Page 8 of Game Plan
3
BECCA
"Thank you."I smiled politely to the woman who showed me to the interview room and stepped inside.
I froze.
I knew that posture all too well. Back straight, chest out, chin lowered a little. When I first started to tutor him, he'd sit in a chair beside me, just like that. I soon recognised it as his defensive posture. By the end of the session, he'd be huddled over a book or screen, shoulder so close to touching mine I could hardly breathe. Even then, his earthy scent drove me crazy.
I thought I caught a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I couldn't be sure it was there at all. He lowered his arms and put on the plastic smile I was so used to seeing from people in his position.
"Rebecca Anderson, I presume." He held out his hand.
He didn’t recognize me? Yeah right. Fine, if that was how he wanted to play this, I could play along. I waited a long time for this.
I shook his hand. His fingers and palm were rough with callouses. Were his hands this large back in high school?
I reminded myself to focus and gave him a brilliant smile.
Please don't let there be lipstick on my teeth. Why didn't I check when I got out of the car?
He showed no sign of noticing anything out of place. Thank fuck, I didn't think I could handle him laughing in my face again.
I locked my eyes on his chocolate brown ones and I tried not to drown in them. I might have fluttered my eyelashes slightly.
"Mr Florence, it'ssonice of you to make time to speak with me today," I gushed, my enthusiasm as fake as his smile. I drew outsofor so long it almost needed its own postcode. "Please, call me Becca."
Only my parents called me Rebecca, although they usually stuck to Beckie-Boo. Everyone has to have a cringey nickname bestowed by their parents, right?
"Becca." My name slid off his tongue like honey. "Call me Conrad, or Hawk. Whichever you prefer." The plastic smile didn't slip for a moment.
"Conrad." His name slid off my tongue like peanut butter or cum. I swallowed and pushed my own smile back in place. "Hawk is a little easier." It suited him better too.
"Yeah." He gestured for me to sit, while he remained perched on the table.
I sat. All the better to give him a view of my cleavage.
"I'm so sorry I was late. The traffic was terrible all the way here." I placed my bag on the table and my phone beside it.
"Yeah, it can get heavy at this time of day.” Was he talking about the roads, or my chest? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking, not even blinking.
Perfect.
"Yes, I'll come earlier next time," I said. "I mean, leave earlier." I gigged as though the innuendo hadn't been entirely intentional.
He smiled, eyebrows raised. This smile looked a bit more genuine, but still tinged with the football god persona.
"Right." He moved to the chair beside me. "So, what do you want to know?"
I turned on the voice recorder on my phone. "Why Hawk?"
A smile brushed over his lips.
"Why Hawk what?" he asked.
I giggled again. "How did you come to have the nickname?"
Personally, I could think of a few, more appropriate, names to call him. An alphabet full. From 'asshole' to… Some insult starting with Z. There had to be something, didn't there? Zebra-ass, or… I didn't know. I'd work on that.
