Page 20 of Chasing Headlines
“Uh, th-thanks. And for earlier, too. I-I appreciate it.” I turned and wove my way through the sweltering throng of freshmen. A couple of “heys” were thrown my way. I smiled, patted shoulders. Promised to 'circle back' with a few guys—after practice or later this week. I don't think any of them would've expected me to leave without a quote from the infamous number one.
It's Coop. He's really?—
A tap on my shoulder. I paused. Put my game face back on.Really Ted?
“Hey, Olivia. I told Coach you're here.”
“Oh, um. I'm almost done. Can I have another minute?”
Ted shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have to get back to the front office. You'll need to stop by and turn that in.” He pointed to my temporary badge. “Once Coach signs your papers to grant you access to the practice field, we can put in your application for official press credentials. That's for the games. No rush on that.”
Uh yeah there was. Ok, he was right, there wasn't. We had almost three whole months before the exhibition game.
I smiled as sweetly as I could. “Thank you so much, Ted. And please, call me Liv.”
The guy reddened from his scalp to his neck. He mumbled something then shuffled off. I took a deep breath, long exhale. It was time to officially meet number one.
Breslin Cooper.
Chapter Six
Breslin POV
“And so you’re the number one around here.” Rally Girl akathe reporter’svoice caught me around the ribcage and squeezed. I gulped a heavy breath, holding it for the count of three.Dammit, why? Just want to play ball.
I drew myself up and turned to face her. The damned shirt I leant her was tight in all the right places—as if Rally the patron saint of tempting tits was smiling down on me. “No interviews,” I mumbled.
She moved closer. Her breasts bubbled into that neckline. Looked horribly trapped and like they should be set free. Well handled.By me.
“It’s not really aninterview. Just a question.” That irritating little smirk toyed with her lips. “Breslin ‘Coop’ Cooper, right-handed utility player. Power hitter with a .448 batting average and twenty-two home runs.” Words formed on her lips, glistening in the fluorescent lighting. I wanted to consume them, taste them on her tongue.
“. . . ninety stolen bases, and can even throw a decent 87 mph fastball. Credited with one save? Your junior year.”
I shrugged. But she held the full attention ofthatpart of my anatomy . . . I gritted my teeth against the increasing discomfort.
“Extra innings. The team ran out of pitchers.” Someone piped up from the crowd.
“Hey, he got the ball over the plate and struck a guy out. That's real pitching, right Jacobs?”
A group chuckle rose into the air.
Her eyes glittered beneath dark lashes. “So, number one.”
My stomach stopped churning. Instead, it shot a series of electric flares through my system. They rippled down my spine.
“. . . on the collegiate stage, do you think you can, like Tanner over there, keep rising?” She held out her phone like a microphone.
Like Meyers?The electric flares turned to lead and sunk into churning battery acid. I straightened and caught Meyers rolling his eyes. “No comment.”
“Wait, seriously?” Her phone clattered to the floor. Jimenez knelt and picked it up for her. She continued to stare. Her mouth hung open.
I crossed my arms and took two steps back. “No interviews. No comments.”
Someone whistled. A murmur of voices.
Those blue green eyes met and held my gaze. A small pinch of her eyebrow. Her lips twitched, trembled then opened like she meant to say something else.
“Hey, you're being a jerk to her right now.” Jimenez hissed out of the corner of his mouth. He handed her the phone.