“So what are you on to next?” he asked, handing over the mic equipment to one of the crew members.

“I’ve arranged to interview a few of your teammates. And your coach has agreed to give me a few minutes.”

Trevor arched a brow. “You’re getting camera time with Manny? How’d you manage that?”

“I asked. I’m very nice, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He started toward her again, but she took a step back.

“We really should get going. There isn’t much time and I have a lot to do.”

He seemed disappointed. “Good luck with your interviews.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the game tonight.”

She was being cool and remote and she knew it, but she had to maintain a level of professionalism around the crew. And to protect herself.

She was being ridiculous. But she couldn’t help herself. This was who she had to be, how she had to act. She was making the right decision.

Right?

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The other interviews went well. She talked with Gavin and Garrett, and they gave great commentary about the team, and Trevor’s place in it. They weren’t bitter about him only playing part time and both stated he was a valuable asset to the team. They understood when he had to drop out to handle football duties, and they were used to it. The team accommodated him because he was good at what he did, and he didn’t act like he was any better than the rest of them.

Actually, none of the guys she interviewed professed any jealousy or bitterness toward Trevor. They teased him on camera about being a hotshot, but, as Gavin said, if you had the skills to back it up, then you should do what makes you happy.

They were good interviews. Maybe her producers wanted some professional jealousy on some of the players’ parts, or someone calling out Trevor for being a dick, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. At least not with any of the players she’d talked to so far.

And then she got to his coach. Manny Magee was known to be grouchy, and he hated giving interviews. She was actually surprised he’d agreed to this one, so when he sat down with her, she knew she’d have a limited amount of on-camera time with him.

“Tell me about Trevor Shay.”

Manny shrugged. “Good player. Shows up on time, does his job.”

“How do you feel about him playing two sports?”

“I hate it.”

She knew she’d get blunt honesty from Manny. “So you’d like to have him full time.”

“Of course I would. But I’m not gonna get him to play for the Rivers full time. So I’ll take what I can get.”

“He’s that good?”

“He’s that good. With someone as talented as Trevor Shay, what coach wouldn’t? I’m just glad he’s playing for our team and not someone else’s, you know what I mean?”

Haven didn’t comment, but yes, she did know. They talked about tonight’s game and the Rivers’ chances to make the playoffs, which they’d use for tonight’s clip. Haven thanked Manny for his time, and they finished up.

The camera crew took some shots of the players warming up, including a few close-ups of Trevor fielding the ball and throwing it back. And when he took some swings in the batting cage, Haven stood there with the crew and watched. She couldn’t help but be impressed. He was tall, athletic, a strong presence as he knocked the ball with power. And as his muscles flexed, she remembered him moving over her last night, the pure mastery he had over her body.

It was cool outside today, but her body heated as she recalled every moment they’d spent together, the way he had taken her with his mouth, his hands, and his cock.

No. That was definitely not going to happen again, and thinking about him in that way wasn’t helping the situation at all.

“I think we have enough shots,” she said to her camera guy.

Once the game started, the camera crew worked independently to take some game shots of Trevor, while she did some edits on her laptop up in the club suite. She’d look up on occasion to watch the game. The Rivers were down by three runs in the fifth when Trevor came up to bat.

He took the first pitch, high, barely even moving. He read pitches well. The second was low and in the dirt and Trevor didn’t budge, refusing to be fooled into swinging.

He’d been out on a fly ball his first at bat, and had gotten on base with a single in his second, only to be left stranded.

On the third pitch—a decent one—he swung, blasting it foul into right field.

On the fourth pitch, he connected, sending it sailing.




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