“But—”
She raised her hand. “It doesn’t matter what you really think. State the positive, focus on the Traders and this season. Get the media excited about St. Louis and you. If you’re optimistic, they’ll be optimistic about you.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good. I’ll stick close to you so I can help you out if you need me to.”
“Jesus, Savannah. This isn’t my first time out in public. I think I can handle this. I’ve been handling it, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She gave him a dubious look. And okay, maybe she was right. He hadn’t exactly been a champion with interviews over the past couple years. He and the media weren’t the best of friends. But he’d give it his best shot because it was clear this was important to Savannah.
“Let’s go mingle,” she said, plastering on a bright smile.
But as they wandered through the crowd, he could tell she was nervous. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Savannah nervous. She was always so confident. But she kept glancing his way.
Did she think he was going to pick his nose in public? What kind of backwoods, uncouth redneck did she think he was? He rolled his eyes.
If there was one thing Cole could do, it was work a room. These might not be his type of people, but in the game of conversation he was never lacking.
They stopped at the bar. Savannah got a glass of chardonnay. Cole asked for water.
Grant Cassidy, the Traders’ quarterback, was also here tonight. Surrounded by media, he was smiling and charming and always “on.” Yeah, he was popular with the media and maybe Cole was just a little bit jealous about that, but if the guys with the microphones and the cameras wanted to give all their attention to pretty-boy Grant tonight, that was fine with him. The less spotlight on Cole, the better.
In fact, he’d be happy to fade into the background. All he wanted to do was play football, play it well, and be left alone to let his performance speak for itself. That’s all he’d ever wanted.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t Savannah’s plan. She grabbed his arm and practically paraded him back and forth in front of the media.
He finally dug in his heels and turned to her. “Really?”
“Really.”
It didn’t take long for the fish to bite. As soon as they finished with Cassidy, the media swarmed him.
“Riley. How do you feel about being traded? Again?”
“Do you feel like a failure after being dumped by yet another team?”
“What happened with Green Bay? Was it your off-field behavior that cost you the job?”
“Haven’t seen you much in the local clubs here. Purposely keeping a low profile, or are we just missing you when we scout out the night life?”
“Maybe you have a girlfriend and are staying in nights? Is she here with you tonight?”
He was going to need a mouth guard to keep from grinding his teeth. He wanted to tell them all to shove it up their asses, his usual response to invasive, moronic questions like the ones they were asking. But he kept his cool and answered them all, maintaining his calm and being as polite as humanly possible.
Despite the irritation prickling up his spine, he put on his best smile. “I feel great about being back home again. I’m jazzed to be with the Traders. They’re one of the best football teams in the league and I’m honored to be playing with them.”
He gave boring, team-positive answers. He told them he was happy to be with the Traders, that Green Bay was an amazing team and he expected them to have another stellar season, but he intended to look forward, not backward, and all he was doing right now was focusing on football, that’s why they couldn’t find him partying it up at the clubs.
Surprisingly, Savannah had been right. If he didn’t rise to the bait, the media got bored. He ended up fielding questions for about fifteen minutes until they found another sucker to badger and moved off. He turned to look for Savannah, but she had blended into the crowd. He signed a few autographs, fended off a couple frisky women who’d zeroed in on him when they saw him being interviewed, and made his way back to Savannah.
“You handled that well,” she said.
“I told you that you don’t have to worry about me. I really can handle myself.”
“When you want to.”
“So tonight I wanted to.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling. A genuine smile. That was a good thing. Maybe she was starting to believe in him.
“So what’s for sale tonight?” he asked.
“It’s a silent auction.” She led him over to the items up for bid. “You write your name down, and then someone else tries to outbid you.”