Page 44 of Playing with Temptation

John wrapped up the discussion with a promo for next week’s show. “Join me next week when we discuss the impact of the social media age on pro athletes. Something my man Nate here knows more than a little about. If you’ve got the time, Nate, I’d love to have you back to get your view on the topic.”

Shit.

The son of a bitch offered him an open invitation to talk about his social media disaster in great detail on his very next show.

He opened his mouth to tell John Chase exactly what he thought of his lame move when Kendra caught his eye.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then gave him an encouraging smile. He inhaled, then forced a chuckle. “It’s a topic I’ve learned quite a bit about in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, my schedule won’t permit.”

John grinned, tapping the desk. “Fair enough. Just know, you’ve got an open invitation to come on the show and share more of your analysis of what the Marauders must do to become an elite team in this league.” He added, “For the record, I thought everything you said was on the money, and I think it’s despicable to secretly film someone and then use the footage to get your fifteen minutes of fame.”

John Chase signed off, wishing the audience a good weekend, and then the cameras faded to black.

Nate snatched off the microphone clipped to the lapel of his suit jacket, but before he could stand, Kendra pinned him in place with her gaze. Her eyes pleaded with him to be cool.

He sighed, acknowledging her plea with the slight nod of his head.

“Nate, thanks again for coming on the show.” John was standing in front of him, his hand extended. “And thanks for being such a good sport. My viewers would’ve slaughtered me if I hadn’t addressed the issue at all. Tried to do it in a way that would cause minimal discomfort…for both of us.”

Nate reluctantly shook the man’s hand. “Appreciate that, John. Thank you for having me on the show.”

“My pleasure.” He turned to talk to one of the other panelists, but then quickly turned back. “By the way, I’m serious about having you back to talk more about what happened that night or your thoughts on the Marauders. Good luck with your contract negotiations.”

Maybe John Chase isn’t so bad after all.

“Excellent segment.” Kendra fell in line beside him as he made his way back to the green room to retrieve his things. “That didn’t kill you, now did it?”

It didn’t, but he wasn’t ready to concede so quickly. “Thought he wasn’t supposed to address the video?”

“We agreed he wouldn’t make it a topic of discussion in this segment. Clearly, he found a way to skirt the agreement. Thankfully, he did it in a way that was sympathetic and hopefully made viewers sympathize with you, too. Good job on sticking to the script with your response.” She followed him into the green room. “And thank you for the way you handled the conversation afterward. John is someone we want as an ally.”

“Sure. Anything else?” He lifted his leather satchel onto his shoulder.

She shook her head. “Not until the afternoon taping of that top ten segment for the late-night show. It should be super quick. In and out. Here’s the script. It’s like three lines.” She handed a printed email to him.

Nate reviewed it quickly, then stuffed it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Great. I’ll meet you at the studio.”

She looked stunned. “Okay, see you then, I guess.”

Nate headed out of the studio and into the sunshine on a lovely winter morning in LA.

* * *

Nate made his way up the walkway. Jason Hernandez—the Marauders’ best tight end and one of his closest friends—was an uncomplicated guy. His place in Cerritos reflected that. The decor was simple and casual, yet attractive. The place was warm and cozy. Someplace you could hang out and drink beer without worrying about staining the furniture or breaking an expensive vase.

Jase had invited Nate over for an early lunch between studio appearances. Before Nate could ring the doorbell, Jase opened the front door, his goofy trademark grin plastered across his face. He was more tanned than usual. “I can’t leave you alone for five damn minutes without you stirring up shit.”

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