Chapter 5: Brandon
This is complete andutter bullshit.
My name is being dragged through the mud like I’m some sort of cretin. How I attacked that poor, helpless lady referee like a caveman. That I was seconds away from slinging her over my shoulder and carrying her off to bed.
As if.
I get it. I’m a hothead. I’m a loud-mouth asshole.
At least that’s what my father’s been telling me for as long as I can remember.
But there’s no way in hell I was hitting on a lady ref in the middle of the soccer game.
Especially not that one lady ref. The one who might have cost me my career.
Not to mention, I do just fine with the ladies. They flock to me. I can find a Nixen anywhere. I’m not desperate.
At least not about that. My career is another story.
I’m officially on probation with the Buzzards. One more misstep and I’m toast. Something about violating the Players’ Code of Conduct that was in my contract.
I should probably read it over to find out exactly what I can and can’t do. To do that, I’d have to call my agent, but I try to talk to him as little as possible.
My advice for up-and-coming athletes: don’t let your father be your agent. It seemed smart when Lionel Messi did it, but it hasn’t worked out so well for me.
Mostly because we don’t get along. Like, can’t be in the same room or be civil to each other. In my defense, he started it.
But I can’t end it, since he’s all I have left. So, I’ll do what I always do. I won’t think about it. It’s easier that way.
My phone dings with a text alert. I’m so relieved it’s not my dad—again—that I don’t think before I look at it.
Landon: Dude, you’re viral
Landon Stubbs is the bane of my existence. He’s a thorn in my side. He’s a pain in my ass.
But he’s a pretty decent midfielder, so I let some of it slide. He’s probably my best friend, if I was going to have one of those.
