Page 25 of The Perfect Pass
What waswrongwith her?
“Have you decided who your starters are for tomorrow night?” she asked.
Jackson gave her a curious look. “On the record or off?”
Did it matter? The answer was obvious—Watson Stokes, Hunt Collier and Zander Brown had been the three strongest players last year when they’d only been juniors. This was their senior year, and they’d been named as team captains before Jackson’s arrival. Coach Simmons had likely designed the entire season playbook around them.
“Off.” She shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.”
He arched a brow. “And that’s really what you want to talk about? Football?”
On the contrary, it was thelastthing she wanted to discuss. Which made it the only safe topic at the moment.
Too bad he’d seen right through her.
“Is it that obvious?” she asked, grimacing.
“Is what that obvious?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “The fact that I hate football.”
Jackson stopped dead in his tracks, causing Bishop to tumble head over paws. “That can’t possibly be true.”
His disappointment was so acute that it made Calla laugh, but at the same time, she sort of wanted to cry. A bittersweet warmth flooded her chest. “I promise you it is.”
He regarded her with an intensity that made her mouth go dry, but he didn’t look at her like he pitied her and that meant more to her than he could possibly know. “But you’re a…”
“Football reporter.” She scrunched her face. “Yeah, I know. It doesn’t make much sense.”
Jackson shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
That makes two of us.
Calla blew out a breath. “I love writing, and I love working at the paper. Someday I hope to get promoted to the features department, but for now, all my boss will let me cover is football.”
“Features, as in stuff like investigative journalism?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Uplifting pieces. I want to write stories that inspire people—personal profiles and human interest articles. The news cycle is so negative these days. I want to put something positive out in the world. A reason to hope, if that makes sense.”
She waited for him to laugh. Calla wasn’t exactly known for having a sunshiny, positive outlook on life, so hercareer aspirations came as a surprise to most people, her editor included. Even Bailey had looked at her like she was a little crazy when she’d told her the kind of reporter she wanted to be someday.
Jackson didn’t laugh, though. He just gave her a quiet smile. “Football can be inspiring, but I can understand why you might have a complicated relationship with the sport. It’s because of Ethan, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “And he’s the same reason I get pigeonholed into writing about the Bulldogs. When people around here think of the Dunnes, they automatically think of football. If I didn’t believe in myself as a writer, I’d be tempted to think he’s the only reason I even have a job at theLone Star Gazette.”
“Don’t even go there. You’re a talented reporter, Calla. Anyone can see that. Your column is thoughtful, and you understand football as well as any of the reporters at the big sports networks.” A sheepish grin tipped his lips, and Calla went a little swoony, despite every effort not to. “Try not to look so surprised. Yes, I’ve read your column. Even some of your older pieces.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again. She wasn’t sure what to do with that information. Then again, she’d never imagined Jackson Knight coaching the Bishop Bulldogs, either.
“Seriously, you’re great at what you do, and your column runs daily. I’m sure you’ve got a huge number of clippings for your portfolio by now. That’s a lot to bring to the table. If your boss at theGazettewon’t move you off the sports page, you could always go someplace else,” he said.
It wasn’t as if the idea hadn’t crossed her mind. It had. Several times, in fact. “I moved away for college. Far away,actually. I attended the University of Missouri on a journalism scholarship.”
The corners of Jackson’s eyes crinkled. “Great school for journalism.”
“Ethan got sick shortly after I graduated. I came back for my family, but the truth of it is, I don’t want to move away again. This is home.” As maddening and imperfect as it could be, it was still the place that Calla loved more than anywhere else on earth.
“Then I guess it’s really too bad you hate football.” Jackson clutched his chest as if he were dying. “Ouch. Just saying that out loud is painful.”
