“It’s all right, Ms. Davey,” Hansen said with a chuckle. “Kean’s a little abrasive, doesn’t talk much, and didn’t make a good first impression with me, either. But once you get to know him, you’ll realize he’s a good guy.”
“Right,” I said, trying to infuse that word with confidence I didn’t feel. I pulled the papers and binder onto my lap and tapped them twice. “Well, I’m excited to get started. Is there a space for me to get to work? Or anything else you need?”
“Well, there is an open office space around the corner for folks who’re in and out of the office like you’ll be. But also …” Hansen twisted in his chair to grab something from behind hisdesk and returned with a huge basket of Dastards branded gear. “Welcome to the Dastards team!”
You know what, fuck Olli Kean for almost ruining my first day of work. I was working for the fucking Destin Dastards and no one was going to ruin that for me.
A Shit First Day
Kodi
My first day as Kean’s PA was mostly spent filing out paperwork, NDAs, and being shown around the stadium offices. For better or worse, I didn’t have to interact with the grumpy asshole again until the next morning.
And this time, I was fully prepared for him.
I spent all evening reading through his overly detailed binder and combing through soccer sites and articles to learn more about him. And while I got his measurements memorized, there wasn’t anything, anywhere aboutwhothis guy was. Even in post-game interviews, his answers were robotic, maxing out at fifteen words a response.
It was kind of insane. I know players don’t usually get media training unless they’re, like, the next fucking Messi. But Kean essentially hadnopresence in sports media. He barely even gotany coverage when he transferred to Destin. If it weren’t for his impressive track record, he’d have likely been forced into an early retirement simply because he was so forgettable.
So beyond being difficult to work with, getting him a social media presence was going to be like pulling teeth.
But I had a plan for that. I needed to get to know Kean and what he liked about soccer, or honestlyanythinghe liked, and build a plan around that. Only problem was that meant I had to actually talk to the asshole on top of getting his insane task list done.
“Oh, damn. Are you Kean’s new PA?” some dude shouted from behind me as I made my way down the hall towards the physicians' offices, where Kean was scheduled to be.
“Uh, yeah, I am,” I said, turning to see who was talking, only to be faced with a handful of the first-string players.
Brooker was the one who’d spoken, the stereotypical white man who looked like he could double as a member of a boy band, with the same salacious reputation as one. He was accompanied by Alvarez, one of the youngest players who transferred from a Colombian team just last year, and Fuller, a lanky white man who was only a bit tanner than the Irish-man on the team.
“Nice to meet y’all, I’m Kodi Davey,” I told them, holding out my hand to shake each of theirs, repeating the sentence in Spanish for Alvarez in an attempt to be helpful. Though as soon as I said it, I realized it might come off as pedantic, like I assumed he needed such a simple translation.
“Shit, you speak Spanish? You’re an absolute waste on Kean,” he said with a laugh that I took to mean he wasn’t offended. But then he said something in Spanish that I couldn’t catch and I felt stupid again.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I only speak a little bit of Spanish. I was just trying to … be helpful,” I told him in Spanish.
“That’s all right,” he said in English, patting me on the shoulder. This dude was a solid four years younger than me, but standing next to him, he felt older and way more put together. “I appreciate you trying, though. This dick doesn’t.”
Alvarez nudged Brooker, wrapping an arm around his senior’s neck to rustle his knuckle on the guy’s head.
“Oh, fuck off.” Brooker nudged Alvarez away. “I told you I got that app. But it starts off with stupid shit, like saying I’m American.”
“Oh, yeah?” Fuller chimed in. “And how’s that going?”
“I’m American,” Brooker said in Spanish, looking expectantly at Alvarez.
“Good job, I guess,” he said, shrugging.
“Ah, fuck off.” Brooker nudged him again and Alvarez rolled his eyes. “But anyway, Kodi, what’re you up to down here? Would’ve thought Kean’s first task for you would be filling his closet. That dude’s lived here for years now and he still doesn’t have clothes beyond team merch.”
“Hold up, have you ordered any clothes for him yet?” Fuller asked, eyes going wide.
“Uh, no. Why?” I didn’t know what the team’s dynamic was, but I got the feeling they were the types to razz their grumpy keeper.
And honestly, I’d be willing to hear them out. Not because I’d follow through on whatever they suggest, but because it might give me insight into what Kean likes and dislikes.
“What if you bought him a shit ton of, like, Hawaiian shirts? Like the cringiest, dad-est type of shirts?” Fuller suggested and the other two broke out into a fit of laughter that I couldn’t help but join.
“Why the fuck are y’all being so loud?” a deep voice asked after the door clicked open behind me. I turned to see Kean, jaw working under his thick, dark brown beard as he looked down atme. I hadn’t really taken a good look at him yesterday and while researching him last night, my focus was on facts over visuals, but with him inches away, I was suddenly very aware of how Kean wasexactlythe kind of player I thirsted over. Fuck, he had the same build as Marshall in his heyday, and I flashed a whole stadium for him.
