Chapter Eleven
LEVI
“Wow, look who it is,” Silas says as I show up for breakfast in the team conference room. A buffet of protein, carbs, snacks and drinks the team nutritionist has approved is lined up for us to eat. “I’m surprised you’re gracing us with your presence.”
I pick up a plate and ignore him.
Last night, they all wanted to grab a quick drink at the bar, but I skipped out and opted to call Wylie instead. They were not pleased. Claimed they haven’t hung out with me in a while. Well, whose fucking fault is that? Theirs. I’ve been available, but they’re the ones who always sprint up to their rooms after games—I think we all know why—so I gave them a taste of their own medicine, and it looks like it’s bitter.
“Are you going to ignore us?” Pacey asks as he picks up a plate as well and follows me down the line of food.
“What makes you think I’m ignoring you?” I ask as I plop some eggs and a pile of bacon on my plate. One time, our nutritionist, Tony, had some cooked bologna as a treat for me . . . God, that was my best day. I haven’t seen it since, which makes me want to ask him about it and see if he’ll make me some more.
“Uh, you ditched us last night.”
“So,” I say as I grab a protein smoothie at the end of the buffet and sit at the table where Silas, Eli, and Halsey are already sitting. “You guys ditch me every night.”
“I don’t,” OC says as he picks up a plate and follows Pacey. “I’m there for you, man.”
“You ditched me the other night.”
“For a friend I haven’t seen in a while,” he defends. “Normally, I’m there for you, stroking your ego, telling you what a beautifully strong man you are.”
“Jesus Christ, this guy,” Silas says. “Sucking up to Posey because you think he’s going to help you with your love problems?”
“No,” OC says and then winces at me. “Maybe a little.”
“I told you,” I say. “All in good time.”
“Is that because you’re trying to figure out your own love life?” Eli asks as he takes a bite of a floppy piece of bacon.
There are two types of people in the world. People who let a piece of bacon slap their chin after biting into it, and people who like their bacon to turn into dust in their mouth after one bite.
The floppy-bacon chin-slappers, those are the people you need to look out for. They’re the freaks. The wild ones. The type of person who thinks it’s funny to say things like . . . “Oh, long time no see” even though they saw you five minutes ago. I’d suggest detaching yourself from that type of person. They’re unsavory, untrustworthy, and loose cannons.
Unfortunately for me, it’s too late to detach from Hornsby.
But save yourselves!
“I don’t have a love life,” I say while I pick up my piece of crispy and erect bacon. No flaccid meat on my plate, that’s for damn sure.
“I don’t believe it,” Pacey says as he takes a seat next to me. “You’re hiding something. It’s obvious.”
“Maybe it has something to do with his new assistant,” Silas says with a conspiratory glance in my direction. A glance slightly incriminating. Like he knows something. I’m going to have to check in with the Quibbling Queens—name not finalized—to see if they’ve been speaking to their men.
“Nothing is going on there, and also, keep your fucking voice down because everyone knows who my new assistant is, and the last fucking thing I need is gossip to be spread about Coach Wood’s daughter. He’d have my dick in a vise so fast, I wouldn’t even know he tore my pants down.”
“The imagery on that,” Eli says while shaking his head. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, not sure Coach Wood is the one to pull pants down,” Pacey says. “I think it would be more of a stare that would scare your pants right off your body. Like a Darth Vader, Kylo Ren-type move. One lift of his hands and blamo, pants are off.”
Silas nods. “Yeah, that feels right. Can’t see him taking the time to unbutton your pants only to yank them to your ankles.”
“I’ve seen him fumble with his pen before,” OC says. “Not sure the dexterity is there to make a smooth transition on the pants.”
“You saw him fumble his pen?” Eli asks, horror on his face. “Did he know you saw that?”
“No.” OC shakes his head. “Fuck, imagine if he did? I wouldn’t have eyes. He would have popped them out with an old one-two jab-jab to the eye sockets. I’d be eyeless.”
“It would be unfortunate,” Pacey says. “But it would serve you right for catching him in such a vulnerable state.”
“You’re all idiots,” Halsey says while shaking his head. “You’ve let Posey fuck with your heads.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, offended because frankly, this conversation is right up my alley.
Dexterous fingers.
Pulling pants down.
Fumbling of pens.
Eye sockets.
The only thing this is missing is maybe a little live-action reenactment.
“It means you’re all talking fucking nonsense.” Halsey takes a sip of his coffee while leaning back in his chair.
“Well, excuse us,” I say. “Apologies for not being able to have hoity-toity conversations about whatever nonsensical fiction you’re currently consuming.”
“We don’t have to talk about books,” Halsey says. “But we certainly don’t have to talk about Coach Wood pulling our pants down. For fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t know, seems charming,” Eli says just as Coach Wood walks into the conference room. And just like that, we all straighten up and start focusing on our food.
We might talk a big talk, but there’s no way in hell any of us would ever say what we said in front of Coach Wood. No fucking chance.
I can feel his eyes on me the moment he starts looking around, but instead of looking up, I take great interest in the fluffiness of my eggs. What do they do to make them so fluffy? Is it more milk? Cottage cheese perhaps? Maybe they—
“Posey!”
Yup, saw that coming.
I look up at Coach Wood who has his arms crossed, staring daggers at me.
“Hey, Coach,” I say. “Good morning. What a great shave job this morning. Very smooth.”
“Shut up and come here.”
Not accepting compliments. Okay.
Although, if another man told me I did a nice shave job, I’d offer a thank you, but it just seems we were raised differently. Someone never taught him to express gratitude for compliments.
I approach him, but he turns on his heel and walks out of the conference room. Seems like he wants me to follow him, so I do.
When we are out in the hall, he brings me to the corner and says, “What’s the update on my daughter?”
I place my hands in my jogger pockets and ask, “Uh, what do you mean?”
“Are you making her life hell? Because it seems as though she’s having no problem working for you and advancing in her artwork.”
“Oh, uh . . . are we mad about the artwork thing?”
“Yes,” he rages.
I wince. “Okay, just wanted to make sure. So, uh, to be honest, I’m having a hard time coming up with tasks to give her. And the ones you give me, she seems to be able to do quickly. I don’t know what to tell you. She’s efficient.”
“I don’t want her being efficient. I want her to realize that her life would be better with a solid education and a stable job. You are not doing that.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, can I just put it out there that maybe I wasn’t the right guy for this? You know, Silas is more of an asshole than I am. He might be the one you’re looking for.”
“I don’t want Silas in on this. I need someone who is unattached to a woman who softens him. I thought you were tough. Hard.”
Well, I’m hard, that’s for damn sure, but I don’t think that’s the version of hard he’s talking about. And I sure as hell know he wouldn’t want me to tell him that either.
“What do you want me to do? Make her fly here just so she can tie my shoes?”
That sparks a thought in his head, and I see the evil look in his eye.
Uh-oh, that was the wrong thing to say. “Yes. I do.”
“Wait, what?” I ask. “You want me to fly her here?”