Page 79 of One on One
“Can you imagine if we make the finals and play them?” Taylor asks with wide gleeful eyes.
I grimace. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Think about the hype video. The story writes itself. All that history, Maynard coaching here—coaching one of our coaches—and leaving to go to Arizona Tech? Then having to face us in the finals?”
“Ben too,” I say.
“What?”
“He wasn’t just Eric’s coach. He coached Ben too.”
“What’s that?” Ben reappears at my side.
“Brent Maynard,” Taylor says. “We’re going to have so much content if we play them.”
Ben rakes a hand through his hair. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Taylor ignores that statement for the second time. “I forgot you were here at the same time as him, Annie,” she says. “Are you friendly with him? I wonder if we could do some cross-promotion, something we could post on both our channels if we both make the finals.”
“Absolutely not,” I spit.
“Taylor, please,” Ben says. “Don’t plan that far ahead. You’ll jinx it.”
He’s not superstitious.
“We don’t talk,” I tell Taylor. The last thing I need is for her to put something into motion that I won’t be able to stop. I need to squash it before I end up in a room with him. “Let me be perfectly clear: There’s not a chance in hell we’ll be filming anything with him.”
“Maybe you guys should talk about this somewhere else.” Ben looks around to gauge whether anyone is listening. JJ Jones is still standing behind him, but he’s engrossed in his phone. His belt is embroidered with little chipmunks holding tennis rackets.
“Hey, Annie?” he asks distractedly, looking up. “You got time to grab coffee tomorrow?”
“Hey, now,” says Ben.
“Um,” I say.
“I want to interview you. For a story. We’re working on a piece about hype videos, and you’re the best in the game.”
“That’s awesome,” Taylor says.
I shoot her a look. “I’ll be busymakingthe hype video.”
Taylor sets her hands on her hips. “Which more people will watch if ESPN does a story on you.”
“Come on, we’re friends, right?” he asks. Taylor looks at me expectantly.
This bit of self-promotion will be about as pleasant as my last IUD insertion, but I should do it. I need to keep building my case for sticking around, in case we lose. “Fine,” I relent.
“Wonderful!” Taylor claps her hands.
He names a place and time and I don’t think any more ofit. But that night, Ben brings it up as we wait for the elevator in the hotel. “The coffee shop where he asked you to meet him is far away. He wants privacy.”
That sounds logical. All the teams and most of their fans are clustered in the hotels near Centennial Park, and every restaurant and Starbucks nearby is oozing people in team colors. No privacy to be found.
The doors open. I walk in first and lean against the mirrored wall panel. “He’s not going to hit on me, but I appreciate the concern.”
He follows me inside and presses two buttons, one for my floor and one for his. The doors shut. “No, what I mean is—I think he’s lying. I don’t think he’s doing a story on hype videos. If he were, he could do it anywhere. I think he wants privacy because he’s talking about a job interview. ESPN is going to try to poach you.”
I don’t givea shit about the story JJ is telling about the time he went to Pebble Beach on a golf weekend with his dad and brothers and ran into Phil Mickelson in the clubhouse. But I’m alternating nods and the occasional “wow” every thirty seconds or so, because if he senses my disinterest he might ask me a question, and the only thing worse than continuing to listen to this story would be having to actively participate in this conversation.
