behind his reputation, but I’ve yet to see it. I’m still certain, given time, this feature will be his undoing. It’s just a bonus at this point that I’ll finally get some payback for him humiliating me in high school.
And yet something about seeing him in the middle of the night like that when I’d been lost in my novel—it knocked me off guard. I wasn’t thinking straight. I shiver, remembering the way he leaned against the counter bare chested. Huge shoulders and defined muscles tapering to a toned waist, and that line of dark hair that disappeared into his shorts…
I could’ve asked him what he loves about football or what his first memory is from playing the game. I could’ve asked him what his biggest fear is or why there’s an edge to his and Dylan’s relationship that isn’t there with Chase. But I remembered Flic from high school and how close she and Jake were, how they looked like the perfect couple back then, and I was more than a little curious. She was just as beautiful and self-assured in high school as the woman behind the bar last night, and I couldn’t believe in all their years of friendship it hadn’t got physical.
In comparison, Jake’s first question cut right to one of the worst times of my life. Am I really so easy to read? The familiar burn of humiliation scorches through my body and I throw back the covers and force myself up. No good can come of dwelling on New York. I need to clear my head. I throw on my runningclothes, scoop my hair into a ponytail, and make my way to the kitchen for a caffeine hit before I exercise.
I find Mama sitting at the table with a laptop and papers stacked in neat piles. It’s a reminder that as well as cooking the best chili I’ve ever tasted and welcoming me into her home, she’s also the driving force behind her boys’ success, acting as their agent and a hell of a lot more, I suspect.
Mama’s gray-blonde hair is pinned away from her face with a clip and she’s wearing black-framed glasses and overalls over a red sweater. She lifts her head as I enter and smiles.
“Coffee’s hot,” she says.
“Thanks.” I grab a mug and sit opposite.
“Sunday mornings are for admin,” she says, waving a hand over the papers. I catch the name of a medical company at the top of one of the piles and wonder how much Dylan’s knee injury is costing.
“Don’t worry,” Mama says, nodding to the medical bills like I’ve asked the question running through my mind. “The team is covering most of the costs for the ACL tear. These bills are just the extras we’re putting in place, trying to give Dylan the best shot of getting back on the field. There’s a specialist ACL treatment center in LA I’m trying to get him into next week. We’re lucky Dylan can easily afford it. Players who get injured earlier in their careers don’t have it so easy.”
I add Dylan’s injury to the growing list of things I need to research. It’s a reminder I still haven’t read up on the basics of football.
Mama straightens her papers and fixes me with a look. “So tell me—how’s it going with my other boy?”
I think of the man I met on Friday who was the wrong side of cocky and a major dick. Then I think of the uneasy truce we agreed last night. “Slowly,” I reply.
She nods like she gets it. “It’s only been two days. You’ll get there. This is why it had to be this way. You and him together for five weeks. He’s got a lot of walls up and does a good job hiding behind them. A sit-down interview would’ve given you nothing but the same bull he’s been feeding to the press and the fans his whole career.”
“Jake said last night he doesn’t care what people think of him. Is that true?”
Mama pulls off her glasses and gives a sad smile. “Jake was ten when his father died. It’s an age when boys start to really look up to their dads and seek their approval. Harry died before Jake could see he already had it. That man was practically bursting with pride for all three of his boys. I’m no psychologist, but I think because Jake never felt he had his dad’s approval, he decided he didn’t want anyone else’s either. So on the surface, it’s true he doesn’t care what people think. He’s resilient and he’s focused and he’s a fantastic player. If he was signed with any other team, his reputation probably wouldn’t matter. There are plenty of bad boys in the NFL. Plenty of players doing things far worse than Jake, although I will say this—people do love hearing stories about him.
“But the Denver Stormhawks are still family owned,” Mama explains. “It’s been that way since Larry Hubert started the team in 1959. They’ve resisted every offer from the big corporates and the fans love them for it. They do a lot for the Denver community and they care about their reputation and the reputations of their players. It’s one of the few teams in the NFL where it’s not just about the players’ skills on the field. Jake knows this, and however much he pretends not to care, Stormhawks are his team. He feels like he’s letting them down and the fans too and that’s eating him up inside.” She slips her glasses back on. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to break the pattern with your feature.”
My head shoots up. Guilt jabs me in the space between my ribs. The Jake I know might deserve what’s coming to him, but Mama doesn’t. I feel suddenly uncomfortable about the fallout my feature will cause for her. But then Jake didn’t care about my heart when he stomped all over it in high school—and I don’t think he cared about any of the other hearts he’s trampled since. Whether or not Mama believes the stories about him, the old saying still rings true: No smoke without fire…
