While I know that their assumptions about Coop are unfair and untrue, I guess it doesn’t help that he acts so standoffish with reporters. Maybe they would find something else to write about if he would talk to them about something. Of course, that’s going to be the new assistant’s problem to manage now. Not mine.
“Now you know that isn’t true, Jim.”
“How would I know what’s true or what isn’t when he doesn’t ever talk to us?”
I shrug my shoulders like I have a million times before.
“I can’t control who Coop talks to.”
“He’s contractually obligated to talk to the press. He knows that, right?”
“Take it up with the NFL then.”
“Oh, come on, Ursula, it would be great publicity for him. I’ll even let him cherry pick his questions.”
“The answer is the same … I can’t help.”
A few of the reporters sitting in front of us start laughing. They’re old-timers who have been working the Nighthawk beat for over twenty years.
“You two sound like last season,” one of them says.
“Same song different summer,” the other chimes in.
I stick my earbuds back in and hum along to ABBA while I check on some of the applications the head-hunting agency sent over. Now that I’ve finally told Coop that I’m leaving I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. I notice one application that shines a little more than the rest. I’m going to call her for an initial interview and get this ball rolling. If I like her, I’ll bring her in to meet Coop.
“So, what about dinner then?”
I try to act like I don’t hear Jim’s question, but he taps me on the knee to make sure that he gets my attention. Like I said, the guy is persistent.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was listening to music. Did you say something?”
“I asked if you wanted to grab dinner tonight.”
I’ve never been comfortable turning a man down, probably because I don’t have a whole lot of experience at it. I haven’t dated much at all really. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I either didn’t have the time or didn’t like who was doing the asking. This time my reasoning leans toward the latter. Jim is probably a good guy, but he’s just not my type.
“Oh sorry, I can’t. I have to work.”
“She only has time to deal with one big personality at a time, McKinney. Barnes is all she can handle,” says one of the old cronies up front. The two of them get on my nerves sometimes. They’re like those two old guys from the Muppets. They think they can say anything they want and that no one is going to check them because they’re old. The most annoying thing about it is that for the most part they’re right.
“Speaking of big personalities, here comes Coop now.”
I can hear the collective sigh of every woman on the bleachers.
He’s shirtless.
Dripping in perspiration.
Covered in tats.
And approaching us with a ball in his hand and a mischievous grin across his face.
Chapter Twelve
URSULA
“Ahhhh!”
I release a blood curdling scream that comes from deep within my chest. Coop just shook his hair out like he’s some sort of soaking wet Labrador Retriever, and sweat just flew all over me and probably ten other people too. I’m not a big fan of sweat, especially when it belongs to someone else.
