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I rolled my eyes when Marlon laughed in my face like I was performing stand-up at the Apollo.
I wish my mother would’ve sought therapy. She might be alive today if she did.
“Whew… you’re fucking hilarious, Hart,” he expressed, pushing himself off the truck that he’d fallen against during his laughing fit. “How about we get wasted instead?”
I shrugged. “That’ll work.”
“Chandler’s throwing a party at his place.”
“Hard pass.”
“Why?”
“Because I can only handle the man in small doses. It doesn’t help that he’s a sloppy drunk who loves to argue. Do you know how many senseless fights I’ve gotten into because he spouted off to the wrong guy?”
“Too damn many,” Marlon remarked with a heavy sigh.
Too… damn… many.
If it were up to me, I’d leave him to suffer whatever painful fate came his way, but we were a team and were supposed to always have each other’s backs.
“How about Netz?” Marlon suggested, offering an alternative to watching Chandler make a buffoon of himself.
“You paying?”
Marlon pouted. “Hart, I’m starting to feel that our relationship is purely transactional.”
“You’re the one with the badass contract.”
He snorted. “Fuck off, Hart. Between your contract, endorsement and brand deals, investment properties, and Andre’s, you pull in way more than I do. It should be you buying me drinks.”
“Maybe if you smiled a little more and connected with your fans online then you’d get those lucrative brand deals.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before you find me online posting thirst traps,” he growled.
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Okay, Flip Jr.,” he said dismissively.
Philip “Flip” Gordon was my agent who represented me aggressively. He was overbearing and constantly on my ass, but he knew his shit, and I wouldn’t be where I was if it weren’t for him. Flip insisted that if I wanted to be successful, I had to be the “Three Ps”—popular, personable, and present. According to him, I still needed to work on the personable part, and that if I wanted to grunt at the camera with my shirt off, I should get into porn instead.
It’d be an effortless career switch. The offers rolled in almost daily from adult sites and OnlyFans models who wanted me to perform on camera with them, but the money was never enticing enough for me to even consider.
Why would I do porn when I can make thousands of dollars just by livestreaming my brushing and flossing routine?
“All right. You’re getting cranky because it’s way past your bedtime. Let’s get those drinks. I’m buying.”
“Damn right you are,” Marlon said excitedly, climbing into his truck. I followed suit and answered text messages from my brothers congratulating us on the win before taking the familiar route to our team’s favorite bar.
One-Star Review
Hart
“Can I get you gentlemen another round?” our waitress asked. If her tone wasn’t suggestive enough, then the zipper on her referee uniform, which seemed to lower with every visit to our table, sent the message home. I’d bet my yearly salary that her phone number would be written on the receipt.
I gazed at the empty beer bottles and shot glasses that were once rimmed with salt and considered my options. I was drunk—way past the legal limit to drive, but that wouldn’t be a problem because the owner was a Washington Warriors fanboy and allowed us to leave our vehicles overnight. It was late—nearly one in the morning, and we had practice in nine hours, but I wasn’t in a rush to get home.
It’s not like there’s anyone there waiting for me…
