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Chapter One
JOE
Fuck around.Find out.
The last thing I needed to hear?
Those four words repeated on some kind of torturous cycle, thanks to my agent trying to actcool.
My best guess?
He heard that phrase while scrolling social media for some questionable pictures and posts and stumbled across some kind of video that said it. From there?Game on.
The phrase now represented everything he stood for.
I signed with Bobby O’Hoin right from college.
I called him thedorky douchethanks to his round framed, gigantic glasses.
I never understood why the guy wore glasses that were aged forty years.
Or why he insisted on keeping his face so perfectly clean.
I joked with him all the time.
Fresh glasses? Contacts? Some scruff on his face?
He might just look cool.
A tattoo on his neck that readI FUCK ON THE FIRST DATE?
Boom. He’d have all the women he could ask for.
Of course, that was all a joke.
Complete bullshit.
Bobby had more money than he could ever spend.
Which meant he had more women than he could ever dream of.
Now, did the women like his fat ass or his fat wallet?
That was a question I didn’t really want to ask.
Remember?
Fuck around, find out.
Which served as the exact reason I sat in a leather chair on the opposite end of Bobby’s big desk, with my feet up on some paperwork that was probably seven-figure contracts for other hockey players.
Bobby already asked me three times to move my feet.
Fuck off.
He then told me to move my feet again.
So I stomped my heels on the desk a few times.
