Hot Off The Press Page 4

  “Sure,” I tell him.

  “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were more of a wine drinker,” he mutters, opening the fridge and pulling out two brown bottles of domestic beer.

  “Nah. Wine gives me a headache. The press operators where I come from gave me my first beer at a company picnic when I was eighteen. I learned to drink from them.”

  “Sounds like a wholesome environment for a kid,” he says, impressively opening both bottles with one hand and handing me one of them. “What’s the deal with that, by the way? How is it you worked there at seventeen?”

  I take a sip of the cold, beverage, noticing the involuntary muscle contractions between my thighs in response to seeing Beast’s beer bottle party trick. If those beefy hands can deftly remove two bottle caps at once, I wonder what else he can make come apart in his hands. Whoa, Nelly. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “I don’t have anyone to tell secrets to, so, sure.”

  “Jake Weatherington was my grandfather. I’ve worked at all his papers, all over the Southeast and elsewhere. When he died last year, I inherited the company from him. But Perry doesn’t know any of that.”

  “But he hired you. How could he not know?”

  I laugh and take another sip. “Has Perry ever asked you about your personal life? The names of your grandparents?”

  He laughs. “I get what you’re saying. Wow. Must have been an interesting childhood, if a bit less than wholesome.”

  I shrug. “More wholesome than what a lot of other kids grow up with,” I say as I slide onto the barstool. “I lost my mom and dad when I was little. Rock climbing accident. Grandparents raised me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beast says. “Your grandparents sound cool, at least.”

  “They were. Grandma died of a stroke when I was in middle school. Gramps made sure I finished high school, but otherwise I spent every moment at the paper. He died just last year. Cancer.”

  “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  We share a moment of silence while we sip our beers. Unlike other people when they hear about my grief, he maintains eye contact. It feels nice to have him watching me. His eyes don’t bore into me like he’s trying to pick me apart. He’s just watching and listening. It’s a comfort.

  “College?” he asks.

  I pick at the label on my beer bottle. This subject tends to be a sticking point with a lot of other journalists I meet. Especially the men. “Didn’t go.”

  “Why not?” I study Beast’s face but he doesn’t appear to be judgmental or about to try to school me about getting a degree.

  I shrug. “Gramps offered to pay for it, I just didn’t want to. It sounded like a convoluted and expensive road for me to go down when I was already pretty happy learning the family business and learning about writing while tagging along with some of the greatest journalists in the country. Gramps had a lot of connections and they were like my extended family. When Grandma got sick and Gramps couldn’t leave her side, you’ll never believe who came with me to Parents Day at school.”

  Beast leans in, planting his elbows on the Formica countertop. “Who?”

  I smile widely and drop the name. I rarely do so because so many journalists my age either haven’t heard of the people I’m talking about, or pretend not to be impressed.

  Beast exclaims, “No way! I don’t believe it. That guy? At an elementary school? I can’t picture it.”

  I nod. “Had to wear a visitor sticker on his shirt, sit at a tiny desk and everything. It was a sad time because of Grandma, but it was one of the highlights of my entire life, and I didn’t even comprehend how famous he was at the time.”

  “Geez,” Beast breathes, standing back up and downing the rest of his beer. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom, leaving me to ruminate and snoop around.

  I like the way he says that. Geez. It’s so cute and Midwestern, like he’s trying not to cuss out of some hard-wired politeness. I peek in the fridge: leftovers, cut fruits and vegetables, plus the beer. So, he cooks actual food. Points for that.

  When he returns from the bathroom a moment later, we pick up our conversation like he’d never left. It’s no wonder he wins awards—he’s an excellent interviewer and listener.

  I return to my comfortable bar stool and continue my story. It seems like Beast has positioned himself closer to me. “So, Gramps said if I wasn’t going to go to college, then I was going to learn the family business, and I was happy to. He taught me everything he knew about reporting and writing and the rest is history. I love it.”

  Beast takes a hesitant half a step closer to me.

  “What did you mean when you said you came here for me?”

  I lift one shoulder. “At first I thought maybe I could poach you.”

  “Really?” Beast straightens up, looking a bit proud of himself, but not sure what to make of what I’ve said.

  “Yeah, really. You’re really good. I know it’s underhanded but you know what? Perry enticed more than one good person away from a couple of Gramps’s papers, with all kinds of promises that turned out to be hollow. Some of those people came running back to us with tales of 50-hour work weeks and no overtime, and worse. I had to come see it for myself, and find out why this ace sports writer was still hanging around the place.”

  Beast runs one hand through his hair. “Wow. I think I need another beer. You?”

  “I’m almost done with this one, but sure.”

  Beast opens a second beer and sets it down on the counter, so it will be ready for me when I finish the first one. “This is going to be a big shock to Perry.”

  “It shouldn’t be,” I reply. “Gramps used to talk about Perry sometimes. He’s making money hand over fist from the advertisers, and he could make this place so much better. He’s just… kinda greedy. That was Gramps’s assessment of him.”

  “Shit, you have done some homework,” Beast says, raising an eyebrow at me while taking another pull from the beer. “It’s a bit of a toxic mess, I’ll grant you that.”

  “By the way,” I say, pointing at him with my bottle and narrowing my eyes at him, “Why were you giving me signals that I really shouldn’t stay at Perry’s place? Not that I wanted to. I’m kind of glad I had an option. It would have felt super weird. That was my reason. What was your reason?”

  Beast hems and haws a bit and fiddles with his beer label. “I guess … if I’m honest, I … uh … wanted to spend more time with you.”

  I smile widely at him. “I’m glad you said that. You’re the nicest and most interesting person I’ve met so far.”

  He doesn’t say anything but turns away to rinse out his bottle before chucking it into a blue recycling bin next to the fridge. When he’s done, he goes to the window to look at the snow. He’s shy. Or embarrassed. Either way, it’s pretty cute.

  I have to break the tension. “Listen, Coach. I’m sure that kiss I gave you didn’t help create a less toxic atmosphere for you in the office. I’m sorry about that.”

  I could be mistaken, but I think I see the back of his neck blush. “Don’t be sorry. I liked it.”

  My cheeks flush and I feel as if they might match the color of his, and I am not a girl who blushes. I have a pretty hardcore poker face; I pride myself on it.

  “Did you?”

  He turns and we stare at each other for a moment while I start on my second beer.

  “I really did.” His voice has changed into something more serious. Quieter.

  “I’m just sorry I didn’t get to meet you at Nationals. We could’ve had some good wholesome fun.”

  Beast puffs out a snarky sort of chuckle. “Yeah. Perry likes to be the main dude and accepts all the awards on our behalf. The company won’t pay for staff to go to awards in person, especially if it involves travel.”

  I cock my head. My stomach turns and I don’t really want any more beer. “I hate to say this, but Perry is kind of a bombastic dick.”

  He laughs. “Don’t hate to say it;
it’s true.”

  We share a laugh about Perry’s bow ties and combover, but then the conversation eventually gets back around to the main question.

  Beast takes another step closer. He’s close enough that I can smell the newsprint on him. It’s mixed with something like clean laundry…and freshly brushed teeth. Thank goodness. I’ve encountered plenty of overworked reporters whose lack of self-care can veer into poor hygiene. Looking at Beast, getting a whiff of him, and glancing around his tidy—if outdated—apartment, I am relieved.

  “So, are still thinking of poaching me?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  I grin. “Nope. I have even bigger ideas.”

  “Like what?”

  “Meh, I’m still fleshing it out in my head.”

  “Am I still a part of any of those bigger ideas you’re fleshing out in your head?”

  His words and his eye contact grow more intense and it sets my insides fluttering.

  “What are your thoughts about Florida?” I ask him.

  “Florida, huh? I like the Dolphins.”

  “Me too. I miss seeing them out my window.”

  “What? No, I mean the football team. That’s another thing. How are you from Florida and don’t know a thing about football?”

  I bite my bottom lip and glance away. “I might have been playing up the dumb act. When I underpromise, I overdeliver.”

  Beast laughs. “I don’t know if that’s smart, annoying, or diabolical. All three, I think.”

  My fingers grip the hem of my sweater. “I annoy you?”

  He shakes his head no. “I think you’re maybe a little sneaky, but I kinda like that.”

  I smile. “You do?”

  “Yeah. And you know what else you are?”

  It’s then that I notice Beast’s arms are caging me in—one hand rests next to me on the counter and the other rests on the back of my chair as I’m turned sidewalks to face him. “What am I?”

  “An instigator.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yeah. You told me right there in front of everyone in the newsroom that I should consider moving on, and now I think I will. I’m so over all this fuckin’ cold weather. Why the hell not? As soon as this storm passes, that’s it. I’m going somewhere warm. You convinced me.”

  I can’t tell from his smirk if he’s kidding and flirting with me, or flirting with me and totally serious.

  “Well, you’ve been in charge of this department here for a long time, though. You’ll have to give notice.”

  He angles his shoulder. “Meh. They’ll survive.”

  “That’s a little unprofessional,” I reply with a playful slap to his massive, beefy shoulder. “I don’t know if I want someone on my team who would abandon his last employer like that.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  Is it me, or is he closer still? I take a deep breath. “Well, it’s sort of like a relationship. If someone cheats and leaves his girlfriend for another woman, he’ll probably cheat on the new girl, too.”

  He nods and smirks at me. “Well, I’m not a cheater. But you’re a poacher and you took this job under false pretenses. So who’s the deceiver here?”

  I swivel my chair to the side and slide out, standing up and gently pushing his arm out of the way. “You’re right. Maybe I am. And…I shouldn’t have kissed you earlier. That was unprofessional. Maybe everything about this is unprofessional. So. Maybe we should just call it a night and go to bed.”

  “Wait, don’t…”

  “I’m tired. I’m cold. Let’s just get some sleep.”

  Chapter Seven

  Beast

  I somehow derailed this conversation.

  Maybe we’ll try again in the morning when we’re both not so exhausted. I wasn’t messing with her. With weather like this, an offer to move to Florida is most welcome, even if we’re both just half joking about it. The fantasy sure sounds nice.

  I show her the bathroom and point out where everything is, should she need it.

  “Here’s an extra toothbrush I had floating around, a free sample from the dentist. And I know you don’t have a change of clothes with you, so if you need pajamas, you can borrow this flannel shirt of mine. It’s ah…gonna be big on you but it’s the closest thing I could find to PJs.”

  The thought of her feminine scent all over my favorite red-checked flannel turns me on. Why did I give her my favorite? Answer: because I’m a dog. And I want my clothes to smell like her and I want her skin to smell like me. Do I need another reason?

  She follows me as I continue the tour into my adjoining bedroom.

  “So here’s the bed.”

  She looks around. “That’s nice, but I’m sleeping on the couch, remember?”

  “I can’t let you sleep on the sofa. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

  Avery shakes her head. “I saw the sofa. You are way too tall for that sofa, even pulled all the way out.”

  “I sleep there all the time,” I say.

  She laughs. “You mean you fall asleep on the sofa all the time while you’re watching Netflix.”

  How did she guess that?

  “I like it. It’s comfortable.”

  She laughs harder. “Well, that sounds like a poor personal choice to me.”

  “I insist.”

  “It can’t be good for your back.”

  “How do you know?”

  She comes over to stand behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders. I don’t know what she’s doing but I like it. She pushes my shoulders down and pulls them back.

  “I can tell by the way you walk that you have back pain. My cousin is a chiropractor.”

  I grunt. “Yeah. Old football injury.”

  “Then you simply cannot sleep on the couch. I forbid it.”

  “There’s no other options.”

  “I’ll sleep on the sofa as planned. It’s fine.”

  “The window is drafty.”

  To get me to face her, Avery spins me around with surprisingly strong upper body strength. She’s growing impatient with me and her cheeks are getting red. “Not as drafty as me going out to find a hotel room in this weather, which is exactly what will happen if we keep arguing about this. Now, I’m tired. Let’s go to bed. I mean. You go to the bed. I’ll go to the couch.”

  Through gritted teeth I grunt, “Fine.”

  And that’s the end of that.

  About three-fourths of the way to sleep, I jerk awake at a strange noise coming from the living room. I sit up in bed on high alert. There it is again.

  I shuffle my way into the living room and see in the dark, the lump that is Avery snuggled under the blanket, her whole body shivering. The drafty window pane right above the sofa should have been replaced years ago.

  “What are you doing?” she asks groggily when I do what I should have done earlier.

  As I carry her to the bed, I mutter, “Keeping you warm.”

  Chapter Eight

  Avery

  Beast’s arms have me. Everything in my body likes it.

  Something in my exhausted brain tells me to protest. This is not going to end well.

  Or, it could end really, really well.

  “You’re not,” I stammer, “You’re not taking me to your bed.”

  “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s the only idea,” he mutters, sounding slightly annoyed with my question. He sets me down on the bed and covers me up.

  He’s got flannel sheets and a down comforter on his bed. I settle in with a moan. My logical brain is protesting, but the cozy bed, already warmed by his big body, is not a thing I have the will to withstand. My quickly warming limbs drown out my brain’s objections.

  The bed springs creak under the weight when Beast climbs in on the other side, sliding under the flannel sheet.

  “Coach. I don’t think I’ll be able to get to sleep like this.”

  He murmurs, “What more do you want?
To sleep on top of me?”

  “No. Tell me a story about your childhood.”

  “Not much to tell. Pretty boring stuff compared to you.”

  I yawn and sleepily urge him to go on.

  “OK, well, I was born and raised not far from here. Mom and Dad grew corn and soybeans. We had some cattle, too. I played football since I was old enough to walk. Mom didn’t really like it but I was sort of a natural.”

  I half whisper through still-clattering teeth, though the chill is quickly dissipating. “I want to know about your first dog, your first kiss. The first time you danced with a girl. How you lost your virginity. That kind of stuff.”

  He laughs out loud.

  “First dog? Cattle dog named Arnie. He was a farm dog, watched over the cows mostly, but Mom said the day they brought me home from the hospital, he took to me right away. Whined until they would let him sleep on the floor next to my crib. Eventually they set up his bed in my room.

  “And it was a good thing, too. Because a few years later I started having juvenile epilepsy and it was Arnie who went and woke my parents when I had my first seizure.”

  Picturing a tiny Beast with a dog watching over him at night squeezes my heart to bits. “Whoa. That’s amazing. Your dog is my hero.”

  He chuckles. “I guess he was a hero. My parents couldn’t be too upset over having to go and get a whole other dog to look after the cows after that.”

  I sigh sleepily in the dark. “I love that story. I’m so glad that dog was looking out for you. Otherwise…maybe I’d never have met you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Beast

  The bed linens rustle and then I feel Avery’s hand sweeping around, looking for mine. I slide my hand down and she covers it with both of hers and squeezes it. “I mean it; I’m so glad you’re here.”