his hand from the glass, the cool condensation leaving his palm damp. He reached down and wiped it on his jeans. “You’re right, I know you’re right. I just want…” There was so much he wanted, it was impossible to verbalize it sometimes. “I want to do right by her. I don’t want one to get confused with the other. But you’re right. This will pass.”
Noah nodded sharply, as if the conversation and the issue were totally settled, except there was still that molecule of doubt deep in Jack’s conscience. Foxy drank the rest of his beer in one swallow.
“I’m starving. Let’s go get a pizza. Every minute I sit in this hellhole, I think I’m getting uglier.”
“Did you hear back from Mr. President of the Shit Heights compound or whatever the hell he was called?”
Toby threw the question to Izzy out of nowhere, as they were sitting in the broadcast booth after an afternoon game, going over notes for the following week’s matchups.
“Corey Rood?” Izzy asked, flustered at his sudden interest in a situation that they hadn’t discussed since leaving Florida. It had been two weeks—admittedly insanely busy days, but fourteen days, nonetheless. Izzy had kind of hoped that Toby had forgotten all about Corey Rood and his snotty email, but apparently not.
“Yeah. That guy. Did you keep him dangling after you and your highly desirable airtime?”
Izzy had written a perfunctory reply to the President of the West Barrington Heights Neighborhood Association, assuming that since it was a story she was dying to hear more about, Toby wouldn’t be interested. Then in the hectic days after the opening of the regular season, she hadn’t remembered to follow up.
Like all things associated with Jack Bennett, she should have expected the story wouldn’t leave her alone.
“I tried, sir. I think he really expected us to jump all over the story, and wasn’t thrilled that we didn’t.”
“Shit,” Toby swore, and Izzy couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually mentally unbalanced, because what he seemed to care about seemed to do a 180-degree turn every other day.
“Go out there tonight,” he continued. “Go see him, and check out the situation. I want to know every angle.”
“What should I tell Mr. Rood?”
“Tell him to be prepared for us to run the story.”
Izzy told herself that she should let his word be enough, but the conniving gleam in Toby’s eyes made her suspicious. “Are we?”
“Ratings are in the shitter, Dalton. We’ll run it if we have to.”
Corey Rood lived in an enormous house on a hill, surrounded by a number of other grand houses of equally disarming size. As she drove through the massive brick entryway that proclaimed “West Barrington Heights,” Izzy couldn’t help wondering why Jack had decided to buy in this neighborhood. The stately colonials and massive Mediterranean monstrosities, with a generous helping of porticoes and circular driveways didn’t really strike her as the style of a man who seemed most at home in jeans and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes.
She’d tried not to think about him, but over the last few weeks, it seemed he was practically haunting her. Every time she turned around, he was right there, glib and charming and irresistible, though it didn’t seem like anyone else felt that way. To everyone else at the station, Jack was an annoyance and a nuisance to be dealt with.
Unfortunately, her own thoughts couldn’t be more different.
As she passed another six thousand square foot house complete with Venus emerging from a gigantic stone fountain right in the middle of its front lawn, Izzy decided that she didn’t really know Jack at all if this was where he wanted to live. Glancing down to consult her notes, she was equally dismayed by the fact that the Venus house was Corey Rood’s residence. Pulling into the circular driveway, Izzy barely managed to not roll her eyes. So far, the one thing she could report to Toby was that Mr. Rood
Noah nodded sharply, as if the conversation and the issue were totally settled, except there was still that molecule of doubt deep in Jack’s conscience. Foxy drank the rest of his beer in one swallow.
“I’m starving. Let’s go get a pizza. Every minute I sit in this hellhole, I think I’m getting uglier.”
“Did you hear back from Mr. President of the Shit Heights compound or whatever the hell he was called?”
Toby threw the question to Izzy out of nowhere, as they were sitting in the broadcast booth after an afternoon game, going over notes for the following week’s matchups.
“Corey Rood?” Izzy asked, flustered at his sudden interest in a situation that they hadn’t discussed since leaving Florida. It had been two weeks—admittedly insanely busy days, but fourteen days, nonetheless. Izzy had kind of hoped that Toby had forgotten all about Corey Rood and his snotty email, but apparently not.
“Yeah. That guy. Did you keep him dangling after you and your highly desirable airtime?”
Izzy had written a perfunctory reply to the President of the West Barrington Heights Neighborhood Association, assuming that since it was a story she was dying to hear more about, Toby wouldn’t be interested. Then in the hectic days after the opening of the regular season, she hadn’t remembered to follow up.
Like all things associated with Jack Bennett, she should have expected the story wouldn’t leave her alone.
“I tried, sir. I think he really expected us to jump all over the story, and wasn’t thrilled that we didn’t.”
“Shit,” Toby swore, and Izzy couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually mentally unbalanced, because what he seemed to care about seemed to do a 180-degree turn every other day.
“Go out there tonight,” he continued. “Go see him, and check out the situation. I want to know every angle.”
“What should I tell Mr. Rood?”
“Tell him to be prepared for us to run the story.”
Izzy told herself that she should let his word be enough, but the conniving gleam in Toby’s eyes made her suspicious. “Are we?”
“Ratings are in the shitter, Dalton. We’ll run it if we have to.”
Corey Rood lived in an enormous house on a hill, surrounded by a number of other grand houses of equally disarming size. As she drove through the massive brick entryway that proclaimed “West Barrington Heights,” Izzy couldn’t help wondering why Jack had decided to buy in this neighborhood. The stately colonials and massive Mediterranean monstrosities, with a generous helping of porticoes and circular driveways didn’t really strike her as the style of a man who seemed most at home in jeans and a ball cap pulled low over his eyes.
She’d tried not to think about him, but over the last few weeks, it seemed he was practically haunting her. Every time she turned around, he was right there, glib and charming and irresistible, though it didn’t seem like anyone else felt that way. To everyone else at the station, Jack was an annoyance and a nuisance to be dealt with.
Unfortunately, her own thoughts couldn’t be more different.
As she passed another six thousand square foot house complete with Venus emerging from a gigantic stone fountain right in the middle of its front lawn, Izzy decided that she didn’t really know Jack at all if this was where he wanted to live. Glancing down to consult her notes, she was equally dismayed by the fact that the Venus house was Corey Rood’s residence. Pulling into the circular driveway, Izzy barely managed to not roll her eyes. So far, the one thing she could report to Toby was that Mr. Rood
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