Off the Record

  We sit in a small gazebo near the water, far enough away from the party that we don't have to yell at each other. I watch as Ever sets her beer down and pulls out a notepad. She hesitates then looks over at me. She has the most amazing blue eyes I have ever seen in my life. It's not just the color, which is a pure cornflower blue. They are large, crystal clear and surrounded by thick lashes. She has really dark hair, almost black. It's long and wavy, but she has her bangs cut long and straight across her forehead. The dark hair next to her big, blue eyes makes them pop. I feel like I'm staring at her like a dumbass, but I've just never seen eyes like that. Normally, I'm an ass man, but I may need to rethink what really catches my attention.

  It's not just her eyes that are amazing. She's small but curvy, rounded in all the right places. Her skin is ivory pale and flawless. Her rosy cheeks and lips stand out in contrast but it looks natural. She doesn't have a classically beautiful face, not like a super model, but when you add the dark hair, baby blues and fair skin, she's like a modern day Snow White.

  Yes, I had noticed her immediately. I had a glimpse of Nix and Emily, and then my attention was on her. I couldn't tell much about her at first, other than she was small and her hair was really long, hanging in soft waves down her back. Without thinking, I started walking her way.

  Then those three women stopped me dead in my tracks, wanting to gush over what huge fans they were. I won't lie, I got a little sidetracked by the massive amount of boobs that were hanging out, but then I turned, intent on checking out the woman with Nix and Emily. When I looked at her a second time, she was staring at me. I could see her eyes were blue from several yards away and I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. She only became more gorgeous the closer I got to her.

  My thoughts are interrupted when she says, "Do you mind if I record our conversation? That way I won't have to take notes and we can just sort of talk like normal people?"

  "Sure. Not a problem." I take another sip of beer and watch her set up the recorder. She sets it on the bench in between us.

  Taking a big breath, she starts, "So--"

  I cut her off. "What does Ever stand for?"

  Impossibly, her blue eyes round even further in slight shock. "Huh?"

  "Your name...Ever. I've never heard that before."

  She shoots me an exasperated look. "Who is doing the interviewing here?"

  "Hey. You said we would just have a conversation like normal people."

  Ever sighs dramatically, but I can tell I've amused her. "So I did. Ever is short for Everette. It's just something I've been called since I was a baby, I guess."

  "Everette?" I say, trying the name out on my tongue. She doesn't look like an Everette. She definitely looks like an Ever. "It's kind of masculine."

  She gives a light laugh, and I'm momentarily sidetracked by the brilliantly straight and white teeth she is flashing at me. They make a perfect complement to her lips, which are plump and ever so soft looking. "It's a southern thing. Many southern moms love bestowing masculine names on their little southern belles. My mom was no different."

  "Ahhhh. I thought I detected a southern accent. Where are you from?"

  "Seriously. Are you interviewing me?"

  I just stare at her and take another sip of my beer, waiting for her to answer. She finally gives in.

  "I was born and raised in North Carolina. I transferred from Duke to Columbia less than a year ago. I just graduated and work at The Post. I'm five foot two and I'm a Pisces. I love sushi and long walks on the beach. Anything else?"

  "Do you really like long walks on the beach?"

  "Not really," she says with a laugh. "I'm more of a mountain person."

  "Me too," I tell her.

  "Really? What do you like about the mountains?"

  And so the interview begins. For the next half hour, she peppers me with all kinds of questions. She learns that I love to vacation in Wyoming during the off season, that my favorite TV show is The Walking Dead, and that I'm a pretty damned good cook. She asks a ton of questions about my lifestyle and I answer them all. But I also learn a lot about her too. For every few questions she throws my way, I ask one of my own.

  She tells me with that sweet, southern drawl that she is a country girl at heart and New York still intimidates her, that her dream vacation would be holed up in a mountain cabin with a good book, and that she is a decent cook but she hates to do it because she always seems to get stuck cleaning up after.

  Aside from her stunning looks, I find her to be charming, hilarious and interesting. I can't remember the last time a woman intrigued me past the point of wondering what her bra size was, although I do peg her at a nice B cup, which is my preference.

  "I'm almost done, but no lifestyle piece is complete unless I ask about your love life." Her tone is light and teasing. "So are you seeing anyone?"

  I give her my trade-mark, sexy, Linc-Caldwell-grin that I know for a fact brings forth both of my dimples. "Are you offering?"

  I'm pleased when those huge eyes blink at me with uncertainty and confusion. She certainly didn't see that one coming.

  "Uh...no, I'm not offering. Are you avoiding the question?"

  "Not avoiding. Just thought I'd check with you first to see if I could entice you to go to dinner with me before I answered. That way, in the interest of full disclosure, I could honestly answer whether or not I was seeing someone."

  "Of course...full disclosure." She's amused again, evidenced by the quirk to her lips that are struggling not to open up into a full blow smile. "But I'm sorry. As tempting as it sounds, I'll have to decline your invitation."

  "So you think I'm tempting, do you?"

  She snorts at my question but gives me a flirty smile. "Of course you're tempting. But I think you're a huge flirt and you think you can flash those dimples and women will just fall at your feet."

  "Now that's just not true," I tell her with mock indignation. "I can also flash my washboard abs or my incredibly large bank account. I'm multi-dimensional."

  Ever rewards me with a full out laugh, and I find it sexy as hell for some reason. I try to remember if I have ever noticed a woman's laugh before, and nothing comes to mind. There is something about Ever Montgomery that is different, but I can't put my finger on it. I'm not ready to give up yet.

  "So why won't you go out with me?"

  Ever picks up the recorder and turns it off. She slips it into her purse and then looks back at me. "Dinner with you actually sounds nice, but it just so happens I'm leaving in a few days for an out of state assignment. I'll be gone for six weeks and I have a lot to do between now and then."

  "Really? Where are you going?"

  I'm fascinated as Ever's eyes seem to light up from within, and I know I've hit on a subject that is dear to heart. She practically gushes when she says, "The Post is doing a piece on homelessness. I'm going to Los Angeles as an assistant to one of the senior reporters. We'll be interviewing homeless people and we are actually going to spend a week living on the streets ourselves. We have other reporting teams that are going to do the same in New York, Houston and Miami. Then we'll publish our experiences in a series of articles over the rest of the summer."

  "That sounds a bit dangerous, don't you think?" The thought of Ever living on the streets bothers me and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I've known this girl for less than an hour.

  She shrugs her shoulders. "It's no biggie. Plus I'll be with Eric...he's the senior reporter I'll be with and he's a pretty big guy. We'll be safe enough. And besides...this an opportunity I can't pass up. A good piece can really help to launch my career."

  What can I say but I'm impressed with her enthusiasm. She is clearly beyond excited about the story and not intimidated at all by living out on the rough streets of L.A. I'm liking this chick more and more.

  "So," she continues, "I just have too much going on right now before I leave to take you up on your offer."

  "I understand. Maybe some other time."

  "Maybe,"
she says.

  It was certainly weird that I asked her out. I don't really date and frankly, I have no need to. Finding a beautiful woman to occupy time in my bed is just not a hardship, so I really have no need to date.

  Oh, well.

  I stand up from the bench and Ever does the same. I stick my hand out to her, "Well, best of luck to you then. I look forward to reading the article you do. Oh, and I assume my PR rep sent over a portfolio packet to you that has a list of all of my charities and what not, right?"

  She takes my hand and shakes it with confidence. "I got that, yes. And I really appreciate your time. I'll submit the article tomorrow and it should run on Sunday."

  As we start to walk out of the gazebo she turns to me, "Hey...you never did answer my question. What's the dating scoop on you?"

  I chuckle. "You're like a dog with a bone...you just won't let go, will you?"

  She laughs even while her cheeks turn even rosier. "Nope. Reporters have to be tenacious."

  "Well, let's just say that I'm not dating anyone in particular. I'm enjoying the single life way too much to settle down."

  "Ahhh. A confirmed bachelor. This will break a lot of women's hearts, you know."

  "I doubt it," I respond dryly.

  We reach the party which is still in full swing, and will be until late into the night. I turn to her before we part ways. "Stay and hang as long as you like. We're going to have fireworks later when it gets dark."

  "Thanks. And thanks again for the interview."

  I don't know why I do it, but something causes me to lean down and give her a quick hug. I can't help but notice she smells divine...like strawberries and vanilla. "No problem. Any friend of Emily's is a friend of mine."

  I turn to walk away then I hear, "Hey, Linc."

  Turning around, she's looking at me with mischief in her eyes. "I forgot to ask, where did you get that scar on your chin?"

  I smile at her. "Off the record?"

  "Sure."

  "An irate lady threw a shoe at me and split my chin open. Needed five stitches."

  "Are you serious?"

  "I told you it was off the record, right? You judge if I'm serious or not."

  Her laughter follows me as I melt into the crowd.

  Oh, wow, Linc Caldwell is a handful. I know I'm new into this career, but I've done my share of interviews while I interned at The Post last summer. And this was a great interview. He was open, engaging and down to earth. So not what I was expecting.

  And he has got to be one of the most gorgeous men I've ever seen up close. I'm talking major panty dropper! When he asked me out, I was stunned and flushed with pleasure, all at the same time. There is no way someone like him could ever be attracted to someone like me. I'm too short, too pale and my eyes are way too big. Besides, I just got out of a relationship that was built on lies and deception. I'm not about to jump back into that mess.

  Still...it was just dinner and he seemed genuinely interested in me. While my brain tells me I shouldn't be swayed by something like that, I suppose there is still a little part of me that is enticed by the idea of a man being interested in me. I wonder if I should have accepted. I was leaving on Monday evening for Los Angeles but maybe we would have had time to go out before then.

  I mentally shrug my shoulders. No use worrying about it now. What's done is done.

  Emily and I are ready to leave. We stayed until the fireworks, which were spectacular. Emily is kissing Nix goodbye, which looks like it could take a while, so I tell her I'm going to use the bathroom. She directs me up to Linc's condo and tells me I could use the guest bathroom or the one in his bedroom.

  While I would love nothing more than to get a gander at Linc's bedroom, my manners push me toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I knock on the door and hear, "Be out in just a minute."

  I lean back against the wall and wait. And as I wait, I can hear voices from inside of the bathroom. It doesn't take long for me to figure out there are two women in there together. They are talking and laughing. Their conversation comes through loudly and I find it amusing because they're discussing Linc.

  "Linc Caldwell is just so fine. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to have a go at him."

  I snicker to myself.

  Another voice chimes in. "I know. I'd drop down on my knees right now and give him a blow job if he asked for one."

  My cheeks heat up over that, and to my mortification, a fleeting image of me doing that to Linc flits through my head and my mouth actually waters. Oh my gosh, what is wrong with me?

  I'm surprised when I hear a third voice jump into the conversation. Seriously, why do three women need to go to the bathroom together? The third woman says, "You're too late, ladies. I already gave Linc a blow job just a bit ago. He'll be satisfied for a while."

  One of the other women says, "No way. You're lying."

  "No I'm not. While you two were busy wasting your time talking to some boring hockey wives, I propositioned Linc down at the gazebo. He was only too happy to accept and let me tell you, he was delicious. He'll be calling me, I'm sure."

  The women all start screaming and tittering in excitement that one of them has made head-way with Linc. No pun intended.

  My stomach flips and starts to burn at the thought of some woman giving Linc a blow job not but a few hours after he asked me out to dinner. My skin actually crawls imagining it. Not wanting to hear anymore, I decide to use the bathroom in Linc's bedroom.

  I head to a door that is partially opened with soft light coming out. I assume that is the master bedroom. Just as I get to the doorway, I look in and see two people kissing.

  No, kissing it's exactly right. The woman has her back against the wall. The man is standing in front of her, kissing her neck. Her arms are raised above her head and he has them pinned to the wall with one hand. I can feel the redness creeping up my neck when I notice where his other hand is. He has it under her short skirt and buried between her legs. The woman has her head thrown back and her eyes closed, soft moans coming out of her mouth. The man is softly kissing her neck while his hand moves against her.

  I'm just about to turn away in embarrassment when I notice the man is wearing khaki shorts and a white t-shirt. Holy shit, it's Linc.

  I stumble backward from the doorway and spin around. Molten anger wells up inside of me and flashes brutally hot. All in one night, Linc asks me out on a date, gets a blow job from a stranger, and now it looks like he's getting ready to bang some other woman.

  Only one thing comes to my mind, and it practically screams at me...Linc Caldwell is the scummiest man-whore I've ever met.

  I immediately think of Marc. Images of him and Kelli screwing on my bed flood my brain and I taste bile in the back of my mouth. What is it with men?

  How did I miss Linc's sliminess? He seemed so down to earth when we were talking. So genuine. He seemed interested in me, and that made me feel nice, particularly coming from someone as hot, rich and famous as Linc Caldwell.

  As I wonder what in the hell is wrong with men, I also wonder what in the hell is wrong with me that I keep opening myself up to pretty words that fall from men's mouths?

  I leave the condo as my fury continues to build. I'm ashamed of myself that I could be fooled by someone like Linc. I should have known better, particularly after what Marc did to me. After what my father did to me and my mother. Plain and simple, men are not to be trusted. When am I going to finally learn that lesson?

  All of the embarrassment, pain and humiliation I've seemed to have taken from men weighs heavily on me. It's suffocating and I need something to relieve it. I cannot wait to get home and write this article.

  I'm sitting at my desk, my laptop screen glowing brightly. I take a sip of the chai tea I had made for myself and think about what to write. My anger has diminished a bit but in its place is an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.

  The folder that Linc's agent gave me lies on the desk. I consider opening it up and flipping through it but I immediat
ely give up on this idea. If I'm going to write an article about the true nature of Linc Caldwell, I need to be fully committed. No...this will not be a fluffy lifestyle piece that focuses on Linc's charitable works or what styling product he uses for his hair. This will have a bit more grit to it.

  I know it's probably going to piss off some Rangers fans, but there are plenty of Islanders and Devils fans that will get a kick out of this.

  I smile to myself in glee. Luckily, the lifestyle editor is a bit of a rebel herself and she'll relish a spicy piece to put in the paper.

  I start to type...

  RANGERS' GOALIE SCORES...A LOT!

  By: Ever Montgomery

  Yes, goalies can score!

  Line up, ladies. Apparently Linc Caldwell, the New York Rangers' star goalie, can be yours for the low, low price of a few flirtatious words or a low cut dress. And this offer doesn't seem to have an expiration date or a limitation to how much you can have.

  You see, I had the pleasure of Mr. Caldwell's company the other night to write a lifestyle piece on him. Instead, I was treated to a bit more than I really wanted to see.

  Just a few minutes before meeting me, I watched as Mr. Caldwell kissed on a half-naked woman. Then just a mere half hour into our interview, he had the temerity to hit on me, which I politely shut down. Not to be deterred, he moved on to a third woman who claims they got pretty down and dirty with one another. I finally witnessed him finishing off the night with a fourth woman in a very compromising position.

  Now, I know Mr. Caldwell is one of the NHL's finest hockey players, and this opinion piece offers no assessment of his hockey abilities. I'll leave that to our esteemed sports writers.

  But for those of you who want to know the man behind the mask, don't bother looking too hard. It's quite a shallow pool you'd be gazing into.

  When I asked Mr. Caldwell how he got so many dates, he proudly said all he had to do was flash his washboard abs and huge bank account, and the women just flock to him. I'm sorry, Mr. Caldwell...but some women do need more than muscles and money to make them happy.

  I almost, at one point, felt sorry for Mr. Caldwell. I imagine his life of meaningless sex and one-night stands has got to leave a man feeling somewhat empty. But that sympathy was quickly diminished when he even admitted to pissing a woman off so bad, she threw a shoe at him, causing that renowned and much discussed scar on his chin. It seems the scoundrel doesn't learn from his mistakes.