“That’s not true.” North might not be exciting, but he’s dependable. Or…at least he was before he started making afterhours appointments.
“The relationship section of the Chat is your baby, Catarina. When I asked you to run it, you agreed to keep it alive and kicking. Barrett Fox adds both life and kicking.”
“Oh, trust me.” I give her a blithe smile. “I’m tempted to kick him.”
“Perfect. Conflict makes for great stories.” She gives me a Grinchy smile. “If you don’t like Art in the Park find something else. The more local festivities that are in public, the better. We want buzz surrounding these articles. We want lots of online subscribers sharing them on Facebook. We want ad banners for KY lube.”
Okay, that was a little loud.
Barrett lifts his head from his laptop. Mia waves. I snarl. His eyes twinkle with mischief.
Dammit, Mia.
Chapter 3
Catarina
According to YouTube, the video has over two million hits.
That means at least two million pairs of eyeballs have watched Barrett Fox unravel online, more if you count when it aired on live TV. I heard about the incident, but I never actually watched it. When the office was atwitter about what had gone down on the beloved Ohio State Buckeyes field, I mostly ignored it.
I don’t watch football. I don’t particularly like football, though I can honestly say I don’t have a weighted opinion either way.
The reason for my pulling up a video marking the beginning and end of Fox’s field reporting career is simple. Research.
In the video, Fox is on the sideline holding a microphone and wearing a set of headphones. He speaks to the guys in the booth, excitement lighting those impossibly blue eyes.
“That was unbelievable,” he says over the roar of the crowd. “That touchdown brought us a much-needed tie—”
Then a whistle blows, and a referee waves her hands over her head. Yes, her head. The recent addition of female refs in college ball was another big topic of focus here at the Chat.
The ref makes a series of hand gestures and then the men in the booth let me know what it meant. She called OSU’s quarterback out at the two-yard line.
“Out of bounds! No way,” one of the older sportscasters in the booth comments. “Barrett, you’re down there. What did you see?”
The camera snaps back to Barrett, whose face is nearly as red as his hair. His brow is creased, his mouth pulled into an unruly frown.
“I saw a touchdown, Bob.” A tremor of anger lines his voice. I have a visceral reaction as adrenaline shoots down my arms in anticipation. I know what happens next, but I can’t look away.
The female ref walks to the sidelines and Barrett approaches, arms raised at his sides in frustration. “Are you blind? Was your hair in your eyes? Tits blocking your view? Anyone paying attention saw what I saw, and honey, that was a motherfucking touchdown!”
That’s it. His mic is cut, but Barrett’s still yelling. He doesn’t get physical, in fact, he lowers his arms and puts his hands in prayer pose while he argues. The ref doesn’t cower. Her face is equally creased with anger as she gives him a few choice words of her own. She blows the whistle in his face. Barrett rips off his headphones and throws them on the ground.
And that, my friends, was that.
There’s an awkward throwback to our boys in the booth, who attempt to pick up where Fox left off (minus the F-bomb). They change the subject as quickly as possible.
That’s where the video ends. I sit back in my chair and pluck my earbuds out before tossing them on the desk.
“Not my finest hour,” Barrett says from behind me, and even though I don’t mean to, I jerk in my chair.
“Seriously! You need a bell.”
He sits on the corner of my desk, legs spread, hands linked between them.
“Get off my desk.”
“What’d you come up with?” he asks.
I shove his thigh in a futile attempt to move him. His leg is like a steel beam. Rock solid. I snatch my hand back and grimace, but not before comparing him to North, whose leg has never felt that muscular.
“Harder spots on me than my leg.” Barrett grins.
“Like your head?” I gesture to my laptop. “I suppose you’re proud of that tirade you delivered on that poor woman?”
“Poor woman?” One of his reddish eyebrows arches high on his forehead. “Santiago could best me in arm wrestling. She’s a force to be reckoned with. She’s also as blind as a fucking bat if she thought Looser was out at the two. I was standing there, and he was in, and for the record, the Bucks lost that game thanks to her shitty call.”
“She’s a female ref, which you pointed out with that comment about her…her…chest.”
“Tits.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at the offensive word. “She was mailed countless boxes of tampons. She was transferred after that incident. Do you take responsibility for that?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you insulted her on live television.”
“I thought women and men were supposed to be treated the same. You don’t think if that was a guy I wouldn’t have called him on the same shit? You think I wouldn’t have pointed out how his tiny dick was calling the shots, or suggested he reach into his pants and find his balls?”
Since he’s making a crass, but no less valid, point I don’t want to acknowledge, I go with, “You’re an imbecile.”
“Point is, if she was a dude I’d have said something similar. Minus the F-bomb. That’s what got me canned.”
“I highly doubt it.” Then again, misogyny is alive and well, so perhaps he’s right. “You should at least apologize to her.”
“Did.” He stands from my desk and starts to walk away.
“What do you mean you did? You apologized to Santiago?” That, I’d never heard. And I know our paper reported on the incident more than once after it happened.
He faces me and shrugs. “Yeah. I asked if she would sit down with me and talk. I brought her a bouquet.”
Oh. Well, that is surprising.
“Of tampons.” Then he adds with another grin, “I’m kidding.”
I’m not sure if he is or not. And I’m back to wondering what penance I’m serving being stuck with this caveman for the better part of my summer.
In Mia’s office later that week, I’m in one of the chairs opposite her desk and Barrett is in the other. She’s reviewing our lists of date ideas and nodding her way through mine. I smile when she gives me a well-earned “Nice choices, Catarina.”
I shoot a glance over to my cohort, who's about to be schooled on how to work at a real job. I saw his list. It was ridiculous. I also caught a few typos I helpfully pointed out. My fastidiousness wouldn’t allow me to overlook them.
Mia reviews his choices and I watch her face carefully. A smile spreads her lips and then she lets out a loud, appreciative “Ha! I love it!”
I frown. She what?
She’s shaking her head in amusement when she removes her glasses.
“This is going to be fantastic. Both of you will be in the other’s element but out of your own. It’s brilliant. Is there any way I can talk you into some platonic PDA? Hold hands. Walk close. Lay your head on his shoulder?”