So I faced Rob straight on, keeping my voice level, even though inside I was a weaker then warm Jell-O. “Tell me what happened with Jill. Show me that you didn’t leave her high and dry. I’ll do a piece on how you helped out a girl in trouble.”
“No. Comment.”
I took a step forward. “I’m going to go talk to her. I’m going to find out the truth from her.”
“It’s her secret to tell.”
And right there he’d confirmed what I had suspected. If he’d actually done what Tommy accused—gotten the girl pregnant, then bailed—he’d be worried about himself. He wouldn’t want Jill speaking about any of it. But he hadn’t said that.
It’s her secret to tell.
This secret was so important that he’d even let his best friend believe the worst of him rather than tell the truth.
“You didn’t get her pregnant, did you? Someone else did, and you’re covering for her.”
His expression was stony. “No. Comment.”
I shook my head. “Nice try, choirboy, but I’ll bet my rent that I’m right.”
“So leave the story alone. Write about bad drinking water or global warming. Jill’s gone through enough.”
“I told you. They don’t want those stories from me. I tried, and they said they already have experts for that. They want this story. They want you.”
He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. “There are thousands of articles about me and you have to do one more.”
“What happened with Jill? Just tell me.” I almost promised not to write about it. The words were on my lips, but I knew it would be a lie. Once I knew—whatever it was—it was going into an article. “Every female in town claims they’ve had a hot night with you.”
He snorted. “And just when was I going to fit that in between school and practice?”
I’d already done the math. If even half the women’s claims were true, he’d have been the biggest Lothario known to mankind. All while getting good grades and playing both baseball and basketball.
“I know they’re lying, but someone isn’t. You didn’t show up in Ft. Lauderdale a virgin.”
His face tightened. “Neither were you.”
“Nobody cares who I slept with.”
He grabbed my chin with firm fingers. He held my head still as he glared down at me. “I care,” he said, his voice thick and grating. “How many men were there before me? After me? Who has kissed those beautiful breasts besides me? Who else rooted between your thighs and licked you to orgasm? How many men have fucked you—?”
“Stop it!” I jerked back from his hold and if I weren’t stepping back, I might have slapped him. “How dare you?”
“How dare you?” he tossed back. “You’re allowed to poke deep into my life, but I can’t look at yours?”
“This is my job!”
He shook his head. “Get a different one.”
“This is the one I want.” But even as he said it, I knew he had a point. He’d only asked me three questions about my love life, but the invasion I felt was real and visceral. As if he wanted to point a spotlight at my most private moments.
I turned away from him to stare at the fire. Was that how he felt when reporter after reporter dug into his life? Would it be worse or better to know that the reporter was also a lover? Worse. Immeasurably worse.
I sighed. “Why did you bring me here, Rob? Why couldn’t you let me be?”
He dropped down onto the bench beside me, the gesture defeated. “I had to see you.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. To tell you that I was working on Nico. To get the video back.”
