Everyone who works within the New York Warriors organization knows that star player August Fletcher refuses to talk to most people...and especially team reporters. All except Quinn Castle, that is.
Quinn doesn't know why the broody football player...
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"THE ONLY PEOPLE you don't get along with are reporters," Quinn said to herself more than to me as she put the pieces together. "You hate...reporters."
I brushed a stray hair from Quinn's face, mostly because I couldn't get rid of the need to touch her. "I don't hate all reporters."
Not the pretty ones sitting in my bed.
She blinked at me as the gears whirred in her head. "You don't hate...me."
"No, Castle." I held her gaze, needing to make sure she knew this. "I don't hate you."
I couldn't hate Quinn Castle if I tried. I had, in fact. Tried. Just on principle with her being a reporter–a Warrior's reporter nonetheless. But I only managed to hold a grudge against her for maybe one minute of our first interview. And then I realized something about her set her apart from the rest. Something genuine. Something fucking beautiful. And I just couldn't hate her.
Quinn didn't seem all that reassured by my words. Instead, she got to the point.
"What did they do?" she breathed. Her voice was wispy and threadbare, but her body language had shifted. She sat on the bed unmoving, stiff as a board. Her eyes were calculating, and I knew she was trying to figure out precisely what happened. "What did they report? Who did it?"
"Quinn..." I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. You and I both know you can't write about it even if I told you."
"It matters to me." Quinn stared at me, silently begging me to give up the information she wanted to know. But when I didn't open my mouth, a humorless laugh slipped out of hers. "I always thought..."
She trailed off, and I frowned.
"What did you always think?"
Quinn tipped her head back, looking at the ceiling. She wore a rueful grin, and there was something about it that pained me.
"God, this is embarrassing," she muttered.
"Castle." I leaned toward her, grabbing her chin and tipping it back down to see her expression. I didn't want her hiding from me. "What are you talking about?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing."
I cupped her cheek. "It's clearly not nothing."
Her eyes did a quick little roll before she sighed.
"Remember that day when Finny let it slip that I was the reporter you liked? When we were on the conference call?"
I nodded, letting my hand fall from her face. How could I forget when he fucking outed me like that?
"I was skeptical, but in the back of my head, I was holding onto the hope that you actually, maybe, liked me. I hoped you tolerated interviews with me because I was good at my job. Or maybe I made you feel comfortable. Or...I don't know. Something."
