Something like Hate
Um þessa hljóðbók
I love him.
I loathe him.
It’s like plucking daisy petals in my head, but he’ll never know.
When Miles Cavanaugh, the best safety in the league, was traded to the Chicago Grizzlies football team last year, I could finally breathe. Temptation was miles away.
How naïve to think it would end there because when the opportunity to write for a national magazine based in Chicago lands in my lap months later, I can’t turn it down. Sure, it’s a big city, but the sexual energy feels like a beacon between us the minute my plane lands.
To make matters worse, I end up having to take over the job of reporting exclusively on the Chicago Grizzlies. Which means traveling with the team, interviewing players, and pretty much having an all-access pass to their lives during the season.
Miles and I put up a great front, quickly hating on one another, but we both know it’s a lie. We also know the rules are simple. For me, don’t sleep with the subject of your articles. For him, don’t sleep with the journalist who can make or break your career.
I thought straight-laced Miles Cavanaugh followed all the rules... oh how wrong I was.
