Tackling Love - Kathleen Kelly Page 0,4

illumination over everything. Her house appears cute in the dim light—dark blue weatherboard with white trim, planter pots under the windows with white shutters. The red door gives you a hint of her personality, she’s all nice and cute on the outside, but underneath that exterior, she’s a fantastic, naughty lover.

“Colt Anders, what brings you to suburbia?” asks a voice in the dark, causing me to jump.

I turn around, and a flash goes off in my face.

Fuck, a damn reporter.

I don’t need this.

First of all, I have been kicked out, that’s unheard of, and now a reporter is here to document the experience and tell the whole goddamn world. The press loves you when you are scoring touchdowns, but the minute you fuck-up, you go from the celebrated guy next door to pond scum in one easy move.

“Just leaving a friend’s house,” I reply as I square my shoulders and fake a smile.

“And she’s a cute little friend, too. Care to give me her name?”

“Look, man, she’s a friend. I don’t want her name plastered all over the place. Can we leave it at that? I can give you tickets to the next big game?” I try to tempt him.

The guy shakes his head.

Desperate to get away, I scowl at him and turn on my heel.

“Colt, do you even know where you are?”

“Sure, I do,” I answer after stopping to look around. I continue forward, not having any fucking clue where I’m going.

“I can give you a lift?”

I wave a hand in his direction without turning around. “I’m good.”

“Colt, you know you’re heading the wrong way, don’t you?” Sarcasm is dripping off his every word.

This stops me again. I spin around, embarrassed, annoyed, and wishing I wasn’t in this predicament right now. “Okay, maybe a lift would be nice.”

The reporter points at a car, and we walk over. He unlocks it with his remote, and we both slide in.

“So, how did you find me?” I ask cautiously.

“Followed you from the bar,” the reporter candidly replies.

“Buddy, you know I am entitled to a little privacy.”

“Yes, you are, but not in football season. Come on, Colt, even you know that.”

Fuck!

The NFL does not like scandals. I’ve managed to keep my private life private, and I want to keep it that way.

“Can we work out a deal? I don’t need the aggravation or the bad press. Maybe we could come to some sort of monetary agreement?”

The guy’s hands tighten on the wheel. I’m studying his face, trying to read him, to see if he’ll take the bait and leave this alone. He smiles, then shakes his head. “Let’s keep this between us. I’ll scratch your back, and one day you’ll scratch mine?”

“Thanks, man. Thanks, I appreciate it.” Relief floods through me—sounds like he’s going to do the right thing.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me any questions for the rest of the drive back to the bar and my car.

After sliding out, I lean down to the car window. “Thanks for the lift,” I say,

“No, thank you,” replies the reporter as he smiles and drives away.

I stand there, staring at his red tail lights, wondering what he meant by those words. Owing a reporter a favor can be a dangerous thing. I groan inwardly and head for my Jeep. I need to get home. It’s Saturday morning, and I have a game on Sunday. I need sleep, to train, and then get my game face on.

Climbing into my car, I dial my agent, Tom Fellow. It’s the early hours of the morning, but the man always takes my calls, twenty-four hours a day, no matter what.

“Colt? Everything okay?” asks Tom in a worried, sleepy tone.

“Think I fucked up, Tommy.”

“Tell me, and for God’s sake, don’t leave anything out.”

“The only thing to tell is that a reporter caught me in a compromising position.”

“With a married woman? A fan? A man?” Tom’s voice rises with each question.

“No, Tom, I was kicked out of a female’s house in my underwear,” I admit sheepishly.

“I’m confused.”

“I picked up a woman in a bar, her name’s Skye, and about an hour ago, she kicked me out. I didn’t realize a reporter had followed me, and he probably has pictures.”

I hear Tom sigh and then laugh. “Are you or her naked? Was there a screaming match? Is she a freak?”

“No, well… I was in my underwear. I yelled at her front door, but I was laughing. And no, she’s not a freak. She’s… she’s different. Beautiful.”

“You have a sponsorship deal with Calvin