CHAPTER 26 BEN
I shouldn’t go out tonight.
But Eric knows how to get to me.
He’s a lot like me. He likes football, chicks, and making stupid bets.
I’ve been taught two things since I was in pewee league: one, never admit defeat, and two, never back down. And when Eric bet me he could get more numbers tonight in an hour than me, well, that was a challenge I couldn’t back down from.
And so we’re heading to a club against my better judgment, but it’s just some innocent fun even though I just got a lecture about improving my behavior.
I’m not going to do anything stupid. I don’t even want numbers tonight…
but when I think about why I don’t want them, why I suddenly have a little twinge in my chest that wasn’t there before this past Monday, I realize how it’s even more important that I go.
I have to get this chick out of my head.
She’s nothing but trouble. She’s real fucking young. She’ll want things I’m not willing to give. They always do. Maybe I’m overcompensating by taking Eric up on his challenge, or maybe I’m just doing it to get her out of my head.
The second option seems more reasonable to me.
Eric picks me up a little after ten and we head toward a club.
We grab hot wings and beer, and I have four numbers to Eric’s two within the first twenty minutes after our arrival.
I get a second beer and a third, and thankfully they’re in glass mugs and not cans so Mr. Bennett won’t have anything to say about the way I recycle aluminum materials once I’m finished draining them of their contents.
I end up with eight numbers to Eric’s six after an hour and I’m drunk enough that a strip club sounds like a good idea.
There’s a strict no touching rule in this club that’s not very effective in private rooms, but when Kitty pulls me up on stage and shows everybody that a celebrity is in the house, she’s allowed to touch me.
Kitty and I first met a little over a year ago.
I’d come to this same club with Jack and Kate just after they first met, and we were taken back to a private room.
Kitty and I started making out, and Kate reminded me what a bad idea it was to touch the strippers in a strip club.
I got her number and met up with her later that night after her shift.
It wasn’t the only time we were together.
I came back a few nights later, and we fucked again—this time out back behind the club.
We fucked again a few months ago and I got into a little trouble for indecent exposure.
That was it with her…but not because she didn’t try for more. Because I didn’t want more.
I never want more.
I hear chants of Go Aces from the crowd gathered, and I see a few cell phones. “No videos,” I say to Kitty, and she signals the deejay, who makes the announcement.
But I’m sure somebody got one anyway, and I’m sure they’ll put it up on social media, and I’m sure I’ll get a call from the boss’s office.
But as Kitty grinds her nearly naked body against me, I’m not sure I care.
So I’ll be scolded. It’s the goddamn off season.
Calvin Bennett can’t control me or tell me what to do.
I may have different thoughts sober versus eight-ish beers into my evening, but since option B is my current reality, that’s where I land.
Eric sends me my prize money via Venmo before I’ve even crossed the threshold of my front door, and it’s well-deserved.
My phone dings with a notification just after I see his money, and it’s a text message from Calvin.
Calvin: My office. 6 AM.
I glance at the clock on top of my screen. It’s a little after two.
Oh well. The thousand bucks from Eric was worth it.
Morning comes far too early as my alarm wakes me three hours later. I take a quick shower to get the smell of baby powder mixed with dirty vanilla off me, and I don’t think I’m drunk but I did have a lot of beer just a few hours ago, so I grab a Lyft to take me to the owner’s office.
It’s still dark outside as I ride in the back of a large SUV, and I should probably be more nervous for this meeting than I am, but I’m too exhausted to feel anything more than tired and hungover.
When I get to the Complex, Mr. Bennett is the only person here. I swear to God, he lives here. I’ve never been here when he isn’t, and this is our practice facility. I’m here a lot.
The video of my not so private lap dance from Kitty last night is already projected onto the blank wall in his office, and he doesn’t need to hit play for me to remember what happened.
He glances at me then back at the video. “This was last night?” he asks.
I nod. “Yes, sir.”
“So when I reminded you that you represent this team,” he nods and gestures toward the screen, “this was your takeaway?”
I look down at my hands. “No, sir.”
“Look, Ben. I don’t care what you do in your personal life.
That’s up to you. But when you do it publicly, it reflects on me.
And when my players are getting lap dances from strippers while they’re drunk, that reflects on me.
That’s my reputation. That’s this organization’s reputation.
And I will not allow it to be tarnished by you. ”
“I said no videos,” I protest.
“It’s the digital age, kid. You can say what you want. Videos always show up. You want no videos? Don’t do things worth catching on video.”
I nod as I do my best to look remorseful. “Yes, sir.”
“Look, I have a grandson now. He’s young, but in a few years, he’s going to be looking up to players like you. Lily has shown me the comments people are making online about you, and they aren’t things I want associated with my team.”
“Ignore them. I do,” I admit.
He blows out a breath of frustration. “I will not ignore them. I’m thinking about JJ.
What if he wants to be like you, his hero, and he sees you smashing cans on your head and feeling up strippers on your time off?
What kind of example is that setting? The league is under a lot of heat for players and their reputations these days, and I know you’re a good kid. Act like it.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, even though the voice inside my head is yelling fuck off, old man.
“If I have to have this conversation with you again, I’ll be talking to Coach about giving Scott more playing time.”
Fucking Scott.
“Eric Scott was there last night, too, Mr. Bennett.” It was his fucking idea, but saying that will only paint me as a whiner.
I bet that dickhead lured me to the club knowing I’d be the one who ended up in a viral video looking like a rebel hooligan, as Cal would say, so he could get more time on the field. “The team needs me.”
“There are plenty of upstanding tight ends in the league ready to step in for you,” he says, ignoring my plea. “Either of you. Understand?”
I clench my jaw. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Fix your reputation, kid. Show you’re an upstanding guy and not a jackass numbskull crushing beer cans on his head and getting lap dances every weekend. You can go.”
Sounds like a country song.
I nod but don’t commit to that as I leave.
I get it. I need to behave—at least publicly.
All that tells me is that the party needs to be more private…and if Eric shows up issuing bets that are going to get me into trouble, I need to make sure nobody gets it on video.