Dylan sounds calm when he responds. “Anytime you have success, it helps with your popularity. But I treat all women with respect.”
“Right.” Mike starts to laugh, and his fat ass nearly slides off the chair. His pants are way too tight, and I can see his wedgie from here as one butt cheek completely comes off his seat and dangles for a moment in mid-air.
“So you’re popular with the ladies. Not that we didn’t know that.”
The sarcastic tone in his voice is so rude I’m seething. I clench my hands into tight fists and try to stay calm.
“Let’s see, what else can I ask you?” Mike scans his notes. “Okay, I see here you’re originally from rural Montana.”
“Yep.” Dylan grins.
“Little slow there, I bet?” Mike smirks.
“Little. Depends on what you call slow. I loved growing up there.”
“You must have struggled coming to Los Angeles from small town Montana,” Mike says. “Maybe you felt out of your league?”
“I did at first. But my cousin and I moved out there together, which helped a lot. And I’m a flexible guy. I adjusted pretty quickly.”
“Just avoided the culture stuff right?” Mike guffaws. “You know, museums, historical stuff, anything non-sports related?”
Jesus. If I could just take my fist and shove it into Mike’s freaking face…
I glance over at Tim. He looks like he’s not even listening. He’s playing a game on his cell phone and has an ear piece in his right ear.
“Actually, no,” Dylan says. “I love art.”
I exhale in relief when he defends himself.
“I thought you just liked football,” Mike says. “That’s what you said at the beginning.”
“I said I didn’t have time for much else during the season,” Dylan corrects him. “But I do have other interests.”
“Like a woman?” Mike asks. “Perhaps the one who accompanied you into this room? You’ve been seen with her several times the last couple of days.”
“This interview isn’t to include questions about my personal life,” Dylan says.
“No problem.” Mike looks back down at his notes. “So, in terms of your brain, how big would you say it is?”
“Excuse me?” Dylan asks.
Then he cranes his neck in my direction. I lean to my left as far as I can, hoping he’ll be able to catch my eye.
“Come on, man.” Mike gives a loud laugh. “It’s all in fun. Is your brain big enough for you to be able to answer my question?”
When Dylan still hesitates, I lose the tight control I had over my temper.
I jump up, march over to Mike, and grab his iPad and recorder out of his hand. “Apologize to him or I delete this whole interview,” I say. “And I’ll smash this recorder thingy on the ground.”
Chapter Eleven
Dylan breaks into a laugh.
But Tim snaps to attention and hurries over to grab me by the arm.
“That’s enough,” he says. “Let’s go.”
Dylan stands up. “Tim, let her go,” he says in a lethal tone before he turns back to Mike. “This interview’s over, sir. Sorry to cut it short.”
