But why is that so unnerving? He isn’t the first athlete I’ve interviewed, nor the first incredibly hot guy I’ve ever been around. But in person Beau Donovan is somehow more than the sum of his parts, and I wasn’t completely prepared for that. I thought his flirty country act might be just that—an act—but sitting here now, I’m not so sure. His right knee shifts as he moves his leg, like he’s stretching it, though there’s not enough room in his footwell to do that comfortably because of how tall and big he is.
I try to keep my gaze trained on the skyline, but it doesn’t matter how many times I resolve not to let it, I still find my attention wandering back to him.
‘So, tell me how this works?’ he asks, as we pull to a stop at an intersection.
When I don’t answer, he glances across at me and says, ‘I’ve never been interviewed before.’
‘Yeah, you have. I’ve seen you talk to reporters.’
‘After an event, sure, but not like this.’ His brow furrows, and I find myself staring intently at the small lines above his eyes. ‘What kinds of things do you want to know about me?’
‘Everything,’ I can’t resist teasing. ‘We’ll start with your first memory, and go from there.’
He doesn’t panic though. Instead, Beau tilts his head back and laughs, before focusing once more on the road ahead.
‘Is that funny?’
‘You trying to scare me, Bailey James?’
‘Bailey,’ I say on autopilot. ‘Is it working?’
His eyes flick to mine. ‘Do I look like someone who scares easy?’
He looks like someone who could scare anyone and anything away if he wanted to. He looks like someone strong, reliable and dependable. The kind of man you could really trust. But looks can always, always be deceiving; I learned that lesson the hard way. Nine months of my life spent falling in love with a married man showed me that it doesn’t matter what you think, you can never really know anyone. It makes my job particularly interesting, because a part of what I do, in theory, is get inside a person, to see the parts they don’t want to show. I think I’m good at it—the more time I have the better, because cracking someone open and really getting to their core is a big job. But after Kirk I came to understand that sometimes it’s just a case of seeing what that person wants you to see. He manipulated me into believing everything he put out there. Bastard.
‘I couldn’t say,’ I murmur, the lightness of the mood evaporating for me completely. ‘Basically, I’ll spend the next few weeks getting to know everything about you and your world.’
He drags a hand over his square, stubbled jaw, as he assimilates that. ‘So the article’s more about the sport than me?’
‘The article will be about you.’ I flex my ankle, the injury that ended my ballet dreams something I now live with. It’s stiff from the flight, in need of a stretch and rub. I try not to imagine Beau’s hands providing said rub, but it’s too late. I picture it and my heart catapults around my chest a bit. I force myself to focus; it takes a monumental effort.‘But a part of you is bull riding. So that will form sort of the backdrop to what we’re doing here.’
‘It’s not just a part of me. It is me. It’s who I am.’
My fingers are itching for my notepad. Unlike a lot of colleagues my age, I’m old school. I find my brain works best with a pen and paper, rather than my phone or laptop keyboard. I like to handwrite quotes, riff on the theme of an article, feel the satisfying scratch of ballpoint running over paper fibres.
I reach into my handbag, until my fingers connect with the familiar spiral top. I pull it out, then search for a pen and scribble down his quote. When I look up, we’re stopped at another set of lights and his eyes are resting on me, his expression bemused.
‘Are we on the record already, BJ?’
I tug my lips to the side, not loving the way he drawls the abbreviation of my name. ‘Bailey,’ I correct with faux patience. ‘And, yes. Always, with me.’
‘Always?’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That sounds risky.’
‘Only if you’ve got something to hide.’ I tap my pen against the notepad, smiling over-sweetly.
‘Doesn’t everybody?’
It’s a casual question, thrown out as he starts to drive again. Across the highway, in the distance, I see the outline of the enormous stadium. One of the first pieces I did for theHouston Standardwas covering a game there. I knew nothing about football a week beforehand and was an expert by the end. I still don’t really get the appeal though.
‘I’m not interested in exposing your deepest, darkest secrets, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘Honey, I ain’t even a little worried.’ His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.
Relaxed, easygoing, just like in the videos I’ve watched. But Ifeelsomething beneath the surface with Beau Donovan, something he works hard to keep hidden, and I want to find out what that is. Not just for the article, but because I’ve always been someone who likes to unravel mysteries, and in person Beau Donovan feels like more of a mystery than I’d anticipated.
Chapter Three
Beau
