Unedited. Subject to Change.
I hated Wednesdays.
Especially the week after a loss.
Media all over the locking room for damn near an hour, saying whatever the fuck they wanted. After a win, whatever. I could handle it. But if we didn’t? The motherfuckers went for blood – which I could also handle.
The team just didn’t usually like the way I handled it.
“Jordan Johnson, Kendra Fulton with WAWG Sports.”
With a heavy sigh, I tightened the towel around my waist and turned around, already mentally bracing myself for bullshit. I was tired – mentally and physically – from practice and morning meetings, and I was barely out of the shower, but apparently none of that mattered.
I put on a smile, hoping that a little flash of dimples would grant me some mercy. My shoulders dipped in relief when she smiled back – a pretty smile, at that, so I grinned even harder.
“Just a few questions today Jordan,” she said, gesturing to her camera guy to start filming. “Is that okay?”
She was cute as hell – nice little body, big brown eyes.
“As long as you plan to take it easy on me,” I flirted, suddenly not so pissed about Wednesday. I hadn’t seen her around here before.
“Now what fun would that be?” she said in a low voice, obviously not intended to be heard by the mic as she held it away from her face. Her eyes grazed my bare chest and then went lower, before they came back. She winked at me, and then brought the mic up.
“We’re here with star wide-receiver Jordan Johnson today, subject of recent controversy after video surfaced of him partying in a local gentleman’s club. You seemed slower than usual during the game this past Sunday – do you think it’s the result of your frequent wild, late nights?”
I narrowed my eyes. “I wasn’t slow, at all. I actually had my best receiving game this season last Sunday, you may want to check your facts.”
She smiled. “I’m well aware of the facts, Mr. Johnson. You also had your most incompletions, and a fumble in that game. Were you hungover from Saturday night, or are you still struggling with your shoulder? We know you had surgery on it in the off season – are you not yet at 100%?”
“My shoulder is fine, and you may to review the game film if you’re trying to pin this loss on me, Ms. Fulton. I get on that field and do my job every damn time, no matter what. Not everybody can say the same thing.”
“Are you saying your teammates aren’t pulling their weight?”
“I’m not saying anything except what the fuck I said. And I’m done talking.”
I turned away from her to emphasis my disinterest in finishing the conversation, choosing instead to start getting dressed for the second offensive meeting of the day. Behind me, she spoke into the camera to finish her clip.
“There you have it. Connecticut Kings wide receiver Jordan Johnson denying that he’s not recovered from the rotator cuff surgery he had this past March. He also staunchly denies that his habit of patronizing strip clubs and heavy drinking have any effect on his performance.”
“I like how you’re spinning that. That’s impressive,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Also, as you heard, he pinned the responsibility of the loss squarely on his team, confirming rumors that he is unhappy. I can’t help but wonder how that will effect the team’s morale.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, turning around after I’d pulled my tee shirt down over my chest. “I didn’t confirm shit, how about you not put words in my mouth?”
“I am just stating the obvious conclusions from the information you gave.”
“Yeah, keep your fucked up conclusions to yourself and report the facts if you’re gonna talk about me.”
She sniffed. “There’s no need to be hostile, Mr. Johnson.”
“This ain’t hostile, Ms. Fulton,” I said, giving her a pointed look as I grabbed the edge of my towel. “Now unless WAWG wants the viewers to see my dick, you may want to get that camera off me. Don’t wanna put any eyes out.”