CHAPTER 3 BEN
I feel like I’m in high school all over again, like I’m waiting outside the principal’s office to be yelled at for whatever offense I made. Back then, it was easy. I was good at football, and that’s all anyone cared about, so I was let off with a warning.
But this time, I’m sitting outside my boss’s office.
Everybody who walks these sacred hallways is good at football. I’m just another in a long line of good players, easily replaced by the next guy who maybe doesn’t wind up looking like an asshole in the media.
The door opens and Cory Marshall walks out.
We nod our greetings to one another, and I try to get a read on what happened in there with him.
It must be yell at your players day at the Aces organization.
This was in the general manager’s job description on every other team I’ve played for, so being called into the owner’s office is slightly more intimidating.
Cal runs a tight ship here, and he’s a bit of a micromanager, but in the year I’ve played for him, I’ve learned a few things about him.
He cares about his players, and he wants this team to feel like home—so he’s cast himself in the role of a father to every man on the team.
He yells at us like we’re his kids, he threatens us with punishments (playing time seems to be among his favorite threats), and he insists that the way we manage our personal lives reflects on the team as a whole.
I hear his voice as he calls me in. “Olson, get in here and shut the door.” He doesn’t sound like he’s in a good mood. I do as I’m told, shutting the door and sliding into the chair across the desk from him.
He’s looking at his computer screen, and he does that a minute while I sit awkwardly waiting for him to talk.
He clicks a button, and I appear on the wall beside him on video.
We both watch as I chug a can of beer, smash it on my head, and give a mighty roar into the camera.
It’s fucking hilarious, and I almost start laughing as I remember the antics that led up to that part of the evening.
I know exactly who posted this video…mostly because I never forget good pussy.
So I played Detonator and crushed a beer can using my forehead. It’s a party trick, something I’ve done since I was in high school.
Once the video is over, he sits back in his chair and turns his attention to me. “Really, Ben? Intoxication caught on video, crushing beer cans on your head, yelling into the camera? You thought that was a solid plan?”
I shrug as I look down at my folded hands. “Didn’t think much about it, to be honest, sir.”
He rubs a hand along his forehead down to his jaw, like he just can’t deal with the immaturity in the room. I wonder what Cory was in here for. He usually flies under the radar. I, however, do not. I never have.
I like to have a good time. I like to throw parties. I like to get drunk on houseboats and I like to fuck around. There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun in life. After all, we only get one of them.
Except stuffy old Calvin Bennett clearly does see something wrong with it. All of it.
“I can’t have you running around like some rebel hooligan, Ben.”
“That wasn’t in season,” I protest.
“It doesn’t matter. In season or not, you represent this team, and I feel like all I do is yell at you players for acting like idiots.
Focus, kid. Your job is to bring home wins for this team.
Do your job. The only viral videos I should be seeing are of your ass scoring points on the field. Got it?”
Or what? That’s what the rebel hooligan inside me wants to know.
But I haven’t smashed so many beer cans against my head that I’m dumb enough to ask.
“Yes, sir,” I mutter instead.
“A teenager in Iowa saw his hero smash a beer can on his forehead and tried it himself with a soda can,” Calvin says.
I laugh, and he narrows his eyes at me. My laughter fades.
“He gave himself a concussion.”
“It’s a party trick,” I protest. “You squeeze the can with your fingers as you smash it on your head.”
“Why in the world would anybody do that?” he asks.
“Because it’s funny.” I shrug. It’s my signature when I’m done chugging a beer. It has been for over fifteen years.
“The kid’s family wants you to pay the medical bills. They didn’t know how to get in touch with you, so they contacted the organization. Take care of it, Olson.”
“Take care of it?” I ask. “How? I didn’t tell him to do it.”
He raises his brows, and I continue with my tirade.
“I can’t help that some chick I slept with wanted her fifteen minutes of fame and decided to post the video. I also am not responsible for the fact that the video went viral.”
“You’re a recognizable face in the league.
You’ve built your own brand around being a bachelor living the high life.
I get it, kid. But with that comes a shitload of responsibility, and it’s on you to step up.
When I say take care of it, I mean you better fucking take care of it.
” He sighs. “You can go,” he says dismissively, and I leave without another word.
I start my trek toward the parking lot, and on my way I pass Heather, a fine honey of a lady who I’ve thought about turning up the charm with more than once.
I’m about to open my mouth with some flirtatious comment, but just as I’m about to do it, Kaylee Fucking Dalton pops into my head.
The comment dies on my tongue. I’m not sure why she flashes through my mind, but I clench my jaw as I nod politely at Heather.
What the fuck was that?
She’s the little sister of one of my best friends. Bros just don’t do that. Teammates don’t do that. It’s part of the code.
Yet the way she’s been making little flirty comments lately…maybe it’s time to make a move.
I want to taste her. I want to fuck her. I want to make her scream. I want to hammer into her until she can’t sit right for a few days. I want to enjoy a bowl of S’mores cereal with her the morning after.
She isn’t a kid anymore…but this can’t happen. It can’t. Particularly not after my boss’s warning.
Maybe I should backtrack and turn up the charm with Heather. She’s a much safer option. She’s not a decade younger than me. She’s not related to my best friend.
She’s not the sweet, tempting apple I’m not allowed to taste.
But I’ve got her family dinner tonight at Luke’s place, and I don’t know how I’m going to stay away.