“Kayla, you are a total fucking idiot,” I say out loud, which prompts a cautious glance from a passerby. I sigh and lean against the railing, staring down at the choppy water. Bram hadn’t been kidding when he said I shouldn’t ask him anything too personal. And I guess adoption is always a personal thing. It just really sucks since I felt like we were finally having a good rapport with each other. Getting answers from him was like getting blood from a stone, and I finally felt like I was breaking through.
And of course I had to go and mess it all up, because that’s what I do. Maybe if he wasn’t so damn good-looking, I would have been able to think better. I decide to blame my vagina for robbing my brain of its much-needed blood supply.
I bring out my phone and text Bram.
It didn’t go too well, I type and press send.
He responds almost instantly. I had a feeling. What happened?
I asked the wrong question and he pretty much shut it all down.
What did you ask him?
I groan as I type, I mentioned the fact that he was adopted. I guess he didn’t like that.
Bram’s response takes a while. The dots flash as he types on his end, and I know he’s just going nuts. Finally it comes through as: That was stupid. I guess he erased whatever he was going to originally say. Probably smart. I don’t normally feel bruised but after all this, I’m strangely fragile.
Yeah, I fucked up. Sorry. But I’ll write what I can. I may come to you with some questions if that’s okay.
No worries.
And though Bram said no worries, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t worry.
I take a deep breath and make my way back to the office where I sit down and pretend to concentrate on my real job for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lachlan
I hate interviews.
I mean, I really, really despise them. So when Bram told me that his girl’s friend would be contacting me, wanting to interview me for some San Francisco weekly magazine, I immediately said no.
Don’t get me wrong. I want to help him out. After all, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m supporting him the best I can, putting my own money in. I’ve always had a soft spot for charity, and even though I hadn’t seen my cousin for years, I have a soft spot for family too.
But interviews are a whole other thing. Nothing is worse than having to talk about yourself, especially to someone who will twist your words around. The number of times I’ve been called “difficult” and “temperamental” by a news article or interview is high, high enough that I just full-on stopped doing them. It became less about the game and more about whatever salacious items they could drag up about me, and that’s a game that I just don’t play.
And the main problem is, there’s a lot about me that they can bring into the light. Not necessarily things that I’m ashamed of, but stuff that shouldn’t concern anyone else except me. Privacy is everyone’s given right, and the problem with the world today is the fact that everyone thinks they have a right to it, too. So fucking what if I play for Edinburgh? Does that mean the public has a right to know about my personal life, my private life? No, it doesn’t.
Bram’s a persuasive guy though. He said the article could help us secure the extra funding that he needs. Then he mentioned that the girl, Kayla, is trying to get her break in writing, so she won’t be like any of the journalists I’ve been subjected to.
He was right about that. The girl is kind of a hot mess. She’s hot too, even though she looked like she just rolled out of bed the first time I met her. But more than that, she gives me the impression of a runaway train that’s about to implode. Not exactly professional journalist material. So with that in mind, I said yes. Let her interview me if Bram thinks it will help.
Of course he had to warn me of a couple things about Kayla. One was that she was a notorious man-eater, and if I wasn’t careful, she’d be climbing me like a bloody tree. And two, she has no filter and was bound to say the wrong thing and that I should take it easy on her if that happened.