Contact Sports Ch 01

I cursed silently as I watched Steve Jennings being sent out from the match with fourteen minutes of play left. Language that was now colored with Brit slang, thanks to my sojourn to the airport pub last night with my veddy British cameraman, Phil Baker to catch the redeye out of JFK. The network's little idea of a joke, a form of malicious payback for my reluctance to make a fool of myself professionally.

Phil is pleasant enough but with a thick cockney accent I have trouble understanding. When the network I pimp for, (sorry I am not happy with my present circumstances), was looking for someone to cover the inter-league semi-final game between Manchester and the wunderkinds of Liverpool, I was not their first choice. Neither was it mine.

I fought vehemently to stay in New York. I do research and human interest stories predominantly, what do I know about soccer? Nothing! I was their fourth choice, after Tom "I Look in Every Mirror I See" Hastings was sidelined with the flu, Sonya Nash went out early on maternity leave and Hal Smith refuses to fly outside the US. Since he had an unfortunate incident with a Malaysian flight attendant and a misunderstanding about pickles. Don't ask, it isn't as scandalous as it sounds. By default you find me here seething on the sidelines.

So I found myself purchasing Soccer for Dummies, with 36 hours to get to England and show the world I could be an effective reporter in a sport that excited me about as much as golf. I much preferred baseball, American football and tennis. Jet lagged, lost luggage and a treacherous arrival at my hotel via a crazed jabbering Armenian cab driver, I was not amused to say the least.

With only an hour to purchase outrageously pricy duds and hygiene products in the boutique, and a lukewarm shower, (grrrr), I arrived at the stadium with minutes to spare. My credit card has been sorely abused. My editor screaming into my cell phone that I was to get as many individual interviews as possible including the aforementioned Jennings. Schmuck, I thought, as I trudged the sidelines in black heels and smart little business suit in black more suited to an evening at an out of the way expensive restaurant, involving menus without prices.

Now the ponce had gotten himself red carded. Suddenly a faint light bulb went off in my head… I could hit the locker room early and get a head start without anyone else! Damning the consequences and leaving Phil wandering the field as I excused myself to the loo, I entered the oh so hallowed hallway leading to the players' quarters.

No one was about, as they were still on the field minus one player, my quarry. My heels clicking against the concrete I looked around, not even curious as to the state of men's minds and belongings prior to the game. I wasn't a rookie and this wasn't my first locker room. I could hear water running and steam was coming from the direction of the showers. Impatient, I pursed my lips seeing that my perfectly oval nails had somehow gotten chipped in my pre-flight panic. Something else to castigate the powers that be about. I unbuttoned my jacket as it was hot in here, letting it fall open naturally and undoing the top button of my blouse. The water stopped and I mentally prepared some of my questions for the towel clad man who would be rounding the corner at any minute.

I was wrong. He arrived sans towel, well he had a towel, but he was briskly rubbing his hair with it. I lost my train of thought at the sight of his gorgeous body. A very fine specimen of manhood approaching.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat to get his attention. Startled eyes found my now amused ones. I hadn't failed to notice the lean, wiry body that was being presented to me.

Powerful legs that could eat up great distances were striding towards me a mixed look of anger and disbelief on his face. I didn't get to finish my leisurely perusal and I felt flushed.

"Who are you? Never mind!" He snapped. "What're you doing here is a better question."

"Hello. My name is Marie Meriwether and I am a repor…" I never got to finish, as he grabbed hold of my upper arm.

"No reporters! God! You people are unbelievable. The United States may tolerate this nonsense, but we are more civilized. Now get your scrawny butt out of here!"

Scrawny butt? Obviously he hadn't truly looked, as my butt is rounded and full. I huffed silently. "Hey! Let go of my arm, you brute!" I wobbled on my heels. "I meant no offense. I'll leave, but I won't be manhandled."

He actually had the grace to blush as he let go. He quickly wrapped the towel around his middle too. Too bad, as I hadn't been done viewing. "Sorry. Having a bit of a bad day here. The referee shouldn't have sent me out." I let his British accent wash over me. Pure sin. I have a thing for cultured British and Australian accents, truth be told.

"Well if you are doing this to me, then I can't imagine why the ref would do that!" The sarcasm was evident in my voice. I rubbed my arm and tried to look wounded figuring I could use it as leverage. I was failing miserably as I wasn't really hurt and I was more indignant than anything, forgetting conveniently of course that I had invited myself here.

"Ok." I breathed slowly. "Let's start again. I am Marie Meriwether. I work as a researcher for the most part, but am here to do interviews. I apologize for catching you off guard." I wasn't really, but how was he to know?

He grudgingly accepted my apology. "You have cheek girl. Let me think about this while I get dressed." He waved a hand vaguely to indicate I was to turn around. I gladly obliged, wondering at the faint stirrings of something teasing my mind. Geez Marie! Stop! You are here to work. Still I hadn't gotten rid of the image of him charging towards me, full on, naked. I would have to remember it for later when I was alone in my hotel room.

***** Steve wasn't perplexed that she was a reporter, more so as to where the attendant who usually guarded the entrance was. Probably bribed him, he thought grimly to himself. He was having none of it. He would politely answer her questions and send her on her way. He definitely was not in the mood for some bird to further bruise his ego.

Shite! How could he have gotten himself tossed? The referee was a pie eyed slug. Mentally he was beating his head softly against the locker when he picked up on something in his unconscious memory. She had been peanut smuggling when she had been talking to him! Hmmm…he thought maybe there were some possibilities there. No! No! No! She's a ponced up mouthpiece who could cause trouble for him. He had more to protect here than his reputation.

He dressed casually and rapidly, now anxious to get it over and done with. He stuck his feet in his loafers and wandered back over to her. She'd used the time to look at articles on his team and some of their trophies in the case.

"Well? Ask your bloody questions. I need to leave." His tone was not friendly and I frowned, as I pulled my tablet from my purse along with a pen. Get it over with Marie, and move on. He's barely cooperative. The other players would have more manners and personality, at least I hoped so. I refrained from asking him where he was off to, as his eyes were opaque and closed to my inquisitive look.

"I know you are the team's striker. What is so important about that position, and how badly will it affect them that you are out now?"

"You've got brass. You know babe, if you are going to bang me off with dumb questions, this interview is over before it begins."

Dismayed I raised my eyes from my pad and looked at his. His were blazing with anger again and I didn't know what I had done. "I am sorry." I managed to mumble. "I tried to learn about soccer on the plane from a book but I guess it didn't take. I didn't mean to offend you again."

Steve had trouble looking away from her dewy blue eyes sincerity radiating from them and decided to soften his tack. Sighing heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I am sorry. Now that I am off the field there are a few things I need to take care of. How about I give you a lift to your hotel and you can ask your questions on the way? And I should stay out of Coach's sight for now."

I blinked and looked askance at Steve. It didn't sound like a proposition but a girl had to be careful. I weighed my options and letting caution fly in the wind, I accepted. He hustled me out of there so fast I almost put the brakes on. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. I burst into laughter when I saw his car! I was expecting something flashier when we stopped at a beat up old Aston Martin. Steve muttering under his breath opened up the passenger side and I found myself sinking into cracked leather on the wrong side of the car. The Brits have it backwards I chuckled. Surprisingly the leather was still soft and supple and I nestled even further into it. Steve slammed the gears and we roared out of the parking lot doing 40 mph.

"Which hotel?"

"The Hilton."

"Have you there in ten minutes. Ask your bloody questions."

Without sounding too huffy I said "Answer my last question please." Steve sent me a look that said he thought I was a complete idiot, but he answered.

"A striker is part of the middle field positions and is responsible for scoring goals. My job is to control the pace of the ball and also play defense. I make shots when I can and am really quite good. Since we were up two goals before I got red carded, then I would say my team's still got a great chance of winning." I was melting in my seat listening to his deep and resonant voice.

"What happens if you win?" Another speaking look saying I was daft. While he was contemplating his answer I was watching his hand as he smoothly shifted gears with ease. Graceful. That was all I could think of. Long tapering fingers, well maintained nails and cuticles. Almost caressing that stick, an image of those hands on my body flitted through my brain. Stop Marie! The image lingered as I shifted slightly in my seat, the short skirt riding up just an inch.

Steve's breathing deepened. He had noticed her gaze and then his had shifted, as her body had. Beautiful lines, sparkling eyes, even if she asked inane questions. Forcing his attention back to the road he responded, "If we win we advance. It's that easy. Winning is exhilarating. Losing sucks."

Simple. Direct. It was how he always was. He had no time for people who didn't say what they meant or meant what they said. He abhorred liars and was wary of people he didn't know. Reporters fit into that category. He'd been burned before and was not allowing it to happen again.

I contemplated my next question; my editor was going to have apoplexy. "How does your family feel about your success? Are they proud of you and how popular you are here in England?" Curiosity had me asking that one, for my own personal interest.

"My family, friends and personal life are strictly off limits. Sorry." He didn't sound sorry, I thought peevishly.

I realized that we had arrived at the hotel. Not much of an interview. Steve was impatiently drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, his other arm now slung against the back of my seat, half turning towards me in that small space. I could almost feel the heat generating from him.

If I lean back… no! The hairs on the back of my neck rising. I ignored them. Extending my hand, Steve surprised me. He brushed his fingers once against my nape very casually. Shaky breath expelling, I knew I had to get out of that car fast.

Dropping my nerveless fingers to the door latch I struggled briefly. Steve reached across my body to open it. Desire, hot and strong, surged through me. GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW! I screamed silently to myself. Flushed, confused, I scrambled out. Dropping my pen. Bending at the knees I picked it up knowing that Steve had to be watching the material of my skirt stretching across my ass and the jacket riding up. I got up with as much dignity as I could muster and with a small nod of thanks made my way to the hotel.

Amusement on his face now he watched me, his fingers still tingling from the contact. He whistled to himself, thinking that maybe he hadn't seen the last of her. Shaking himself mentally he eased the car into gear again and went to complete his errands.

***** I was kicking myself for being a total failure. Not only did I not get the interview with Steve Jennings; I hadn't gotten any others either. Already cringing at the thought of my editor and my tenuous job position, I leaned my back against the door. Damn! Damn! Damn! I was pissed at Steve too. What right did he have to get me hot and bothered? Wait. Breathe. Center yourself. He couldn't have known the effect he would have had.

And I had been warned about his lecherous nature. He was constantly being splashed about in the London papers, for his playboy lifestyle and partying ways, as much as his soccer play. Yes, I had googled him while on the plane.

Kicking off my heels I made my way to the phone. I was going to order the best meal room service could deliver and watch the sappiest chick flick I could find. While I waited for my meal, I ran a bath. Stripping, clothes landing in a heap. I sighed into the fragrant water. Laying back I let the water act as a balm, soothing my tired flesh, feelings of weariness washing away with the day's travels. I stayed for an hour, adding more water periodically. Peaceful at last.

Gathering up the strewn clothing I sighed. All I had to wear were my jeans and top from the flight or the suit. Rats. More credit card abuse ahead of me. The network was not paying me to buy clothing. My loss about the luggage.

Knock. Knock. Knock. I peered out of the spyglass and saw the porter. Cocking my head in inquiry I opened the door to him. Triumphantly he grinned at me, my luggage at his feet. I could have kissed him, restrained myself and gave him a big tip, as it was dragged inside. Closing the door once more I reached in for clean lingerie and my nightgown and peignoir. So very pleased.

My cell phone rang and I reached for it. Phil! Oh my God, I had forgotten about Phil. Engaged in a blistering conversation mixed with both American and British colloquialisms I paced the room.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Running an impatient hand through my still drying hair I opened the door to dinner. Oh! The only thing that formed in my fragmented brain.

Standing with the dinner cart, holding fresh flowers was Steve. "I gotta call you back Phil. Dinner's here." Breathless I hung up the phone. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Bringing you dinner. Nice outfit. Can I come in?"

"Why?"

"Because this smells delicious and I tipped the waiter. Also we won the match. Least you could do is invite me in."

Stepping away from the door I let Steve pass. He handed me the flowers as he wheeled the cart in. I stuck my nose right in the middle and breathed in the heavenly scent, a mixture of wild flowers in full bloom. Flowers were a good start and not one of those high priced bouquets that I found obsequious. Okay, nice apologetic gesture. Giving myself a chance to focus on what was happening.

***** "What's for dinner?"

"Filet Mignon. Baked potato. Mixed veggies. And a fruit and cheese platter appetizer." I ticked off the items, thanking whoever had me refraining from ordering a decadent dessert.

"Are you going to eat it all yourself?"

"That was my intention."

"Share?"

"Well since you tipped the waiter, you can have a bite or two."

"Gee thanks. That sounded really heartfelt."

I shrugged. I was tired and still jetlagged. Glancing around my tiny room, noting there was no table and only one chair placed at an attached desk unit. I blushed, as I realized that my luggage was haphazardly open, random items spilling over the sides, including some of my racier lingerie. I hastened over to it and cramming everything in shut it deliberately. Turning around I winced at the speculative and amused gleam in his eyes.

"We are sharing a meal, nothing else!" In my head it sounded very firm, but we both knew it wasn't delivered that way.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I just wanted to apologize for my early actions, Marie."

"Ok. Then please sit and let's see what we have."

Pushing the cart against the side of the bed and bringing the chair over we sat down to dine at our makeshift table. Feeling self conscious, I did my best to keep my peignoir closed. The intimacy of eating in the bedroom was doing funny things to my middle and Steve looked to be suffering the same. Keeping my eyes circumspect and my legs crossed demurely in front of me, we ate in silence at first. Too quiet. Too intimate. I broke the silence by blurting out the first thing that crossed my mind.

"Why do you drive that car? Can't you afford something decent?" I must have shocked him, as he laughed.

"It was my dad's car. He instilled a love of old cars in me. I don't have the heart to replace it. I am very good at what I do and make a decent salary. Why do you do this job if you hate it so?"

I shrugged. "I like human interest stories. But I am not cut out to be a field reporter. I think this is an attempt by the network to see if I can hack it. If I can't, then I may not have a job." I shrugged again. "I like to write and am eager to learn new things, but I can't wrap my mind around soccer, um er football."

Steve grinned and oh what a beautiful grin he had, even white teeth and his eyes lit up for the first time. "I hope things work out for the best for you. What will you do if they don't?"

"I hit the pavement. I do have a book I had written submitted to a publisher. I am just waiting to see if they accept it. It's a book about being an eternal Red Sox fan and the dreams that get dashed every year. Baseball I am passionate about."

"What else are you passionate about?" He grinned again, this time mischievously.

"Roller coasters! Museums. Reading. Cooking. Doing the Sunday crossword puzzle. Family. Dancing. Adventure. Mischief. American Football. Depends on my mood." I winked at him.

He chuckled. "I love cooking as well. Reading. I watch your American Football. Some other pursuits." His eyes were twinkling at me.

After that we fell into easy conversation. Books we had read, films we enjoyed, meals we liked to prepare. All sense of nervousness had evaporated. He was charming, intelligent and friendly. Dinner disappeared but we continued to sit and talk. The night flew by, soon enough it was midnight and I was starting to get extremely drowsy.

Sensing my tiredness, Steve got to his feet. A sliver of tension, anticipation, who knows what started in my spine. He held out his hand to assist me to my feet. I was standing very close to him now.

"Thank you for sharing your meal. I had a delightful time." He feathered a kiss against the corner of my mouth and stepped back. Disappointment must have shown on my face, but his next words calmed me. "Marie, you have been a wonderful dinner companion. That negligee has tormented me all night long and you look damn sexy in it. However I don't sleep around, despite what you may have heard about me. I like to get to know a woman before taking that step. I also don't take advantage of sleepy ladies. But you have peaked my interest."

"What if we do this instead? Tomorrow morning I will pick you up at nine. Dress casually, if you have no plans."

I smiled as he tousled my hair a bit, twining a few strands around his fingers before releasing them. "I will be ready Steve. Thank you for a wonderful evening as well, and I look forward to tomorrow. You are intriguing and I like puzzles. Take care of you." I walked him to the door and touched his arm before he slipped through.

He looked inquiringly at me and I leaned in to give him the same feathery kiss on the corner of his mouth. A slight smile graced his lips, and he traced a finger over my cheek before turning away. I locked the door, sighed and crept into the comfortable bed. Sliding into sleep I hoped tomorrow would be a good day.