“Look, any of the other guys would love the press,” he said. “Seriously. Joe. Joe would probably buy you a five-star dinner. Or Henry. He sent the last reporter who interviewed him a bouquet of flowers the size of her car.”

He was trying to get rid of her. Again, not a new feeling. “I can feed myself, and I’m not much of a flower girl. Besides, I plan to get to them. But you’re first up.”

“Fine.” He let out a rough breath. “You’ve got five minutes.”

“Now?”

“Or yesterday. Take your pick.”

“Now, thank you.” She once again reached into her purse for her pen and tore the cap off with her teeth while attempting to catch her breath.

Of course he wasn’t breathing like a lunatic, but then again, he worked out for a living. “Okay, so how do you feel about the reports that the Heat has such great pitching because the ballpark is so hollow and vast that at night the heated, thick Santa Barbara air floats in from the ocean and prevents the fly balls from traveling too far?”

He made a sound like a tire going flat. “They’ve been saying the same thing about Dodger Stadium for years. People are going to believe what they want, and if they want to believe it’s the stadium and we’re cheating, whatever. Fact is, we win. Period.”

“You don’t mind that rumors like this take away from those wins?”

“No. Because it doesn’t.”

Instead of putting her off, his easy confidence had her taking another, longer look at him. He took up a lot of space and suddenly seemed to be standing close, close enough to be affecting her pulse, and she wasted a few precious seconds trying to unscramble her brain. “By all accounts,” she said, “you’re a close-knit team.”

“Yes.”

“How difficult was it when Jim Wicks and Slam Rodriquez got traded, then suspended for testing positive for illegal enhancers just before the start of the season?”

He arched a brow. “Going for a lighthearted tone, are you?”

“This is my job.”

“Well, your job sucks. And losing Jim and Slam sucked.”

“Are there more of you on the team who are using?”

His jaw tightened. “Trick question.”

“How so?”

“Jim never admitted to anything, and Slam claims innocence.”

Yes, she’d read all the reports. And he was right. The question hadn’t been kind. Or easy. That was also her job, unfortunately, and it was never kind or easy. “So are there? More of you using?”

He stopped at his car. “Three and a half.”

“Three and a half what?”

“Minutes left in this interview.”

“What about you personally,” she said without missing a beat. “Did you—”

“No personal questions.”