Expectations

Word Count: 2495

         Amy typed on her computer, trying deperately to make her deadline, when her computer alerted her that she had a new e-mail. The new assignment memo. Crap.

         She abandoned her work to check out her new assingnment which would hopefully be more satisfying than the last.

         The red and blue Sports One logo at the top of the page seemed extravagant to her eyes. She'd spent too many hours staring at black text on a white page. She scrolled down the names, searching for her own and freezing when she saw the name attached to her own.

         Owen McCarthy.

         Amy dropped her head on her desk and suppressed a groan.

         "It's so unfair that you get the stud muffin."

         Amy lifted her head at the sound of Stacy's husky voice. She marveled at the way she appeared cool and unaffected by the heat coming from the open windows. The fans blowing papers and clippings around her coworker's cublicles only gave Stacy a supermodel atmosphere.

         "I can't stand Owen McCarthy, and you know it. Everyone does."

         Stacy nodded.

         "Why would Callahan assign me to him?"

         Stacy planted a hand on her hip. "Maybe because you're the ony one who isn't fawning over him and who can actually get a good, professional interview."

         Amy sighed. That was reasonable. "He has a game this weekend. Callahan wants me to interview him afterward." She slouched down in her chair and burried her face.

~*~

         Of all the sports she'd ever seen, baseball was Amy's least favorite. She found it boring and a waste of time.

         And watching Owen McCarthy's display of cockiness on the field didn't help the matter. He did victory dance after victory dance on the field.

         When the last strike was made and the last inning over, Amy sighed in relief. Finally. She slouched out with the crowd, clutching her Press Pass in her palm to assure herself she hadn't lost it. As the crowd progressed out of the stadium, Amy took a sharp turn and made her way toward the locker rooms.

         She waited outside as most of the men left, waiting to catch Owen. He would have to come out eventually; he knew she was waiting for their scheduled interview.

         It seemed like forever had passed, and Owen still had not come out.

         So Amy groaned and went in.

         The whole room smelled like sweat and was empty down to the white tile floors. "Hello?" she called. There was no way he could have left. She would have seen him.

         As she turned a corner, she spotted a large figure, dark against all the white of the locker room. Owen sat on one of the benches, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face burried in his hands.

         "Mr. McCarthy?"

         He looked up at the sound of her voice and smiled as his eyes focused on her.

         After the countless times she'd seen his face, seen his smile, she still had never found him attractive. But today, his smile was honest and sincere, and she suddenly saw what everyone else did. A very attractive man.

         "I'm glad you're here," he said, sounding as if he meant it. He stood up and looked down at her. "I'm stalling. I don't want to go outside."

         Amy's eyebrows nit together. "Why not? All your fans are waiting for you."

         He sent her a slightly more grim smile. "Exactly." He slanted a look at her, and then headed for the door. "Are you ready to go out there?" he asked.

         What did she have to be ready about her? It wasn't her they wanted.

         But as they made their way to the outter door, where his limo would be waiting, she found that it didn't matter. The door swung open, and she was blinded by a wave of flashes and people.

         Her eyes met Owen's and he grabbed her hand as they made a run for the car, which she couldn't even see past the mob.

         She focused on the warmth of his large hand as he pulled her through the crowd and then the feel of his hands as he helped her into the limo. She slid to the far side, and he dropped into the seat next her.

         Slamming the door shut, he called to the driver and then dazzled her with a magnificent smile as they pulled away from the crowd.

         "Wow," she breathed. "Is it always like that?"

         He leaned back and examined her. "Pretty much."

         She could feel his eyes on her, but kept her gaze on the back window, where the crowd disappeared. When she turned back to him, his eyes were still watching her, and she squirmed in discomfort.

         "They tell me you're the best in sports entertainment," he told her.

         "I am," she agreed without hesitation. Because she was.

         He laughed, the sound of it sending a shiver down her spine, and looked away. "And so modest, too."

         She smiled. "They tell me you're the best in baseball."

         He smiled. "I am."

         She had a feeling this would be great.

~*~

         Two hours later, they sat in the limo, ice cream cones in their hands, and grins on their faces.

         "No way! How could he say that?" Amy demanded loudly as she tipped her head back and let out a laugh.

         Owen laughed and shook his head. "He's insane!"

         Amy clutched at her stomach and sat back to breathe as she licked at her vanilla ice cream.

         Owen's eyes were solemn. "You are not like other reporters, Miss Amy Cabot. You really are the best. You really know how to cozy up to the talent."

         Her mouth fell open. "What does that mean? You think I'm pretending to have a good time?"

         He shrugged. "It's possible."

         She straightend the coat of her pants suit and finished off her cone. "I'm not pretending," she said in complete honesty. "I'm having a fabulous time."

         He nodded. "And you have a great interview."

         She smiled to herself. "Exactly."

         Their eyes met and she sat up. "I should be going," she told him. My God, she thought as she offered her thanks and shook his hand. He isn't anything like what I thought.

         "I look forward to seeing you again," she said politely.

         His grip on her hand tightened and he looked her right in the eye. "Me, too."

         She stole her hand back and hurried out of the car before she did anything stupid.

         As the limo pulled away, she felt a little sad. Given the chance, she had a feeling Owen McCarthy was someone she could really learn to like.

~*~

         Amy hit the SEND button on her e-mail and rested her chin in her open palm. She'd never had so much fun writing an article before. A few times, she'd merrited odd looks from her coworkers as she laughed out loud, remembering something funny that Owen had told her.

         "Earth to Amy."

         Amy's gaze snapped to Stacy, standing beside Amy's tiny cubicle.

         "You look like you just got back from a stroll in the clouds." Stacy grinned. "What is it?"

         Amy's glanced quickly at her computer screen. The interview still sat on her screen, waiting to be exited. She couldn't let Stacy see it. She looked back at the blonde. "It's nothing," she lied. "Just having a good day."

         Stacy's eyes narrowed in suspiscion, and she lunged for the computer.

         "No!" Amy tried to block the screen, but Stacy held her back with a surpringly strong arm as she read a section of Owen's article.

         Then her eyes slid back to Amy. "Oh my God," she cried. "You're smitten with Owen McCarthy!"

         Amy's eyes shot around the general area to make sure no one heard. "No, I'm not!"

         Stacy planted her hands on her hips. "Oh, please. Then why are you all happy and goofy?"

         Amy opened her mouth to answer, but a shout from Callahan's office burned the words in her throat.

         "Amy!!!"

         She looked at Stacy and tried to breathe.

         Stacy backed up. "That's not a pleasant sound."

         Her legs like Jell-O, Amy stood and made her way to her boss's office.

         Callahan sat behind his deak, his eyes closed and his fingers working his temple. "Shut the door," he muttered without opening his eyes.

         She shut the door and chose not to take the seat she would normally sit in to speak with her boss. Silence floated around them as Callahan continued to work his forehead.

         Then his hand dropped and he pointed at his computer. "What is this?"

         Amy looked at the computer. Her article lingered on the screen. She shook her head, not understanding.

         Callahan's eyes shot open and he sat up. "What is this?" he exploded. But before she could answer, he did it for her. "I gave this to you because I knew you could keep your cool in an interview with a chick magnet like Owen McCarthy, and I get this? You sound like a blathering idiot! Ice cream? For God's sake, Amy, I wanted professional!"

         He finally stopped to take a breath, and Amy tried to control her shaking. Callahan had never screamed at her before.

         "I don't want to take you off this assignment. I'm gonna call Owen and schedule another interview, and I want professional. Got that?"

         She nodded, thinking of Owen's impossible blue eyes and how they looked better when he was laughing.

         "Good. Go."

~*~

         Owen's face lit up when he opened the door of his apartment for Amy early the next day. He enclosed her in a hug and she tried not to melt in his arms.

         "I haven't stopped smiling since Callahan called," he said in her ear just before he pulled away and took a step back. His eyes scanned her outfit and he smiled wider. "You look fantastic."

         She smiled and followed him into his apartment. "Thank you."

         They sat down on his couch and he offered her a drink.

         "No, thank you."

         He settled back into the leather couch and looked at her. "So, is this some sort of follow up thing or what?"

         She suppressed a groan. She knew this would be the worst part about their second meeting. "Not exactly." She didn't meet his eyes, but instead let her gaze wander around his bachelor pad. "Callahan didn't like the interview." She had to stop to clear her throat. "He said it wasn't professional enough."

         When she looked back at him, Owen's mouth hung open. "Not professional enough?" He laughed. "Well, I'm sorry if I'm not professional enough for him because I like to eat ice cream and laugh."

         She wanted to laugh with him, but she couldn't. "He's right. I was completely unprofessional the last time we met. We shouldn't have been that casual. It wasn't smart of me."

         His eyes bruned into her. Finally, her looked away. "You're just like every other reporer, aren't you? You were just having a good day. It was fluke."

         She gritted her teeth. "I just think it would be best to get this over with."

         "Alright," he muttered, leaning away from her. "Fire away."

         As she asked the questions that Callahan had told her to, Owen replied with short, cold answers that made her stomach turn.

         This was horrible.

         His eyes were glazed over and he wasn't even looking at her. He had changed from the man she had liked so much upon their first meeting to this man who answered questions the way he was expected to.

         When they were done, he thanked her and showed her out of the apartment, almost hitting her with the door as he slammed it behind her.

~*~

         Once again, Amy hit the SEND button, and waited. She had tried not to embellish the article too much, but she had added some things from the first article so that Owen wouldn't seem like such a cold-hearted, jerk.

         Because he was anything but that.

         She crossed her arms and tried not to sigh for the hundredth time. The last baseball game of the season was coming up, and even though she didn't want to, Amy knew she would be watching it that night.

         Her computer made a long chiming noise, alerting her that she had a new e-mail. It was from Callahan.

Perfect.

         She tried not to gag.

~*~

         Amy sat next to Stacy on her couch and watched the baseball game with the volume down. Amy stared at the screen while Stacy typed on the laptop she'd brought over.

         Amy watched Owen sprint to home plate and felt something inside her celebrate for his victory. The game would be over soon, and she would never see him again.

         "Amy."

         Amy jumped at Stacy's voice. She'd almost forgotten she was there.

         "Yeah?"

         Stacy ran a hand thought her gorgeous hair and looked at the TV screen. "Just go down there and talk to him."

         Amy shook her head. "I can't."

         "Sure you can."

         Owen ran into a mob of his teammates, laughing with them as he hugged each member. His buddies ruffled his short brown hair and high-fived his large hands.

         "I can't," Amy repeated, but she knew she'd already given in.

         Stacy smiled. "I'll go get your shoes."

~*~

         Amy didn't even care that half the men in the locker room were naked as she stomped through it, making her way to Owen's locker.

         She rounded the corner and melted at the sight of him, jeans hanging low on hips and his chest bare as he rubbed his neck with a towel.

         He stood with his back to her, but as the locker room got quiet, he turned and met her eye. She saw him resist a smile, but his eyes still smiled at her.

         "I didn't expect you to be so amazing," she said, loudly enough for all the men in the area to hear. "I thought you were gonna be rude and cocky and just downright unpleasant. But you were amazing. It wasn't a fluke. I promise I'm not like every other reporter."

         He nodded, but then shook his head. "This is absurd," he told her, inching closer to where she stood. "I've only met you twice, for God's sake, but I haven't stopped thinking about you since you climbed out of my limo."

         The men around them were sending Amy strange looks, but she didn't care. She stepped closer to Owen and wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to pull his face down to hers.

         It was a risky move, but she had a feeling he could handle it.

         The rest of the locker room whistled and cat-called as they kissed.