Sidelines (Wounded Hearts #1) (2 page)

Chapter Two

“Allie.” I look up from my note cards for tomorrow’s segment to see what Josie, my boss’s assistant, needs from me.

“Mac needs you in his office right away. It’s kind of urgent.” She gives me an apologetic grin and I can only assume that the grin and the sense of urgency means that Mac’s upset and I have something to do with it. I hand the cards back to her and make a mental note that she put them under the papers on her clipboard. Lord knows she’ll ask me later what I did with them.

I wipe my hands on the sides of my tan pencil skirt and fidget with straightening the collar and shirt sleeves of my white dress blouse as I round the corner toward Mac’s office. Yesterday’s interview replays in my head, sensing it’s what’s earned me the proverbial trip to the principal’s office. I turn every question, every response, both verbal and non, over and over in my head, trying to figure out what I could have done to make it more successful. But by the time Josie opens the door and announces my arrival, I’ve convinced myself that although it would have been just as awkward as it already was, I should have simply stuck with his stats for the game and left everything about them losing it completely alone.

Lost in my analysis on how to interview difficult players better, I’m completely caught off guard by the other people standing in Mac’s office when Josie lets me in. Her eyes apologize one last time as she excuses herself and closes the door behind her.

The most unique blue eyes twinkle with amusement when my normally perfect ability to school my reactions fails me and my jaw drops to the floor.

“There’s our girl!” A balding older gentleman who I vaguely recognize as the one and only Richard Inman, owner of the one and only San Antonio Rattlers, throws his arms out and for a minute I think he’s going to hug me. I normally wouldn’t be put off by such a gesture, but the man makes me uncomfortable. What hair he does have is slicked back with a think, greasy substance, and there’s something about his smile that makes me want to hide under a muumuu. The three massive, gaudy championship rings that flash from his right hand as he swings his arms around even gives me the heebie jeebies. No man should ever really wear that much bling.

“Allie, thank you for joining us on such short notice.” Mac, who looks more comfortable with my presence, holds his hand out for us all to take a seat. Mr. Inman sweeps his hands over the armchair in front of him, clearly expecting me to take it, but I shake my head and take the seat next to Logan instead. Anti-social I can handle. Creepy I cannot.

“Thank you both for allowing me to take up your precious time,” Mr. Inman starts. “Mr. MacAllister, I assume you received the specifications of the requests from
The Red Zone Report
editors.”

Mac nods and gives me a sympathetic look. “I just got it an hour ago. Allie, Mr. Lassiter here has agreed to do an article for
The Report
. They want you to do it.”

Logan drops his chin, clearly about as happy at this request as I am.

“I’m sorry. A full article?”

I love my job. LOVE IT. I get to spend every afternoon talking about the one thing I love more than Walt. Football is my life. I live it. Eat it. Breathe it. So being a corespondent for the number one ‘round-the-clock sports newscast,
Football 24,
is my dream job. I get to talk to all the people who love the game as much as I do. I get to analyze and interview players, meet owners and coaches, and pick their brains on a daily basis. So normally whenever I’m asked to do special reports like this, I do a happy dance while booking my flight. But then there are interviews like the one with Logan yesterday, and well…let’s just say that this isn’t exactly the best part of my dream job.

Mr. Inman nearly springs up from his seat in excitement. “Our Logan here has been chosen for the feature article for their August issue. Four glorious pages of our main man here. Perfect timing! Couldn’t schedule this better myself.”

I chance a glance at “our main man” and see him cringe. I’d like to think that he’s cringing at Mr. Inman’s enthusiasm, but a part of the agony from yesterday’s chat makes me cautious.

“And they want
me
to write the article. Why not James?” Not to toot my own horn, even though I’d do a much better job on this project than the evening host of
Football 24
, but I think I’ve already endured my fair share of Mr. Lassiter’s less than cheery disposition.

A tight smile pulls at Logan’s lips at my suggestion. He must appreciate my suggestion over the original request.
Well, glad we’re on the same page there, buddy.

“You were specifically requested.” Mac’s stern tone tells me that I’m beginning to sound like a petulant fourth grader who was just given the worst book from the list to do their report on. I muster up as grateful a smile as I can.

“Please, don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to oblige the editing team again, but may I ask who requested me specifically?”

“Me.”

My jaw hits the floor again when the man sharing the small couch with me responds.

WHAT?!

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I stammer.

“If someone is going to invade my home and tell all my secrets, I want it to be you.” Logan looks at me for the first time since I walked in Mac’s office. His sharp jaw and nail driving look makes me wonder what in the world he has against me. I busted my chops yesterday to make our interview look its best while he did little to make my job easier. Everything he did and did not say made it seem like he wanted little to do with me or talking about his record breaking season, so why would he specifically choose me to try and pry details about the rest of his life from him.

I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much, but I have a feeling I’m about to pay for it.

“No offense, but you’re kind of making this sound like you’re getting your leg amputated.”

“Allie,” Mac chastises, but Logan only grins and holds up a hand to stop him.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m not excited about anyone imposing themselves on my day-to-day life, digging through my past and family. But if someone is going to do it, I’d prefer it be you.”

Torn between being concerned and flattered, I shift in my seat to get a good look at him. He’s not joking around or taunting me. He seems genuine, but definitely scared. What is he hiding?

The reality of this assignment comes to light. No one knows anything about Logan Lassiter other than he’s one of the best wide receivers in the league, has spent his whole career in San Antonio and doesn’t like to talk about his brother, Drew, who just so happens to play defense for the San Jose Spartans. The thousands of comments on my blog and all over social media about our interview I sifted through in the late hours of the night come rushing back to me.

What is Logan’s deal? He’s a great athlete, and I’m not much of an @AllieFB24 fan, but seeing him talk to her like that, I’m not sure I can continue to like him.

@AllieFB24 has the patience of a saint! I’d have walked out and told him to get over himself after five minutes with Logan. #notthatbigofadeal

Who is @LassiterSAR86 really? And who does he think he is talking to our beloved @AllieFB24 like that?!

Clearly no one understands him and that strikes me as odd. The need to find out who Logan Lassiter is starts to grow as his steady stare holds mine. This assignment is starting to feel like a challenge. And I don’t like to back down from challenges.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” I say, mostly to Logan. I sense relief from the other two men in the room, but Logan’s cool expression falters as he fights a daring smile.

“Allie,” Mac’s monitorial tone pulls my gaze from Logan’s. Cautious warning flares in his eyes, reminding me that with Mr. Inman here, I really need to be on my best behavior. “I know this is going to consume a good portion of your summer, so I’ve rearranged some of your assignments. I have blocked off the last week of June and the first two weeks of July for you to travel to Texas.”

Mac presses his lips together and tries his hardest to clear his face of any expression that isn’t pleased and appreciative. His gaze implores I do the same, but my mind is over-analyzing what this means for the other projects I was actually excited to do. My heart takes a little swan dive when I realize I’m not going to stick around California with Walt this summer, like I had hoped.

“Please allow us to extend whatever accommodations we can for your time with us.” Mr. Inman holds out a business card. “This number is a direct line to my office. Please let me know of whatever accesses to the training facilities or coaching staff you will need. We want to ensure that we’re doing everything possible to make your job easier. I know I speak for a lot of people when I say we’re excited to get to know more about the man under the jersey. I look forward to seeing you in San Antonio.”

He stands again and buttons the lone button on his pressed suit, nodding to Logan who does the same. Logan holds a hand out to me in what I pray is an act of truce. The only way we’re going to suffer three long weeks together is if we can find grounds to get along on. I take his hand and stand as well, feeling a shiver as his hand holds mine a little longer than normal. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but his poker face doesn’t waver.

“I’ll see you soon.” Still holding my hand, his gruff tone grates on a nerve that is both excited and irritated with his words.

I’d be lying if I said that Logan isn’t appealing to the eye. With a lean, fit frame that allows him to run tens of yards in seconds, a long face with a strong jaw and those amazing eyes that remind me of Caribbean waters, even his shaggy dark hair gives him a red-carpet allure. But I can say with the utmost certainty, his standoffish personality and complete lack of conversational skills is a huge turn off for me. So I blame his rugged good looks—and the lack of any kind of romantic relationships on my part—for the tightness in my stomach.

“I’ll see you soon, Mr. Lassiter.” He finally lets go of my hand and makes his grand exit, leaving me and Mac alone. Mac doesn’t waste a second, sighing in relief just as soon as the door clicks shut.

“I’m so sorry, Al. I literally just received the request when Inman called me and requested a meeting with us. I wanted to give you the opportunity to turn it down, but he didn’t give me the chance to even speak to you first.” Mac runs a hand over his exhausted face. “You can still say no if you’d like. I haven’t actually rearranged anything yet.”

“I really don’t know what anyone expects of this article. You saw how hard I worked to get anything out of that man. I don’t think four years would be long enough to write a decent spread on him.”

Mac gives me a lazy smile. “What if I sweetened the deal for you?”

My ears perk up like a puppy who smells bacon. “Hmm. I might be able to pull off a miracle. What do you have in mind?”

“Stacey’s out. She wants to stay home with the baby.”

The heavens open up and angels start to sing the Hallelujah chorus. Stacey Letterman was the first woman to be hired for air time on
Football 24
and she was given the crème de la crème of opportunities—the morning anchor. When the world awakens each day and turns their TVs on to hear about the latest in football news, Stacey’s flawless skin and dark hair is the first thing they see. She’s pretty and has a wonderful personality, but she doesn’t know the game like I do. Not even close. So to say that I’ve coveted her position since I graduated college would be the understatement of the year.

“She just found out she’s pregnant. She’s not even due until late October. She’ll change her mind before she goes. Don’t tease me like that.”

He holds up a piece of paper and waves it in the air. “Received this this morning actually. Says her last day will be August first. Some bull about not wanting to make Colin sweat out serious switches in the middle of a season.”

I fall back into my seat, elation and trepidation warring for reign over my emotions. “Mac.”

“It’s yours. This will be your last field assignment.”

A pang hits me square in the chest. “But games—”

He sighs and sits back in his large leather chair. “That’s the only catch. You’ll be limited to Sunday morning games so that we can get you back here for the Monday Morning Breakdown. And they’ll mostly be local games. So you tell me, is it worth the trade off?”

Would it be worth it? I love my lifestyle, constantly traveling and getting to see various cultures across the country. I get to blog about and interview instrumental people who contribute to the evolution of my favorite thing in the whole world. I get exclusive access to stadium openings and draft war rooms, not to mention sideline passes to pretty much any game I want. And although I have my tiny studio apartment here in San Jose, I’m not necessarily tied down to any particular location.

But my time with Walt is quickly becoming limited. The man was old when I first met him; now he’s just ancient. And besides the game, he’s all I have left in the world.

“Yes. It would be worth it.”

“Then it’s yours. But this article, it has to go better than that interview.” His eyes narrow on mine like I could have done anything else to perfect that interview.

“I’ll do my best, you know that.”