“I’m not in a slide,” I snap defensively. “And I wasn’t then.”
“Who replaced you?” Jake asks.
I slump against the bar. “Some young kid. I don’t even know if he’s old enough to legally drink.”
“Dropping the retiree for the young buck. That makes more sense.” Dante sneaks a hand over to grab another fry, but I don’t even attempt to stop him. This entire conversation is making me lose my appetite. “Lots of guys have a wobble when they start a new team. Since you’ve made it clear you really don’t want to be on this team, you need to strategize on how to show other teams you’re still a good asset to have.”
“I’ve never said I didn’t want to be part of this team,” I mutter.
“Dude,” Jake says with a laugh. “You glare at all of us. You’ve bitched about how sunny it is here, and you hate sidewalks on thenorth side of your building, because the snow never melts. You don’t have to say anything. We’re not dumb.”
“It’s not you guys,” I say sullenly. “I thought I’d be ending my career in Bridge Point. The trade caught me off guard, and it has been incredibly difficult for me to feel settled here. I know my career is on the tail end, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.”
“That isn’t important today,” Marcus says, his voice clear and loud. “Today, we focus on Opening Day. That is all that matters.”
The guys all nod in agreement, most piping in to say that I need to grovel with Layla. “But how am I supposed to do that? I’ve never groveled. I don’t know what I need to do.”
“You’ve never groveled.” Jake stares at me as he processes that tidbit of information. “Every man in the world has groveled a time or two. How have you managed not to fuck up with a woman before?”
“I don’t really have many long-term relationships, so the chances of having to grovel are pretty slim,” I say with a shrug. After getting burned by my college girlfriend in extraordinary fashion, I swore off dating in general. Other than some casual hookups, and a few women who I can routinely call for a good time, I stay away from women.
“So you’re saying a woman has never pouted? Demanded something from you? Played mind games because she was mad about something?” Jackson asks.
“Oh, those kinds of things? Alright. I guess I’ve had all of them happen.”
“And? How did you get yourself out of the jam?”
“Simple, really,” I answer. “I just went down on them. After the fourth or fifth orgasm, they usually forget what they’re mad about.”
Ryder grins. “We may need to come up with a different kind of groveling for Layla, Old Man. Pretty sure there’s a rule that we’re not allowed to fuck people associated with the team.”
Hence, the reason I can’t stop thinking about her. Men always want what they can’t have.
“How doyou feel about traveling with the team?” my best friend, Denise, asks. She’s sitting on my unmade bed, watching me pack.
“I shouldn’t really havemuchinteraction with them,” I answer as I pack my favorite pomegranate body wash, then visibly shake my head to remove the image of Max smiling at me while calling me Peaches. Damn that beautiful man. “I’ll be behind the scenes, getting their meals ready and ensuring all the food is up to team standards.”
“It seems so odd that you have to travel with them just to pack their lunch boxes,” she says with a snort. “God, can you imagine? They all roll off the team bus, carrying theirIron ManorStar Warslunch boxes.”
“With a matching thermos, of course,” I add, giggling. “That’s only a piece of it. I’m in charge of all the supplements they take and getting the hydration ready before the games. Depending on what the guys need, I might make game-time changes to their diet or snack selection, or I might add some kind of supplement after the game. Honestly, I’ll probably chat with each guy a total of ten or fifteen minutes per day.”
Humming noncommittally, Denise nods. “And how do you think the small time slot will go with Mr. Grumpypants McJumpHisBones?”
I stop folding a tank top to stare at her. “Let’s not call him that.”
“Why not?” she whines. “I think it’s perfect. I’d certainly jump his bones if given the opportunity. Have you seen that man’s abs? They look painted on!”
“Maybe they are,” I mutter, stuffing the tank top into my luggage. I doubt they’re painted on. Max Callahan was gifted with wonderful genetics to look like he does, even when he eats like a teenage boy. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t completely blow his lid when I told him I wouldn’t work with him. Coach is backing me up, thankfully. Every time I interact with Max, he seems to piss me off even more.”
“Do me a favor,” Denise says.
“Okay?”
“When you fuck him, I expect a vivid description of his abs. No, wait. I want a description of his whole body. Leave nothing out.”
“Dee, there’s a literal rule against fraternization with players. I’d get fired.”
“Only if they find out,” she teases. Standing from the bed, she skips her way into my tiny walk-in closet. “Better take some sexy clothes just in case.”
