CHAPTER 3 Maverick Jennings #2
“Just needed to get the fuck out of my place for a bit. And to answer your question, I still feel it, but I’m improving every day.”
“Get this man another drink!” he yells to the waitress who walks by at that moment.
He gets himself a drink, too, and a couple hours later, I’ve lost track of how much money I’ve spent at this table, and both Ben and I are drunk.
For the record, I’m still not laughing. But this feels strangely…
good. Like I needed this. I don’t have any friends here in Vegas, though it feels like maybe I can count Ben among them now.
He’s been around here and there for practice, though we haven’t interacted much.
He’s good friends with the team owner, and he consults with the coaches since he’s still local and was a huge asset to the team when he played.
It feels like I have someone to call to get drunk with while I’m losing too much money playing cards.
“There’s a new VIP lounge down the road, and they have your scotch,” he says. “It’s the same scotch I’ve been drinking lately. Want to check it out?”
“Wait. When did you switch from beer cans to scotch?” I ask.
“Fatherhood really fucks with the balance of pretty much everything,” he says with a laugh. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Come on, let’s go.”
We’re walking toward the doors when a group of women start screaming after one of them yells, “Oh my God! Maverick Jennings and Ben Olson!”
We’re recognized. It’s not unusual to be recognized, but I have a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes and sleeves covering my rather distinctive tattoos.
Usually that’s enough to do the trick—or to at least have someone look at me and wonder if it’s really Maverick Jennings rather than immediately know it’s Maverick Jennings.
But since I’m out with Ben, a celebrity in this town, these ladies must’ve put two and two together.
“You single?” Ben asks me, and I nod before I realize what I’m really answering. “Ladies, I’m so sorry, but I’m very much in love with my wife. My man Mav here, though, he’s single.”
I wince, and it’s partly from one of the women who rushes toward me and partly from his words.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “Sorry, I’m recovering from a rib injury.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry!” the woman who just ran into me says. She seems a little drunk, too. “What happened?”
“Fuckin’ Dex Bradley plowed into me during practice and broke a rib.
Everyone knows you don’t hit a red jersey during practice,” I mutter.
This might be the attitude Dallas was talking about when they gave me the boot.
“But Dex didn’t give a fuck. He plowed into me shoulder-first and took me out for four to six weeks because he was pissed his wife left him.
Fuck that asshole, man.” I shake my head in disgust.
And that’s the viral video Coach Nash shows me the next morning after calling me into his office far too early when I’m hungover as fuck.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he yells at me. Before I can answer that I was too drunk to be forming actual thoughts, he plows forward. “You never share personal information about a teammate. You know that.”
“I apologize,” I say flatly.
“You stirred up drama for Dex and made people think I don’t have a handle on my own fucking team. That’s going to take more than an apology, Jennings.”
Ooh, he must mean business if he’s using my last name.
“I knew I should’ve trusted my instincts with you,” he mutters. “But Jack told me to hold tight.”
I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean or why he’s bringing Jack into this, but I just want to know how to fix this so we can move on. I want to head back home, crawl back into bed, and sleep off this headache.
“What’ll it take?” I ask.
“More like who.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Who?”
“It’s not a babysitter. Let me make that clear.”
“Who?” I repeat, a little louder this time as my chest tightens at his words.
“We hired the top marketing firm in the country to help you rebrand your image. They’ve sent out their best rep to work one-on-one with you day in and day out.”
“The fuck they are!” I thunder, lifting to a stand, and fuck, it still hurts. Jesus Christ.
I sit back down as I grimace.
“It’s not negotiable, Mav. You knew coming in here that we were going to do things my way, and this is what I’ve decided. It was actually Jack Dalton who suggested it,” he says, naming the team owner. “He did something similar when he came to the Aces.”
Jack Dalton is one of my role models. His passer rating still holds as one of the best of all time, and watching his footwork while he scrambled his way out of a tough situation is still impressive to this day.
To be completely honest, Jack Dalton may be the one reason I didn’t fight kicking and screaming to come to the Aces.
“Then have him come in here and tell me that,” I mutter.
“We were going to get started after the game in New York, but we decided to hold off until you were feeling better. After last night’s fiasco, we’ve decided it’s time. Let’s head up to his office instead so he can personally introduce you to the strategist.”
My jaw slackens. “He’s already here?”
“She. And yes, she’s already here. She’s been settling into Vegas, and after last night’s viral drunken rant, this feels like the most opportune time to introduce the two of you.”
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
He presses his lips together and shakes his head, and then I have no choice but to follow him up to Jack Dalton’s office.