“Deal,” I said, shaking his hand. Every nerve in my body sat up and took notice when his fingers closed around mine. I slowly tugged my hand from his and looked out the windshield to change the subject.
“So, where are we going?” I asked.
“Before I tell you that,” he said, his tone turning serious. “I have to ask a question. And I need an honest answer.”
“Okay…”
“Why do you want to interview me?”
“Well, it’s more of a profile piece,” I said quickly.
“Okay, why do you want to profile me?”
“Because you’re Sean Donovan.” I knew it wasn’t a good answer, but it was all that I could come up with on short notice. I cleared my throat and searched my brain for a better explanation.
“I know I’m Sean Donovan,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road in the heavy traffic. “But do you know how many interviews I’ve done? And how many profiles have been written about me?”
“No…”
“Fucking hundreds,” he said. “And they all said the same thing. Sean Donovan is great on the field, but a total train wreck off the field. All they wanna talk about is how much I drink and how many women I fuck and how many bar fights I get in.” He shook his head. “Shit, I’m the one doing all that stuff and it bores the fuck out me. Why would Playboy’s readers want to read a rehash of the same old shit they can see on TMZ or ESPN any night of the week?”
He glanced at me and closed his mouth to let me know it was my turn to speak.
“Well, I thought that…” I stopped speaking because I realized that he was right. Sean Donovan’s exploits were given more press time than Donald Trump’s hair. What was I thinking? There was no need to write an exposé on Sean Donovan because, as I’d contemplated in Walter’s office, there was nothing left to expose.
He spoked without looking at me. “You thought that I would let you follow me around for a few days to personally eyewitness what a train wreck my life is. Is that it?”
Jesus, I didn’t expect this guy to be so smart…
“Well, I…”
I heard him blow out along breath as he shook his head.
“You saw the train wreck last night, Katie Holmes. Fuck, you got to witness it first-hand. I go to clubs, I get fucked up, I try to screw beautiful women, then I get up the next day and do it all over again. And if I’m not too hungover, I run down the field and catch balls Matt Murphy throws at me. If you’re looking to write an exposé, knock yourself out, but you won’t be telling the world anything it doesn’t already know.”
“Does the world know that your drinking and partying is about to cost you your job?” I asked bluntly.
He frowned for a moment, then opened his mouth wide. “Ah, you talked to Monique.” He chuckled under his breath. “I saw her up there feeding number three. I guess she told you everything Leon told me.”
“She said the coach is going to play Denzel Lockett if you don’t sober up and get your life back on track.” I studied his handsome face for a moment. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Is that true?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is that the story you want to write?” he asked. “The rise and fall of Sean Donovan?”
I thought about it for a minute, then said, “I’d like to write the story of how Sean Donovan got his life back on track and took his team to the Super Bowl.”
His handsome forehead wrinkled as he stared out the windshield. Quietly, he said, “I’d like to write that story, too.”
“We could write it together,” I said. “If you’ll let me.”
He thought about it for a moment, then glanced at the side mirrors and cut across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit. I grabbed onto the dash to keep from sliding sideways into the door.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You want to write about the real Sean Donovan?” he asked. “The one that the public doesn’t care about because it’s not headline news?”
I blinked at him. “Yes, I would.”
“Okay, Katie Holmes,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”