Chapter 2
Parker Black was tired of all the man bashing he was seeing everywhere. According to the latest social media post he’d read,
all men were jerks and women were happier without them. The only thing a woman wanted was to come home from work to her cat
and a glass of wine. Oh, and her book boyfriend.
“But where’s your book boyfriend when you can’t open that jar or when you need to lift something heavy?” he said after sharing
the post with his listeners. “Seriously, guys, are we all cheaters and beaters? Are we all lazy, selfish, controlling and
toxic? Would women really rather spend time with their cats than us? Come on, major gaslighting here,” he finished in disgust.
That made the lines light up. It was his Let It Out segment, the last one of his morning talk show, Jock Talk, where Parker normally allowed callers to rant over whatever they didn’t like about their favorite team. It seemed that lately
his listeners would rather engage in complaining and commiserating about their woman troubles than talk about their frustration
with their sports teams and coaches.
“My woman just spent five hundred bucks on a purse, but when I talk about getting a new truck, she throws a fit,” complained his first caller, ready to join in the ranting.
“Bro, there’s a big difference in price between a purse and a truck,” Parker pointed out to be fair.
“Yeah, but I need the truck for work,” said his caller.
“Well, that’s different. What are you going to do about it?”
The angry voice became subdued. “I don’t know, man.”
“You don’t know? What are you, a carpet? Don’t let her walk all over you. You need the truck? Get the truck.”
“Parker, you’re forgetting one thing. Women are afraid of men,” said the next caller.
“Is yours afraid of you?” Parker asked.
“Well, no. But this chick she follows—”
Parker cut him off. “Is poisoning her mind.”
That statement would be all over social media by afternoon, along with suggestions of what all those angry women would do
to him if they ever got the chance. The number of his haters was becoming almost as large as the number of his fans. But Parker
was willing to risk their wrath. He had a message to get out.
“My wife is addicted to those romance novels, like the ones you’ve been reading from,” said another caller. “It’s kinda messing
with, um, well, when we’re . . .” The words trailed off.
“Performance anxiety?” Parker suggested, keeping it clean. “Hey, guys, listen to Coach Parker. There’s nothing wrong with
your game. Don’t let your women smack-talk you. The men in those books they read aren’t real. We can’t all be billionaires
or cowboys,” he added with a sneer.
His show was a media men’s club, but occasionally his screener allowed some estrogen to leak in just to keep things interesting.
He took the next call.
“Grace, welcome to Jock Talk,” Parker said. “What’s on your mind?”
“My husband loves your sports talk, but this new spin you’ve put on your Let It Out segment is ridiculous,” the woman said.
“Oh, yeah? Why?”
“Because you’re doing more harm than good.”
“Hey, I’m just here trying to stick up for the guys. Right, Barker?” he said to his producer, Jay Barker. Parker and Barker—they
were a team.
“Right,” Jay rang in, and Arne their board operator, a hefty guy who was big into fantasy football, smirked.
“No, you’re not. You’re angry,” said Grace.
That hit a nerve. Parker ignored it.
“And you’re stirring men up so that you’ll get higher ratings.”
“Like I need to do that,” he scoffed. Okay, so maybe he was. Better ratings meant bigger influence. Plus, as Jay kept reminding
him, they had to stay fresh if they wanted to keep the show alive. This particular segment was a win-win.
“You know what? I feel sorry for you, Parker,” she said in a snooty tone of voice.
Oh, brother. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for all the poor men out there who’ve twisted themselves into pretzels trying
to be what women want. ‘Open the door for us. Don’t open the door for us. We can pay for our own meal. What? You’re not paying
for dinner, you cheap dirtbag?’ Men, make no mistake, we all pay. On so many levels.”
He had paid all right. First with Amber. He’d just put money down on a ring when he learned she’d cheated on him. She’d broken
his heart into a thousand pieces. He’d found most of them and put them back together and been doing fine, living life, dating,
doing love lite.
Until Luna, three years later. Once again, he’d fallen hard. And then gotten broken.
She’d been the final straw, living under the influence of her romance novels, expecting him to buy her expensive dinners,
jewelry and even help her with her car payments when she got jammed up with money. Which, fool that he was, he did. But it
didn’t stop there. He had to be the perfect on-call lover, talk like a poet, always look like a cover model and, of course,
be an alpha male except for when she wanted to walk all over him. Somehow, no matter what, he always succeeded in being not
enough. Yep, they’d been the perfect couple for almost two years, Luna and Pretzel Man.
First Amber had broken his heart and then Luna had taken a baseball bat to his self-esteem and beaten the snot out of it.
He’d finally realized he was drowning in toxic waters and had to swim for shore. He’d tried to pry himself loose as gently
as possible, but she hadn’t taken it well. She had issues.
And now so did he.
“You know why I love sports, Grace?” he asked his caller. “Because in its purest form it’s all about fair play. I believe
in fair play both on the field and off. If men and women all played by the rules, this world would be a better place.”
“But you men make the rules,” she argued.
“Not always,” he insisted.
Luna had set the rules for them, and her rules allowed hitting below the belt. People always took sides when a couple broke
up, and she made sure everyone they knew took hers. He was stingy, selfish and emotionally abusive. She was an innocent lamb.
And she didn’t want to talk about it.
Only all the time to everyone and anyone. That was a hurt of a whole other kind. She won the breakup battle and took the couples
they’d been friends with as spoils.
But that wasn’t enough. She went on to write a romance novel with a villain modeled on Parker.
Same eyes, same beard, which Dirk Harrowood, evil sports promoter, liked to stroke when deep in thought.
Dirk was a brute. He secretly hated athletes because he, himself, was a failed one—a jab to Parker’s baseball career which was short-lived thanks to a blown-out shoulder.
Dirk was Parker. And to make sure Parker knew it she’d dedicated the book to him.
For Parker. Thanks for the inspiration. Seriously?
When she sent him the book (anonymously) he’d been offended, then half amused. What else could you do but laugh? But the half
that wasn’t amused was steamed.
He’d shared it with Jay, who had come up with the bright idea of reading an excerpt on air. A sports romance novel written
by someone who knew zip about sports. It would get a laugh for sure.
“Revenge, man,” Jay had said, egging him on.
Parker thought he was bigger than that. Until someone informed him that Luna was on a podcast, talking about her inspiration
for Dirk Harrowood. Her ex-boyfriend, the narcissist, was a popular sports show host on a radio station in Seattle. A failed
ballplayer and, sadly, a failed lover. There were so many narcissistic men out there. Ladies beware.
Talk about gaslighting. So why not make fun of a sports romance novel written by someone who knew nothing about the sport?
Hey, Kraken fans, can you spot the hockey mistakes in this scene?
His reading not only got a laugh, it also got a demand for more of the same.
They started including a romance read once a week in his Let It Out segment.
After those so-called romance reads, “Coach Parker” dished out advice, often using Jay as his foil.
Parker and Barker. Add in a chance for listeners to complain about their love lives and—boom!
—rising ratings. Before he quite knew what had happened Parker had become the champion of every male doormat in America. How did that make him a bad guy?
He ended the conversation with Grace but some of her words had stuck to the back of his mind like superglue. Did men make
the rules? That hadn’t been his experience or the experience of his callers. But still, he felt like a batter who’d just struck
out. Shake it off.
It was hard to shake off superglue.
“Okay, guys, it’s time for our morning read.” Ha! Best way to dissolve superglue.
He grabbed the latest romance novel Jay had found for him to mock and began to read the highlighted section. “ ‘Sir Victor
was waiting for her. Tall and elegant, his strong body hidden beneath the long, scarlet cape.’ Have you guys noticed how many
of these dudes have perfect bodies? But you never see them anywhere working out.” Parker continued with his reading. “ ‘His
eyes met hers from across the crowded room and lightning flashed between them. He threaded his way through the throng and
smiled down on her. The things that smile promised made her tremble.’ Anybody ever make a woman tremble? I don’t think that’s
a good idea these days.” Parker read on. “ ‘ “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind about coming,” he said to Allegra,
his voice like a tiger’s purr.’ Oh, come on. Hey, Barker, when was the last time you purred?”
“Just last night when I got my pizza order,” Barker cracked.