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“You don’t want the team to take action. You’re not going to like what they have in store for you, Brent, if you keep up with this bad behavior.”
“Oh, come on,” I replied, laughing. “The Wolves can’t fire me. And what could be worse than that?”
Coach T chuckled like he knew something.
Hmm…
“I can’t worry about that shit today,” I said to him. “I’ll start cleaning up my act tomorrow.”
“Brent…” Coach T sounded doubtful.
“Really, I will,” I insisted.
That was a few hours ago. And I plan to make some changes. But maybe not quite yet.
“Before tomorrow gets here,” I justify to myself, “we still have the rest of today. And that means there’s time for one more party.”
I stride into the second-floor living room of my house, a spacious and angled space overlooking the huge lake on my property. Peering out at the crystal blue water, I announce to Benny and Nolan, “Listen up, boys. We’re having one final blowout tonight, a party to end all parties.”
There’s a murmur from Nolan, but nothing from Benny.
“We’re going to do this one right,” I go on. “We party tonight. But then, when tomorrow arrives, we’re done with messing around. We start training full-on.”
Yeah, right,a little voice in my head coughs out.
I look around since no one besides my guilty conscience seems to be chiming in.
It’s early afternoon and the sun is bathing the room—my favorite, by the way, with the way it juts out over the lake showcasing the floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides and a massive deck with a mile-long view on the other—in a warm summer glow.
Nolan, who is lounging on an easy chair with a beer in his hand, raises his bottle. “I’m in,” he says.
His words aren’t the least bit slurred, even though he’s been drinking straight through since last night’s bash.
“And then, yeah,” he continues, agreeing with me, “we’ll start getting ready for camp.”
Despite his ability to suck down alcohol like a fish, Nolan hasn’t veered too far off course. Getting back on track won’t be hard for him. He’s like Mr. Discipline. And he’s not fooling anyone, anyway. I caught him working out in my basement gym a few days ago. With the way he was pumping iron I suspect he’s been training consistently for a few weeks now.
There’s still not been a response from Benny, which is unusual. Dude’s always up for a party. He’s probably the worst of us when it comes to out-of-control antics.
And that’s saying a lot.
“Hey, where’s Benny?” I ask Nolan as I scan the shadows of the room.
He nods to a sofa that’s been pushed way-ass off to a far corner.
“Oh, I should’ve known.” I chuckle as I take in an eyeful.
Benny is sprawled out on a sofa in the shadows, sleeping like a baby. His massive chest is rising and falling in perfect rhythm with the ticking clock on the stone mantel above his head. Some puck bunny he was fucking around with last night is with him, passed out on top of him.
The sheet covering their naked bodies is hiked up just enough to afford a view of the girl’s creamy thigh, which is casually slung over my linemate’s muscular, hairy-as-hell leg, and positioned under his semi-exposed junk.
Chuckling at Benny’s total lack of modesty, I pick up a throw pillow and lob it at his head—the one that clearly controls all his thinking.
And he scores!
As the pillow makes contact—and how could it not with a pole like that marking my target?—the sheet falls off completely. I get a quick flash of perky tits and tiny ass. And then, shit—a big honking piece of man-meat assaults my eyes.
“Dude,” I snort, mock-offended. “You need to cover that shit before you blind us all.”
