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Half-assed or half-hearted, I lived by that piece of advice. That and my uncle's tip never to put snapping turtles down your pants. He learned that from experience. I guess my dad got the common sense in his family.
I pressed the button on the side of my earphones to turn off the music.
It still throbbed in my ears.
I cursed under my breath and pressed again. Distracted, I lost my rhythm on the treadmill. I stumbled and made a grab for the handles, but missed.
Shit.
I skidded to the end of the treadmill. Before I could stop myself, I was tossed off onto the floor. I tried to keep my feet, but instead tumbled and landed on my ass on the carpet behind the machine.
The music played on.
I tugged out my stubborn earphones, threw them aside and picked myself up. I sucked in a couple of breaths while trying to regain some of my dignity.
Thank the football gods no one was here to see me. If this happened in a public gym, photos and videos would hit the internet in about three seconds flat.
For that reason alone, my home gym was worth every cent. The world didn't need to know that I, Chase McKinney, wide receiver for the Storm Valley Rapids, was accident prone.
I grabbed a towel, wiped my brow and down my bare chest. I liked to sweat, but I didn't want it to drip along the floor on my way to the shower. My housekeeper, Bernice would yell at me again, and threaten to quit. She often threatened to do that, but never followed through on it.
Yet.
I didn't really think she would quit. I paid her well and didn't make too much of a mess.
Usually.
Apart from the occasional late-night pasta cooking session.
I stripped off my shorts and stepped under a lukewarm shower. My muscles were still sore from yesterday's game. The first of the season, it was a hard one. The Wollongong Weevils hammered us like they had a grudge. Maybe because we beat their asses last season and put their star quarterback out of commission.
That's the game for you. Sometimes it's a bitch.
Sometimes it's so much of a bitch that your body feels like you got hit by a train the next day. Them's the breaks. Mostly, it'sworth it. Younger me would have given his right arm to be doing what I'm doing now. I wasn't about to be ungrateful. Not for a second.
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. The phone rang.
I looked around.
"Okay, where are you now?" I asked it. I had a bad habit of putting my phone down and losing it. Sometimes for days. The fact I heard it now meant it wasn't far. In theory.
I scooped up a shirt from my bed. It wasn't under there. I threw the shirt back down. It missed the bed and slid to the floor, where it lay, arms outstretched, begging to be washed and put away properly. I ignored it.
I listened to the ringing. Was my phone in the living room, maybe?
I stepped out my bedroom door and hesitated. The ringing was coming from downstairs.
"Oh yeah." Now I remember putting my phone down on the kitchen counter. I trotted down the stairs, but reached it just as it stopped.
"Figures." I checked the screen. The caller ID said Brandi. Since when did she call and not inundate me with texts full of kissy face emojis and photos of her breasts?
I waited, but she didn't leave a message. Maybe she'd butt dialled me by accident. I smiled at the thought of her cute little ass. She had it going on in all the right places.
Since the night we met at Waves bar, I'd been head over heels for her. She genuinely seemed into me. Chase McKinney, the guy, not Chase, the pro gridiron player. Women like that were hard to find. Most people want a piece of you the minute you get a little taste of fame.
It soured the experience sometimes, but only around the edges. In the middle of training and playing, I had the best job in the world.
What's the expression? Living my best life? Yeah, that was me. Brandi was the icing on a red velvet cupcake with chocolate sprinkles.
