“And slept in your own room.” He slid his plate away from her. “I’m hungry. Get your own.”
She paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Hmm,” she mumbled around a French fry but didn’t elaborate.
“Wanna bet?” He leaned forward until his mouth was inches from hers. “Those reporters are vultures, caring more about the dirt they can stir up than the game news. Dirt sells papers and I’m good dirt. You’re stuck, darling. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”
Satisfied that he’d made his point, he lightly brushed her lips with his then settled back in his seat. Great game, and Stacia later. What could be better?
She narrowed her gaze, eyes cool and remote. “Babe, right now, all we’re going to be doing is sleeping unless your attitude changes.”
He pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the burger. She reached for another fry and he slapped her hand. “Order your own. These are mine.”
She scanned him, her gaze traveling up and down. “Do I need my strength?”
“You most definitely need your strength.” All in all, not bad for a night’s work.
Loudly, a couple of the reporters got up and left the bar, leaving three others, including Stan Garvin, the most veteran of the reporters and the biggest pain in Jason’s ass. His mood suddenly soured; the food tasted like sawdust.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He started to slide off the stool, but she placed a hand on his arm. Stacia glanced over at the reporters, her face thoughtful.
She swiveled on the barstool and hopped off. “Be right back.” She left the bar, headed toward the ladies’ room.
Jason sipped his beer. Ah shit. What was she plotting now? He probably didn’t want to know. But at the minimum, it should make for great after dinner entertainment.
A few minutes later she came back, trying to hide her smugness. He eyed her suspiciously. “What are you planning?”
“Who, me?” She widened her eyes, doing her best to appear sweet and innocent, but he wasn’t buying it.
He leaned close and murmured, “I know you’re not that sweet, darling. So, what’s up?”
She smiled mysteriously, jerked her chin toward the mirror behind the bar and said, “Watch.”
He couldn’t understand why he was watching the reporters’ table but he followed instructions. Suddenly, the groupie who only moments before had been all over him was sliding into the booth and snuggling up to Stan, who was getting more and more red in the face. Finally, the girl gave up and walked away with a shrug.
Stacia swirled back around next to him, took a large swallow of beer, then slid off the stool. “Be right back. Keep watching.” She slid into the booth across from Stan, his face turning even redder within a minute or so of her presence.
Jason gave up all pretense of not watching and turned to face the drama in the booth.
*
Stacia slid intothe booth across from Stan. “Hey, Stan. How’s the wife? I hear your son is looking at colleges on the West Coast. Maybe a scholarship?”
“Who are you?” The older reporter eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know about me?”
“Doesn’t really matter. What I do know is I saw a very interesting event take place here a few minutes ago. Nice girl, Stan. What would your wife think?”
The table suddenly grew quiet, as if a switch had turned off the sound. Only the television and dull murmur of other people filled the silence.
“What the…?” Stan blustered.
“Don’t bother denying it. I have it all on camera.” She showed him the picture on her phone. “Your wife wouldn’t like seeing that. I wonder what she’d say.” She yanked the phone back before he could grab it.
“Nothing happened. I don’t even know that girl.”
She slipped the phone into her pocket. “True, but I could flash that picture and say all sorts of things, even blatant lies. I think I could get a lot of people to believe me, don’t you?”
“Is this about Friar and that girl?”
“No, it’s about all the bullshit you guys have been giving him—the girls, the slurs, everything. You take an incident and blow it out of proportion, giving people the wrong ideas.”