Meredith Fasselli crosses her long tan legs, making her creamy peach skirt ride up an inch or two.
Yeah, you bet I look. The skirt is already pretty damn short, so there’s some serious thigh action going on now.
Hey, it’s all good.
I fully appreciate a woman with a hot body.
And Meredith, a well-known local sports reporter who is about to interview me for an autumn feature inPhoenix Sports Nowmagazine, is smokin’.
We’re currently in an empty conference room at the Glacier Dome complex, where my team, the Phoenix Bears, play professional hockey. Since we’ve already settled into tall chairs that someone working with the team must’ve set up for us earlier, and we’ve gotten our introductions out of the way, I expect the questions to start any second now.
Sure enough, Meredith clears her throat, shuffles her stack of papers around, then asks, “Training camp ends in a few days, correct, Mr. Foley?”
I wave my hand. “Just call me Lennox.”
I thought we’d gotten this out of the way during introductions, but I guess not.
She shoots me a sly smile. “Okay, Lennox.”
This one—she’s already playing games.
She’s feisty all right, but I like it.
Shaking my head and chuckling, I confirm, “Yes, training camp wraps up later this week.”
“And it’s been going well so far?” she questions, one dark eyebrow arching in a challenging sort of way.
This chick is too much.
She’s definitely flirting.
Not to brag, but this is my life. Women are always throwing themselves at me. I guess it’s because I’m a good-looking guy. I’ve been told that my jet-black hair and deep brown eyes give me a bad-boy, roguish appearance that’s irresistible.
Oh well, whatever.
Nodding once, I reply, “Yes, training camp has been going great. We are more than ready to start the regular season. In fact, we’re looking forward to it.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Meredith jots down something in the notes she has on her lap, and then she goes on. “I hear the newest team member, Easton Sonden, has been practicing with you and Shane Thoma up on the first line. How is that going, and do you expect the current line-ups will remain the same when the real games start?”
“I absolutely do,” I tell her, because it’s true. “It’s like Shane, Easton, and I been playing together for years, not weeks. I guess you could say we have what they call ‘amazing chemistry’ already.”
Her dark eyes meet mine as she says suggestively, “Hmmm, there’s nothing like good chemistry. Would you agree?”
Oh boy.
“That’s for sure,” I volley back in a low, raspy tone as I lower my chin and hold her gaze.
Damn, it just got very hot in here, even though the air-conditioning is on full blast.
She sighs.
I sigh.
Her eyes returning to her notes, she taps her pen to her full lips and says, “I have here that you’ve been centering that top line ever since you joined the Bears in their first expansion year, which, of course, was only just last season. Is that right?”
I blow out a breath. “Yes, that’s correct.”
Still poring over her papers, which I sense she’s doing to allow things to cool down in here, she asks, “And before that you played in Chicago, correct?”
