“The black Jones New York skirt,” she informed Kelli. She loved her new look. Why she’d hidden in long skirts and flat sandals for so long, she didn’t know.
Actually, she did know. She’d been so completely absorbed in competitive swimming that nothing else had seemed important. When her knee injury had burst that dream, her ex-husband’s career had easily taken center stage. It had been as if she’d lost herself, her very identity stripped. She’d been Amanda the swimmer who’d become Amanda the wife. Nowhere in there was space for Amanda the woman or Amanda the reporter.
Her makeover changed more than her outside. It gave her confidence and transitioned her into a new state of mind that was dedicated to finding herself and her dreams again. That change of perspective had helped her shine in her job interview.
“Very nice,” Kelli said, approval in her tone. “The skirt is one of my favorite picks. Did you go with the Bandolino sandals with those cute ankle straps?”
“Ah, yeah, though I regret letting you talk me into them. They’re killing my feet.”
“Smile through it, sis. They look sexy and that’s what counts. Now kisses and kick butt.” The line went dead.
Amanda smiled and slid her phone into her purse. She hitched the strap over her shoulder, prepared to take charge of the locker room and, if she got lucky, a few good men along the way.
With that in mind, she charged forward, no longer caring about the pinch of her toes. No longer letting nerves get in her way. She had a hot new image and a hot new job. No way was she going to stop moving forward now.
In fact, she decided arriving a little late might be good. The guys wouldn’t be expecting her. Their guards would be down and she’d get her story.
But it wasn’t their guards that fell as she entered that locker room. It was hers.
Surrounded by half-naked, gorgeous men, Amanda’s eyes went wide. Everywhere she looked she found rippling muscle and rock-hard backsides exposed by gaping towels. For a girl who hadn’t had sex in so long it was embarrassing, the sight was downright shocking. Okay, arousing.
She should have been prepared for this. After all, she’d been in plenty of locker rooms with her father. Clearly, years of working the high school circuit had made her forget just how delicious grown men could be.
And these grown men—correction, half-naked, hot grown men—were all staring at her as the noise had dissolved into silence.
Suddenly, Amanda’s bravado of moments before slipped into hiding. Her slim-cut skirt—the one that seemed so perfect only moments before—now felt revealing.
“Hi,” she said, waving nervously, while promising herself she would not look below the waist to the display of muscled thighs and teeny-weensy towels. “I’m the new reporter for the Tribune.” She reached for the badge hanging from a chain around her neck and held it up.
She was met with a few smiles and murmured hellos. Some turned away, curiosity satisfied. Many continued to stare. Without conscious effort, she did exactly what she’d vowed not to do. Her gaze dropped and took in several sets of rather enticing male torsos, complete with defined abdominals. Worse, before she realized what she was doing, she swiped a strand of hair off her forehead, trying to get a better view.
Afraid she would be caught peeking, Amanda snapped her attention to eye level. She’d come here for a story, and not just any story—one for her very own sports column. Her reaction proved, however, that she needed to address her state of sexual deprivation. Otherwise, being in the company of these men would pose a real distraction.
“Great game, guys,” Amanda said, smiling. “Who wants to be the headliner for my first story?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” The voice came from Amanda’s left. A thirty-something man, wearing a sports coat and jeans, stepped into view. His piercing black eyes gave her a rude sweep from head to toe. “Has Kevin lost his mind?”
“Kevin?” Amanda asked, her eyebrows dipping, thinking. She’d come into town only the day before and met the staff at the paper in a whirlwind that morning. But there was only one Kevin she remembered. “As in my boss, Kevin?”
He crossed his arms in front of his plaid-covered chest before she could locate a press badge. “I’m surprised he didn’t go for blond and big-breasted.”
Who was this jerk? Amanda didn’t know nor did she care. Everything that happened here and now set a tone for the future. She wasn’t about to be made a fool of her first day on the job.
Amanda gave the jerk a bored look. “And who might you be?”
“Jack Krass,” he said, a slight gloat to his tone that said she should know the name.
And she did, as did the rest of the city. Jack Krass’s face was plastered on billboards—lots of them—advertising his column with a competing paper. She should have recognized him. Amanda had replaced him at the Tribune, meaning he’d once worn the shoes she now had to prove she could walk in. Worse, they were shoes two other reporters before her had failed to fill. Even though his confidence could be justified, in Amanda’s mind there was no call for him to be snide and nasty.
“Your name sounds vaguely familiar,” she said, a finger to her chin in mock concentration. “Wait!” She pointed in the air. “I know how I know you. A bunch of the guys at the paper were playing pin the tail on the Jack Krass this morning.” Her eyes went wide. “Wow. That must mean they really don’t like you. Why is that?”
A roar of laughter drew Amanda’s attention to the handsome face of Brad Rogers, who shared her hometown in Texas. The blond, blue-eyed pitcher had a lightning-speed arm and a reputation as a bad boy.
He was also her father’s favorite player, so Amanda knew him well, as did most women. The man was a walking sex god. Amanda didn’t have to look too closely to decide he was even more of a hottie in person than on television.
Leaning all six feet of his rippling muscles against a locker, he fixed Amanda in a come-get-me stare. When he winked, she felt it all the way to her toes. The sizzle was instant. He made her burn. If she could pick any man to end her sexless existence, Brad would be the one. Too bad their jobs put him out of reach.
“Jack Ass fits him well most of the time,” Brad drawled. “But we let him hang out, anyway.”
“You can be a real ass yourself, Cowboy,” Jack said in a biting tone and then shrugged. “And you let me hang around because I get you damn good press.”
“Actually, it’s all that free beer you buy us.”
Jack’s brow furrowed. “Say what you will, but we all know I deliver the readers.” He looked at Amanda. “Unlike others.”
“Since Jack got his face on the side of a bunch of buses and signs, he thinks he’s important,” Brad offered. “We know better.”
Jack tuned Brad out, focusing on Amanda. “Do you know anything about baseball?”
Officially, Amanda was irritated. Jack had pushed far enough. Time to strike back. She laced her words with sticky sweet sarcasm. “You mean I need to understand baseball to do this job? Nobody told me that. Maybe you better start explaining it to me.”
Laughter echoed against the tiled floors, boosting her confidence.
Numerous offers to school her on the art of baseball filled the air. Jack’s expression soured until he looked as if he’d been sucking lemons. “Sweetheart, looking good will get you laid, but it ain’t gonna get you a story.”
She laughed, but inwardly the words stung, nestling amongst her insecurities that the only reason she had this job was because she looked good. She eyed Jack’s slightly protruding belly and her response held more bite.
“Right. I most definitely do not want to look good. That makes me a very, very bad