Page 2 of End Game
“Do you beg often?”
Her tongue darts across her lips, leaving a trail of wetness. “Only when necessary.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. There’s something about the gesture, a tinge of normalcy behind the overt sexiness, that makes me reconsider. As I try to talk myself out of giving in, I also wrack my brain for some fun fact that can help her save her job just in case she’s not feeding me a load of shit like I suspect she is.
“I hate dogs.”
Her eyes light up like a scoreboard. “You hate dogs?”
“I know, I know—this is a complete asshole thing to say. I get it. But the Blaney’s Doberman left a lasting mark on more things than the back of my right thigh. For some people, it’s clowns. For me, it’s four-legged beasts. To each their own.”
Her pen flurries across a legal pad, the sound reminiscent of Coach’s dry erase marker on the whiteboard at practice. “What else do you hate?”
“Oh, no. I gave you one thing,” I say, not falling into her trap.
“What do you love then?”
“My mama.”
The door leading into the makeshift interview room opens. Finn Miller struts in, yanking a pair of sunglasses off his face. “Ready, Party Boy?” he grins.
“Yeah, I think we’re done here.” I look back at the reporter as she gulps. “Got what you need?”
“More or less,” she says slowly, innuendo thick in her tone.
Finn chuckles beside me as I slide off the leather chair.
“Thank you, Branch. For everything,” she says, her voice all breathy.
“Dear Lord, what did you give this one?” Finn asks.
“An exclusive,” I joke, shoving my Legends hat backwards on my blond hair.
“Oh, that’s what we’re calling it these days?”
The reporter, whose name I didn’t catch, clutches her notes to her chest. “Maybe we can all three do something together one day.”
“That’s called a threesome and I’m in,” Finn deadpans.
Her mouth drops open. “I meant an interview!”
“Sure you did,” he chuckles, holding the door open for me. “Let’s go, Branch. Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Good luck with your column.” Giving her a nod, I follow Finn into the deserted hallway.
There’s a spring in his step that worries me a little as we make our way towards the elevators. Why I agreed to accompany him on a weekend getaway without actually getting details is beyond me. The last time I did this we ended up ice fishing in Michigan. Who does that?
“Where are we going again?” I ask, hoping he’ll forget he didn’t tell me and just spill it.
No such luck.
He punches the down button for the elevator and leans against the wall. “You’ll love it. I promise.”
By the cheesy grin on his face, I have doubts.
CHAPTER 2
LAYLA
