Close, but no cigar.How dare he ruin myTitanicmoment.
I looked over my shoulder. “What?”
He tugged the bill of his hat down, low enough to nearly block out his piercing gaze. “Your name.Clarke.” He drew out my single syllable name. Never had I heard every letter enunciated so clearly before. “It suits you.”
My vision blurred. My heart beat wildly. Dangerously so. Distantly, I heard the door to, presumably, the field close behind him, the sound barely intelligible over the thumping of my vagina. My fresh start was beginning to feel more like a sticky mess.
“Okay, what was that about?” Dani asked.
Pull yourself together, Clarke.Despite our casual candor, Dani was still my boss. That meant maintaining professional boundaries. “What was what?”
“The . . .tension,” she said, wagging her eyebrows. “Between you and Soren Sinclair.” It was all too clear what kind of tension she was talking about. And I was having none of it.
“There is no . . .tension,” I answered, mimicking her exaggerated brow movement.
“Yeah, no,” Dani countered. “That was fight me or fuck me kind of energy.”
So much for professional boundaries.
I gasped. Not because of what she said, but rather the way she said it. I wasn’t used to people swearing in front of me. Heck, I only swore in my head. And I definitely wasn’t used to hearing that kind of language in the company of women, other than my sister. I had a sudden flashback to the first (and last) time I’d brought up the topic of blow jobs with my bridesmaids, the women who supposedly knew me best. So, sue me for wanting some tips on how to deep throat my soon-to-be husband.
Sigh. I would’ve made a great wife.
They’d all looked at me like they’d seen their granddaddy’s ghost on Christmas morning. Dani’s frank demeanor was refreshing, to say the least.
“He should count his blessings that it didn’t come to blows.”
She snorted. “Ha, blows.”
Dang it, I’d stumbled into that one.
“You know what I mean.”
“Andyouknow about his reputation, right?”
“Soren?” I asked her, drawing a blank.
“Soren 'Sin’ Sinclair.” She blew out her breath. It wasn’t ringing any bells. AndSinwasn’t exactly a forgettable name. “Well, I know what we’re going to be doing this afternoon. Research.”
Soren
"Sin, have you apologized to Monica? Are the cheating rumors true?"
"How are you and your teammates getting along?"
"Who's got the biggest bat in the locker room?"
Jesus Christ.The vultures were at it again.
This was the part of the job I fucking hated. It didn't matter what I said or wore or how many personal questions I answered. Somehow, I always walked out of these interviews looking like an asshole.
"Woah, one at a time, please."
A thirty-something blonde guy who looked like he belonged by the beach serving up daiquiris stood up. "Brock Heller,Portlandia Press." Of course his name was Brock. "How are you settling in with your team?"
"So far so good." As good as things could be considering we had only been practicing together for a week or so. "The guys are great, coaching staff knows their stuff. I'm in good hands."
It wasn't the team or coaching staff I was worried about. It was the the Southern bombshell leaning against the back wall.
