Page 9 of Dirty Filthy Boy
Chapter 4
Ty
MONDAY MORNING, I WAKE UP GROGGY FROM LACK OF SLEEP. After the game, we'd gone to the downtown Chicago hotel where the Outlaws regularly hold victory celebrations. A pair of blondes made me an offer I could not refuse, and we'd move the party to my hotel room where we engaged in some serious menage action. Around four in the morning, I'd caught my ride home, and stumbled into my own bed at five. Alone. I never bring women to my house.
I blink at the digital display on my night table—12:06 p.m. I normally don't sleep this late, but we don't practice the day after a game. So, it's my day off. I have all day to recuperate, and I'll need every fucking second of it. The cocksucker linebacker of the Texas Roughriders almost took me out of the game. But I got him back. After the referee called a penalty for roughing the passer, I threw what turned out to be the winning touchdown. My body doesn't feel much like celebrating this morning, though. Too many hits, too much alcohol, too much . . . No, there's no such thing as too much sex.
I trudge to the bathroom to relieve myself, and, after a much-needed shower, grab some OJ to rehydrate. Something tugs at my consciousness, something I should remember. And then it hits me. The redhead reporter. Shit! I was supposed to meet her at ten o'clock at The Honey Bee. It's fucking 12:45 now. Damn. I fucked up. Royally. No way is she still there waiting for me. Can't call her. I don't have her number, but our press office must have her contact information. No reporter can interview a player without providing it to the Outlaws. Protection for the player, the team. The reporter as well.
I call the head of PR who has the information I need—MacKenna's business number, the address where she works, and a whole lot more. A phone call's going to get me nowhere. She'll probably hang up on me which means I'll need to drive to her job and apologize. So I plug in the address into my car's GPS and head out.
When I arrive at her newspaper, the frizzy-haired receptionist squints up at me, not a hint of recognition on her face. "May I help you?"
"Umm is MacKenna Perkins here?"
"I'll have to check. What's your name?"
Her failure to recognize the Outlaws' quarterback surprises the hell out of me. Not only is the city football crazy, but I'm its best-known player. "Ty Mathews."
She pushes a button into her console and announces me. "MacKenna. Ty Mathews is here to see you."
After a short conversation, the receptionist hangs up. "She'll be right out," she says before going right back to sorting papers on her desk.
I barely get out a thank you before MacKenna is there in all her glory. Masses of auburn curls cascade down her back, a soft contrast to the fuzzy blue sweater she's wearing. My dick hardens at the thought of pounding into her with my hand wrapped tight around that magnificent hair of hers.
"Hello, Mr. Mathews." She drills out through thinned lips.
Ooookaaayyy. She's obviously pissed, not that I blame her. "Can we, uh, go somewhere and talk?"
"Sure. How about the Honey Bee Diner?"
She's not making this easy. "Look. I'm sorry."
"Uh huh." She crosses her arms underneath her luscious breasts, calling attention to her hard nipples.
Lord, have mercy! Those things could take a man's eyes out. "I overslept."
"I waited an hour."
"I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
From out of nowhere, an older man emerges, beefy hand stuck out. "Mr. Mathews. How do you do? I'm Horace Bartlett, editor of theWindy City Chronicle."
I shake. "Hello."
"Ms. Perkins tells me there might have been a misunderstanding about the time you were supposed to meet."
Smart man. He's come up with a way for me to save face, without flat out calling me a jerk.
"Misund—" MacKenna spits out.
But before she can complete the word, her boss interrupts. "Ms. Perkins is available now if you have the time."
I rock back on my heels and grin. "As a matter of fact, I do."
"Well, I don't." As sparks fly from her eyes, MacKenna wiggles her foot. Probably itching to kick me in the behind.
"Perkins." The way he commands her to silence with a single word and a look, I'm liking this guy better and better. "Why don't you take Mr. Mathews into one of our interview rooms? Can we get you something to drink or eat?"
