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Lance
The Houston Skyhawksfront office had me fucked up.
There was only one more week until the preseason was set to begin. But instead of being in training camp with the team like I should’ve been, I was spending my morning at a private fitness facility with a trainer I’d paid for out of my own pocket to keep me in shape while all of my contract shit got sorted out.
That’s where the front office had me fucked up.
This would be my sixth season with the team, with the first five spent busting my ass as the starting middle linebacker. But now that it was time for me to sign a new contract, you would’ve thought I hadn’t done shit over the years, just the thought of the weak ass numbers they’d try to throw at my agent pissing me off enough to damn near throw the heavy medicine ball I was working with through the wall instead of just against it like I was supposed to.
Laughing, my trainer asked, “Damn, Hawk. What did my wall ever do to you?”
“Nothin’. But them suit niggas got me fucked up,” I snarled as I finished off my set of ten that was originally only supposed be six. Then I wiped my brow so that I could see through the sweat as I headed to the next station, getting ready to wrap heavy chains around my shoulders for two sets of weighted push-ups until my trainer put her hand to my arm and suggested, “How about we take a quick break? I mean, we don’t want you too tired when your agent calls to let you know the deal is finally done.”
“Fuck a break,” I groaned, shrugging her hand off so that I could essentially dress my upper body in the heavy metal loops that would make these push-ups a thousand times more difficult. But that kind of challenge was exactly what I needed right now; though it was clear my trainer disagreed when she said, “Hawk, I’m serious. You know it’s coming,”
“The way they’ve been actin’ lately, I don’t know shit,” I told her. “So until I do, I’ma keep grindin’.”
With that, I got into position for my first set of weighted push-ups, attacking the progression from heavy chains and high reps to a lighter load with low reps until I damn near couldn’t feel my arms. And then it was back to the top to do it all over again, the final push-up that only required one chain making me work the hardest until I finally lowered myself back down to the ground and collapsed.
Lifting my arms just enough for my trainer to be able to remove the chain, I could hardly hear her over my heavy breathing when she asked, “So… you feel better now?”
Flipping onto my back, I closed my eyes and answered, “Exhausted actually.”
“You know I have aspecialrecovery treatment just for that,” she responded, the feel of her straddling my lap making me grin as I slowly opened my eyes to ask, “Is that why you kicked my ass today?”
Giggling, Racquel insisted, “Nah, you kicked your own ass today. And now you’re gonna feel it tomorrow unless we get this very…important… recovery process started.”
Her hands were already at the waistband of my sweaty compression shorts when I sat up and told her, “You’re really good at what you do, Rocki.”
“I’mgreatat what I do,” she corrected, licking her lips to add, “And that applies to everything. But you know that already.”
I probably shouldn’t have known that.
Nah, Idefinitelyshouldn’t have known that.
I mean, fuckin’ around with my trainer -or any of the women I worked with, for that matter- should’ve been an automatic no-go. But Racquel had made herself so easy to break the rules for once her fine ass started coming at me after every training session. And I suppose with all the tension from this contract shit building up, I was desperate for the kind of relief that could only come from the five foot nine, cinnamon brown, former Lingerie Football League wide receiver who was ridiculously good with her hands.
Since she looked just as good today as she did all the time in her matching sports bra and compression shorts set, I was more than tempted to take her up on her offer. But one peek at the time on the giant clock behind her told me that couldn’t happen, a smirk on my face when I quietly said, “I gotta go.”
Once I started to push myself up from the ground, Racquel instinctively climbed off of me, following me over to where I’d left my stuff as she asked, “You sure? My next client won’t be here for at least another thirty minutes.”
“Yeah, I got somewhere I need to be,” I answered as I wiped my face with a towel. Then I threw it in my duffle bag with plans to shower at my parents’ house since they were the ones who’d summoned me for brunch, zipping the bag shut and then tossing it over my shoulder before I turned back towards Racquel who looked…upset?
“Look, Hawk. If the other day was just some one-time thing, then just say that.”
Her little attitude made me chuckle as I took a step closer towards where she was standing, giving her a slow once-over before I asked, “Why would I say that if I don’t know if it’s true or not?”
My question made her frown turn into more of a smirk that I returned as I told her, “See you tomorrow, Rocki.”
“Hopefully not, Hawk,” she responded with a giggle, clearly feeling more optimistic than I was about my contract being finalized soon. But until I heard back from my agent, there was really no reason for me to be confident, especially now that the media had started dickriding my backup.
According to them, he had all the intangibles to become,well, the next me. But I knew there was no duplicating my talent nor the experiences that had turned me into the top-tier player I was today which was exactly why I had my agent fighting so hard for the payday we both knew I deserved.
The waiting game was a bitch though.
Every day that passed with no deal in sight, I found myself questioning if I was asking for too much, found myself worrying that maybe the organization would decide to pass me off to another team and that I’d be forced to uproot my entire life to play in another city. And since there was nothing like playing for my hometown, there were plenty of times when I’d considered just taking less money, especially once the media started painting me out to be a bad guy for not being in the trenches preparing for the season with my squad.
Thankfully, all of my teammates understood the situation. And there were even some folks online who saw things my way and supported my stance to hold out until I was paid what I deserved. But of course, there were just as many Skyhawks “fans” who thought I was trash for making it about money when it should’ve only been about a love for the game, as if their asses went to work every day solely because they loved their job.
