Chapter 2: Make It Count

Fitz pointed to the seat next to her. "May I?"

"Sure," she said. She moved Abby's empty glass to make room for him.

He sat down and extended his hand to her. "Fitzgerald Grant."

She slid her small hand into his.

His plan had been to bring her hand to his lips and gently kiss it, but he was stilled by this indescribable sensation pulsing through his body by merely touching her hand. He looked into her eyes to see if she felt it too. He saw shock, confusion, and something else there that he couldn't quite identify.

"Carolyn Wright," she finally said.

"Oh. Looks like my bartender needs to get his facts straight. He said you were engaged to Harrison Wright, not married."

"Your bartender does need to get his facts straight." She glanced back at Harrison. "I'm sure our family frowns upon incest." She frowned for emphasis. "Harrison is my cousin."

"Oh. I just assumed when I saw him hug you earlier that he was the fiancé."

"So, it's not Ray who needs to get his facts straight."

He smiled. "No. Ray said you were engaged. And, when I saw Harrison hug and kiss you, I just assumed he was the guy," he explained.

"Yeah. We kind of love each other. So, there's an occasional hug or kiss on the cheek. You know, the normal ways that families show affection towards each other," she teased.

"Haha. Okay. I get it." He looked at the ring on her finger. "But, you are engaged."

"I am."

"So, who's the lucky guy?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh?"

"This is just one conversation. I'm sure we'll never see or talk to each other again."

"Not if I have my way."

"So, you want to see me again?"

"I would love to." He gazed into her eyes again. His were dancing with mischief. Hers were laced with nervousness. She finally looked away.

"So, what can I do for you, Mr. Grant?"

If only she knew how loaded that question was. "Please call me Fitz."

"Fitz."

"Just looking for some conversation. So, is it safe for me to assume that you don't know who I am?"

She took a sip of her drink. "No."

"Oh. It's just that when I usually introduce myself to ladies they're all, 'I know who you are Fitzgerald Grant,'" he said, placing his hand on his chest, and batting his eyelashes, doing the worst imitation of a woman she had ever seen.

She laughed at his goofy humor, and once again he heard music. What he wouldn't give to hear that sound everyday.

"I'm not most ladies."

"You've got that right." Fitz was certain that she never had to go out of her way to get a man to notice her. And, most of the ladies who came around him were groupies. And, he knew she was no groupie. "So, are you a fan?" He regretted that question the moment he asked it. If she said no, he knew his heart wouldn't be able to handle it.

"I used to be."

"Used to be?" He exclaimed, grabbing his heart. That meant at some point she loved him. But, then stopped. This had to be fixed. He needed her love. If it was only from afar, and only for Fitzgerald Grant, the quarterback. Although he would prefer that she love the man sitting in front of her.

"Even had a jersey," she confessed. "Slept in it almost every night."

The image of her in his jersey danced around in his head. And he had to push it away as all the blood in his body traveled south at the mere thought of her sleeping in nothing but his jersey. He shifted in his seat and thought of his out of shape offensive linemen. That worked like a charm. "What happened?" He asked, wanting to know why she stopped being a fan.

"I've been wanting to ask you that for the past four years."

"Ouch," he said.

"You asked."

"I know. But, jeez."

"Well," she prodded.

"If I had an answer, I would have fixed it by now. What do you think?"

"I think you don't pass the ball enough."

He didn't want to admit it, but that honestly hurt his feelings. "Now, you sound like the talking heads."

"They have a point."

"So, do you agree that I don't trust my wide receivers?"

"I think the person you don't trust is Fitzgerald Grant." She paused as her words sunk in. "Up until about four years ago, you averaged over 4,000 passing yards," she continued. "Even now, with those numbers dwindling every year, when you do pass, you have over a 60% completion rate. When either you or your running back try to run, you only pick up a yard or two. With the exception of your center and left tackle, your o-line stinks."

He stared at her in amazement. "Where did you come from?"

She blushed.

"Just to be sure I understand, you're saying that it's not my fault."

"Not completely. But, you are the quarterback, so like the coach, you're going to get the blame for the loss. But, unlike the coach, you'll get the praise for the win."

"So, what would you do to fix the slump we're in?" She had identified what she thought was the problem, like most of the media. But, did she have a solution?

She smiled. "If I were the quarterback, I would stop calling so many audibles when they're not necessary, and trust my coach. I would take long snaps, and pass to my wide receivers, especially since all of the opponents know that I'm going to try to establish a run game, even though it's next to impossible with a piss poor o-line. Then, I would get a couple of quick passes out to my tight end. That is, if my coach or owner would get the extinct ones off of the field, and put in a rookie or two." Her eyes sparkled and danced while she talked. She was clearly in her element. "Once the defense has decided that I'm definitely passing the ball, I would run a couple of options, pitching the ball to my running back, because he's talented and has the speed to pick up at least six or seven yards, if not the first down. However, I'm only a girl, and the league would never let me play. So you get to carry out this brilliant plan of mine."

He couldn't do anything, but stare at her. She was amazing. "That is brilliant," he admitted. "But, there's nothing we can do about the tight end or other lineman."

"You should talk to your boss, and tell him to get some of those younger linemen on the field. You are engaged to his daughter, after all."

And just like that the mood shifted. Before the mention of Mellie, they were just two people trying to deny an attraction while enjoying each other's company. He pretended that her fiancé didn't exist. He didn't have a name or a face to make him tangible. So, in his mind, she was single. He made a point not to look at her engagement ring, which wasn't hard, considering that he was drawn to her beautiful brown eyes. But, the mention of Mellie reminded them both that neither was available.

"How does that work," she quietly asked. The sparkle was gone from her eyes.

"What?"

"Dating your boss's daughter? How do you avoid conflicts of interest?"

"It actually works in my favor," he stated. "I've messed up enough for them to want to get rid of me. She usually goes to bat for me."

"I see." She was quiet for a moment, and refused to look at him. "You know, you could just stop messing up. Then, you wouldn't need her." She gazed up at him before adding, "to go to bat for you."

He placed his hand over hers, bringing them back to the place they were before the mention of Mellie. "You're right. But, there's something in me that won't let me be anything but a bad boy." He didn't intend for his voice to drop a couple of octaves, but it did. He didn't want her to think that he was trying to entice her. He held his breath, fearing how she was going to react. He hoped she wouldn't think he was some kind of pervert. He was surprised to see her eyes darken, as she bit her lip. Her breath quickened. He watched her chest rise and fall, as she tried to regain control.

She looked down at their hands. "Fitzgerald-" Her voice was barely audible.

"Fitz," he corrected her.

"Fitz." His name was a whisper on her lips. "I…I want…" He could see her running words around in her head, trying to formulate what was happening between them into clear, cohesive sentences.

He placed his hand under her chin, and forced her to look at him. He decided he would take some kind of jump. This was more than just two people meeting and chatting. He had no idea what it was, but they owed it to each other to figure it out. "I know we just met, and…"

She moved her hand from his, and quickly said, "I need to go to the restroom." She jumped up from the table, and made a beeline for the bathroom, before glancing back at him, apologetically.

/

Olivia walked in the bathroom and started pacing. "What is wrong with me?" She asked out loud. "He's just a man." But, why did he have this affect on her? What was going on? She was engaged. Happily engaged. She had never had a reason to cheat before. Wait. Why was she thinking about cheating? This was just one conversation with one man. A man who seemed to have captivated her in minutes. A man she wanted to spend time with. A man she wanted to be with. She was mesmerized by this man. And that was something no other man had been able to do. Mesmerize her. Not even her fiancé. She splashed some water on her face. She felt sort of like an adult school girl. Giddy and excited, but having anything but school girl thoughts about that man. Get it together, Olivia. She decided she was going to go back out there, grab her friends off of the dance floor, and leave. She wasn't even sure if she would acknowledge Fitz as she made her escape.

She dried her hands and face, and made her way out only to be stopped by a random man. "Hey baby, I saw you go in there. I was just wondering…"

"Excuse me," she said, trying to step around him. This man was obviously drunk. He reeked of alcohol and she wanted to avoid a confrontation.

He blocked her path. "Hey. Wait. I just want your number. I'll even let you drive me home tonight," he slurred.

"No thanks," she said, trying to step around him again.

Once again he stepped in front of her, but grabbed her arm, this time. "You think you too good or something?"

"Let go of me."

"Is there a problem," she heard Fitz asked. She looked up and saw him standing next to her.

"This don't concern you."

"The lady is with me." Fitz said, quickly grabbing her hand.

"Why don't you worry about that loss last night, and leave me and the bit-" And like a flash of lightning, she saw Fitz's fist meet the guy's face. Olivia stumbled back. When she regained her footing, all she saw was Fitz beating the man. It didn't even look like a fair fight, as Fitz had the man on the ground, and continued to pound on him. A crowd was starting to form. Harrison swooped in dragged Olivia away just as Fitz was being pulled away.

/

"What you did was stupid and reckless." Fitz half listened to Cyrus berate him. "You're still acting like a hot head rookie, instead of a man who's nearing retirement. When are you going to grow up?"

They were in Cyrus's house. Cyrus had to come bail him out of jail, and promise to keep an eye on him. The drunken idiot had to be rushed to the emergency room. He decided he wanted to press charges. Never mind the fact that he had been a disrespectful ass.

"I told you I was defending a young lady."

"Where is this lady? None of the witnesses have mentioned her."

"Check the video feed. You'll clearly see the dude grabbing on her."

"Don't you think I tried that? Apparently, Ray's camera guy forgot to turn on the cameras. So, you've got nothing there. And, to top it off, the team is going to get rid of you."

"What? Have you talked to Mellie?"

"Mellie can't help you with this one. At this point, the team feels you're causing them more money than you're bringing in."

They had threatened to get rid of him before, but it was more for him to straighten up. They had never mentioned him costing them money. "You think they'll really get rid of me?"

Cyrus looked at him. "They're meeting to discuss if they should wait until the end of the season to make the announcement."

Fitz sat down defeated. "So, I'm really going to finish my career without a ring."

Cyrus sat down next to him. "Not unless we make some big changes, starting right now."

"Okay. Like what?"

"We need help."

Fitz frowned. "What do you mean help?"

"I'm calling Olivia Pope."

Fitz sat up in his seat. "Cyrus, I know this has been a long day, you're undoubtedly stressed, but have you forgotten how this works? No one calls Olivia Pope. She calls you."

"Well, she might owe me a favor or two."

Fitz eyed him. "Olivia Pope owes you?"

Cyrus nodded.

"Okay. Let's say this is true, and you can get her to work with us, I'm not working with a ghost."

"What?"

"I'm not doing just telephone, email, or however she works. I need a real person. Face to face."

"Fitz, you can't make demands like that to Olivia Pope. You're going to be damn lucky to have her working with us."

"Cyrus, this is my livelihood. I'm not trusting it to a voice over the phone," he yelled.

"Now, you want to worry about your livelihood," Cyrus jumped up. His tone matching Fitz's. "You weren't worried about it when you were beating an innocent man senseless, or when you were wrecking cars, or spending more than most people make in a year at strip clubs."

Fitz dropped his head. "Cyrus please. I know. This is obviously my last chance. If she owes you a favor, make it count. Please."

Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll see what I can do."