Blitzed (Rules of Possession Book 3), page 21
“Seriously what?” I levered myself out of the pool, sloshing water everywhere and he backed up a few more feet, just in case. I grabbed a towel from one of the lounge chairs and rubbed it over my face.
“Seriously who is more like it.” He eyed me suspiciously. “And you’d better not say Brooks.”
I snorted. “Put that on the things that aren’t happening ever again list.”
“Well, it’d better not be Kyle.”
“Kyle?” I draped my towel over my neck and dropped onto a deck chair. “I never dated a Kyle.”
“Short. Blue hair. Eyebrow piercing?” He sighed as I continued to peer up at him, confused. “The bartender.”
“Oh. Lyle.”
“Kyle.”
“They say the memory is the first thing to go, Ari. His name is Lyle,” I said with an authority I didn’t feel. “And he’s not a bartender, he’s a fitness model.”
“His name is Kyle, fuckboy. And he’s a fitness model because I hooked him up with some of my contacts so he’d go away.”
I stared, a little stunned. “You did what?”
“You can stop looking at me like that. I did you a fucking favor.” He didn’t look sorry in the least. “He’s not the kind of guy you need in your life.”
“Shouldn’t that be up to me?”
“Shouldn’t you be dating someone who wouldn’t dump you for five thousand bucks and a contact with Reel Athletes?” As I stared at him in silence, processing his overbearing but well-meaning ways, he widened his eyes. “You can’t possibly be mad. You didn’t even remember his name!”
“His name is….” Okay, shit, Ari was probably right about that, but damn. “I don’t like you doing stuff like that without my say-so.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands. “You want me to call him back? I’m sure he’d be up for another payoff after a quick ride on your dick.”
“Ari.”
“Sorry. I’m sure it wasn’t that quick,” he said cheekily. “Look. If I overstepped, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to protect you. At the end of the day, we do what you want. You still got a thing for Kyle?”
I made a face. He was so far in the past, I’d need a DeLorean to reach him. “Fuck no.”
“Then what are we even talking about here?” His tone was exasperated. “Who’s the mystery man, AJ? And don’t say no one because I can see it on your face.”
“He’s just a friend,” I murmured.
“Interesting. Because I didn’t see any clearance forms on my desk. No NDA. No background check. Nada.”
“That’s because I didn’t want to tell you yet. You ruin everything,” I informed him because he needed to know that shit.
“I’m looking out for you. Give me his name.”
“I don’t want you running any background checks on him,” I growled. “Everything I know about Jesse, I want to hear from Jesse.”
Ari raised his brows. “Jesse Fox? The guy at the community center?”
Well, fuck. Obviously my post-NFL plans shouldn’t include being a spy. I’d spill the beans even as they were setting up a tray with torture implements.
“Don’t bother him,” I warned. “He’s…important to me.”
“I get it.”
“I’m serious.”
He held up his hands. “Sure. I guess that’s one way to get your volunteer hours approved.”
“Don’t talk about him that way,” I practically growled.
“Just for clarity’s sake, I was talking about you that way, but….” He looked at me for a few seconds, head cocked to the side. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”
I didn’t bother to confirm. The fact that I’d been ready to throw my agent in the pool for even a hint of Jesse slander spoke volumes. He shook his head in wonder. “Never thought I’d see the day. All of those thots—”
“The fuck is a thot—”
“Your taste has certainly improved,” he said, ignoring me thoroughly. “He seems like a solid guy. People certainly speak highly of him. Then again, what do you really know about someone until you do a deep dive into their past?”
I sent him a warning look because I knew where he was going with that. “No.”
“What?” He asked innocently.
“Just…no. I want my relationship to unfold organically.”
“Like an overpriced tomato?”
I sighed. “It’s hard to believe I’m paying you for this abuse.”
“Hey, I’m on your side. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I absolutely don’t, thanks.”
He chuckled. “I have something that might cheer you up from the cesspool that is love.
How would you like to become an avatar on Madden?”
“You fuckin’ serious?”
“Would I fuck with you like that?”
“Yes,” I said with absolutely zero hesitation.
He grinned. “Well, this time I’m on the level. Zoe from EA Sports is sending over the team for some head scans. Are you free on Tuesday?”
“For EA Sports?” I snorted. “Of course I’m…oh, shit, on second thought, I’m not. I have to be at the center.”
He stared. “Surely they can spare you one day.”
“I’m sure they could, but Harper has a game and I want to practice with him. I finally convinced him to give up football, despite his dad and his uncle’s displeasure. Seeing me play soccer had the desired effect and he realized that some people are just better at different things.”
“Who the hell is Harper?”
“One of the… never mind, you’d have to be there. In fact, you should come to the field day we’re planning next month and I can show you around. Jess is so nervous and it’s adorable.”
“I’m sure.”
I smiled just thinking about how crazy he’d been about swag for the event. “He bought all these ribbons and trophies and medals that the kids are going to go bonkers over….” I took in Ari’s stunned expression and cleared my throat. “So yeah, anyway, I’m busy.”
“This is EA Sports, McAdams. You’re turning down a chance to…for….” He shook his head as if to clear it. A moment later, he rebounded with his typical unflappable nature. “Okay, I’ll try to reschedule with Zoe for Thursday. Unless you’re busy running a seminar on macramé or some shit?”
“That’s a negative on the macramé,” I said with a glare. “Just fucking set it up, Ari, and stop busting my balls.”
“But they’re so bustable,” he murmured, pecking out a note on his phone. “I also need you for a meet and greet with a fan. Perry Kidmore. You inspired him to come out last year. He thought he had to choose between being the star of his lacrosse team or being himself and then thought fuck it, maybe I can have both, too.”
“That’s fucking amazing,” I said with a smile.
What was even more amazing was that his story wasn’t the first I’d heard. I was pretty sure my stuttered conversation with management wasn’t the glorious take me or leave me speech these kids pictured. I was sure they thought I’d grabbed a handful of rainbow glitter and threw it in my coach’s face…which, let’s be real, would’ve been fucking fantastic.
Still. If I’d done anything that inspired them to live a more open, accepted life, then hell yes, I was willing to pretend I was the hero they thought I was. If nothing else, it was nice being carried around on people’s shoulders. Walking was overrated.
“I set up a meet and greet at the facility on Tuesday.” Even before I opened my mouth, he sighed at whatever expression I was giving him. “Let me guess. You’re busy at the community center.”
“Sorry.”
“Your volunteer hours are over.”
“I know that. I’ll make it work on Wednesday,” I offered.
He stared at me for a few moments, his expression unreadable. “You said you just liked this guy. I didn’t know you were in this deep.”
“I’m not.” I wasn’t sure which of us I was trying to convince, but I did a shit job either way.
“Dammit, McAdams, now is not the time for this shit.”
“It seemed to be the right time for this shit when Blue did it,” I said sulkily. “I don’t remember him clearing his love life with you before he announced he was dating Kelly on national television.”
“Why don’t you ask Blue Montgomery if it went fine? Why don’t you ask him about the shitstorm of media he had to endure, or the endorsement deals he lost?”
“He just signed another deal with Nike,” I said dryly.
Undeterred by little things like facts and logic, he went on. “Well, you’re not a GOAT, are you? Blue can get away with all kinds of things you can’t. And he damn sure was never stupid enough or careless enough to get a DUI.”
I gritted my teeth because following a legend was about as much fun as it sounded. A legend that was still alive and kicking was worse. I couldn’t even roust the team with a let’s do it for Blue speech because he was still alive and shit.
I mean, I’m glad he’s still alive. Obviously. I’m just saying.
“I’m not going to hide my bisexuality,” I said carefully.
“I’m not asking you to,” Ari said. “I'm trying to portray you in the best light here. I'm not the enemy. You’d best remember that.”
I knew that. There were several reasons I switched to his agency, and the first was that he was the best there was. The second was that he’d turned Blue Montgomery’s disaster into PR gold. When you’re about to make waves, you’d better find a seaworthy fucking boat. In the world of PR, Ari Parker was a goddamned frigate.
“The scuttlebutt behind closed doors is that Texas is having some trouble passing his drug tests. That could mean you’re getting off the IR list soon.”
“I’ve heard that shit, too.” I felt guilty benefitting from someone else’s problem, but it wasn’t like I’d forced him to do drugs. That’s if it was even true. “People say a lot of things.”
“What if it’s not just a rumor? There’s going to be a lot of media in your face and in your business. I’m not saying that you’re not talented, but we both know that’s not the reason why they’re all over you and everything you do. For better or worse.”
“They’re so fucking annoying,” I muttered. “I fail to see the for better part of the media digging through my trash.”
“Do you think the amount of social media followers you have is normal for someone who’s been benched for half a season?” He raised an eyebrow. “’Cause I can tell you right now that your morning smoothies aren’t that interesting.”
I scowled because I posted other shit, too. My posts featuring Moon Pie were even more popular than my workout videos. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment to the fabulous Miss Moon Pie or an insult to my pecs. “What’s your point?”
“You’ve done something that not many players have done before—at least not successfully. You’re playing in the NFL as an out and proud man, and that means your life will forevermore be tabloid gossip fodder.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I don’t care.”
“Yeah, maybe you don’t,” he said with a shrug. “But what about Jesse?”
Jesse? I pictured him being thrown to the wolves that masqueraded as media.
Some people liked to keep their cards close to their chests. Jesse liked to glance at his cards, memorize them, then burn them to a crisp, just so no one else could sneak a peek. He’d balked at doing a TikTok video for crying out loud, and that was only going to be posted on some kid’s account. I tried to imagine him green-lighting a photo of us on my Instagram for over a million followers to criticize, and drew an absolute blank.
Holy shit. I tried again, but the image wouldn’t materialize. I couldn’t even picture it in my dreams. I was so screwed. Judging from Ari’s unusually sympathetic gaze, he knew that as well.
“You let me worry about Jesse,” I finally muttered.
And worry I would.
22
ANDREW
“AJ! What’s up, brother?”
“What up, Fish?” I stepped back to let Fisher Lewis, one of our defensive tackles, out of the cafeteria before I went in. He was out on injured reserve but still managed to beat me to breakfast every damn day. And lunch.
“You’re just the man I was looking for.”
I widened my eyes. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” he said bluntly. “I just left Coach Warner’s office and he told me to send you his way if I see you. So I’d get on that if I was you. He seemed kind of pissed.”
Wonderful.
He clapped a hand on my back as he kept walking, unaware that he’d just detonated a bomb of unease in my stomach. A summons to Coach’s office was never a good thing. I thought longingly of my omelet, chicken sausage patty, and acai yogurt bowl breakfast, waiting for me just beyond those double doors.
Maybe I could get away with pretending I didn’t get the message. That sounded like a good option for about two seconds, until I remembered Coach didn’t mind an audience. I could get my ass chewed in private or he could do it on the field with my teammates nearby, pretending not to listen. For a bunch of grown men, they gossiped like old Southern women on a shaded porch.
My shoulders slumped and I turned and headed down the hall.
I found him at his desk, phone cradled between his shoulder and cheek. He was in workout gear, his customary Ray-Bans pushed up over his short hair. He looked a little redder than usual, probably from the unrelenting summer sun. He had a ball cap, but he wouldn’t keep the damned thing on. He seemed to prefer throwing it at intervals in sheer frustration.
“Yeah. No, I’ll do that,” he said, waving at me to sit.
I sat gingerly, wondering what this impromptu meeting was about. I’d met all the terms of my plea bargain, and the DUI was all but history. The team doctor seemed satisfied with my last checkup, and Reggie was impressed with my work in PT. So what was it? Surely Ari would’ve heard if I was getting traded…or cut.
“I understand that,” he said. “Yeah, he’s here right now. Okay, I’ll see you in a few.”
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, giving me his undivided attention. “McAdams.”
I wanted to mark that attention return to sender and punt it in a UPS truck. “Coach. You wanted to speak to me?”
“That I did. Texas popped positive on his last drug test.” He interlocked his fingers and rested them on his stomach. “Again.”
“I wasn’t aware—”
“Yeah, not many people are. His team works overtime to make it stay that way. Apparently, the third time’s not the charm as far as the boys upstairs are concerned. Barnes wants him out.”
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“I need you on the roster,” he said. “You’re dressing out next game.”
I blinked at him, uncomprehending. I’d been hoping, yeah. I’d been working my ass off to make it happen. But to actually get my spot back was a bit of a mindfuck.
I didn’t want to undo all of Reggie’s progress, though. She was humble enough to give me the credit for my recovery. But we both knew I wouldn’t have healed as well as I did without her guidance. I wasn’t setting one cleat on the field until she cleared me.
“What does PT say?”
Coach looked annoyed that I was saying anything other than yes sir, yes sir, three bags full, sir. “Barbie says you’re good to go.”
That’s PT Barbie to you. “Really?”
“Check the report yourself.” He tossed a file across the desk where it landed with a plop.
I rifled through the paperwork, skimming words that meant very little to me. The one that mattered was stamped all over my file. Cleared. A phrase at the end of the doctor’s medical release for return caught my eye. A. McAdams has met the above criteria…safe return to full athletic activity...without restriction.
“It’s not that confusing,” Coach said mildly. “Are you good or should I send you for a neuro consult?”
“I’m good,” I gritted out as I tucked the file under my arm. I wanted to read it carefully without Coach glaring holes through me.
“I want you to be squeaky fucking clean, you understand? I want people to say your name with the same reverence they use for saints and heroes. From now on, you’re a firefighter racing out of a burning building with a baby in his arms and a puppy zipped up in his coat. You got me?” I bobbed my head, but he wasn’t quite finished. “One more fucking DUI and I swear to God—”
“No sir.” I didn’t want him to even finish that threat.
He grunted and I could tell that I’d capitulated too soon for his tastes. It was rather hard to keep attacking your prey when he bares his neck and pleads for mercy.
“Are we done?” I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts. “I want to get an early start in the weight room.”
At his nod, I popped out of the chair like a jack-in-the-box. I could feel his eyes on my back as I skedaddled. I didn’t go far. I stood outside of the weight room, trying to process my new reality. All the confusing feelings I’d been dealing with during my recovery collided and melded into something simple. Happiness. I was going to get on the field again, and my jersey number was going on the active roster.
Holy fuck. I had to share the news.
I bit my lip as I stared at my phone. There was only one person I wanted to tell. That only solidified what I already knew. I wanted Jesse in my life. Permanently. I just wasn’t sure he felt the same way. I didn’t want to scare him off or push too hard, but fuck, I was tired of overthinking things when it came to him. So I just called, no subterfuge necessary.
He answered in a way that was…well, so very Jesse. “What do you know about jigsaws?”
“Puzzle or creepy serial killer?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the actual saw,” he said, amused. “You weirdo.”
“About as much as I knew about that nail gun. What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m building an activity center for Shortcake.”
“She already has a hutch.”
“That would be an extremely astute observation if I was building a hutch,” he informed me. “This is an activity center. You know, for rabbit enrichment.”
