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This mess wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for my old agent. He’s a walking disaster. I should’ve known with a name like Chip Stone.
Not only because it sounds fake as fuck, but because it screams ‘twat’.
Working with him this last year has been a nightmare of fuckups. After losing one of my big sponsorship deals because he had the balls to sexually harass the woman he was negotiating with, I was done. I fired him on the spot, and have been wading through the aftermath since.
My new agent is trying to help but he can only do so much, which is why I’m being a good little boy and putting myself on a bunny ban until I can get everything figured out.
When you’re trying to get your contract renewed, bad press can throw a very large wrench in the system, and I don’t want to take any chances. I need to keep my head down and stay focused on the game.
That’s also why I left Avery with Lucy and high-tailed it to the other side of the room to get a mediocre glass of champagne and act like I’m mingling as soon as we got here.
Anything to get away from her newly discovered breasts.
“Do I look as miserable as you?”
My gaze flicks to Gordon who’s standing rigid beside me, a glass of champagne dangling from his fingers.
He’s in the laziest costume I’ve ever seen. It’s basically black dress pants, a black button-down shirt, and a cape.
I may look ridiculous, but at least I’m in a full costume.
He’s supposed to represent the team and he’s barely making an effort.
After taking a sip of champagne, I clap Gordon on the shoulder and fix him with a smile. “Actually, mate, I think you look worse. I’m British and dashing.” I pause and take another sip, wishing it was a beer. And I was at home. “Who are you supposed to be?”
He shakes his head with a curse. “Dracula, obviously.”
“Where are your fangs?”
“They only come out when I’m hungry.”
“Can you turn into a bat?”
“Does this conversation have a point?” He surveys the crowded dance floor with a well-practiced scowl, his free hand clenching and then unclenching like he can’t decide if he wants to punch something or someone. I hope it’s not me. “I don’t even want to know what the fuck you’re supposed to be. Just please don’t let me catch you coming out of the women’s bathroom later.”
“And why would I…” I trail off as he shakes his head and takes another sip.
“Don’t ask.”
“Don’t want to know.” I sigh, catching sight of Avery out of the corner of my eye. She’s laughing at something Lucy must’ve said, and I have a strange sensation in the pit of my stomach. It must be the cheap champagne.
“Why do we let these arseholes drag us to these things?”
Gordon drains his glass and places it on a nearby table. “I own a hockey team. I have to be here. I’m not sure what your excuse is.”
I grunt because I’m sure as shit not going to tell him that I rescued Rhett’s sister from the side of the road instead of letting her call a cab, and came in here, full costume, instead of dropping her off and going home.
He grabs another glass of champagne, and we fall into a comfortable silence. If it wasn’t Avery, Lincoln would’ve pressured me into coming. He drags us to all of these fancy events so he doesn’t have to be at them alone.
And because I’m a good friend, I show up even though I really don’t like dressing up.
Or champagne.
Or pretending to be some pretentious prick just to have a meaningless conversation with a stranger.
I’d rather order a pizza and binge something on HBO.
“I thought Linc said this was going to be a fun Halloween party,” Ian gripes as he walks up and stops beside me, a full champagne flute in each hand.
