by Kara Hart
And that’s it. After that, my life is out of my control. I’m going to be the Public Relations Manager of Jackson Leeman, the baddest bad boy in the world.
65
Jackson
“That’s right baby,” I moan loudly. “Work it, girl.”
My buddy Landon “Brickwall” Karagon, a guard on the team, is standing off to the side, drinking out of a bottle of champagne. He’s as mean as sin and tougher than nails, and he just won the fucking game of the century. “When’re you going to be done with her, bro? Time’s up,” he says, taking another swig. He sets the bottle in a bucket of ice and sighs.
“Alright,” I laugh, spanking the stripper’s ass. She bounces those juicy cheeks right into my face and I nearly take a bite. “Damn. Just as I was starting to having fun, too.”
“It’s only an extra 500 to stay the whole night,” she reminds me, winking and pressing her tits together. She slides off my lap and waits for Landon to saddle up.
We’re pretty drunk at this point in the day and it’s only fucking noon. I’m actually thinking about spending the extra 500, though I’ve already spent all I need on the sports car and four-story mansion after I got signed. My accountant keeps saying I need to think about my future. I keep telling him he needs to relax a little. I think we all know who’s right in the situation.
I kill off the bottle of champagne as this woman takes off her thong and shoves it into Landon’s face. I laugh and head into the kitchen for some orange juice.
“Damn,” I sigh. I’m feeling that feeling again. It’s the feeling of disappointment. I’ve made it to the fucking pros. I’ve won all those college championship games. The only thing left is the damn Super Bowl, but even that seems like a waste of time. The only reason I’m here right now is my hunger to get to the top, my hunger to be the best there is.
Still, I keep thinking to myself, what happens when I get there? I buy more shit, buy more women and champagne, and celebrate too fucking hard. Then, I break a leg or something stupid and I retire in the Hamptons somewhere and work in team management. It doesn’t sound that great, if I’m being honest with myself. It sounds… boring.
That’s when the doorbell rings. “God damn.” I sigh even louder this time. My shirt is off and I’m freeballin’ it underneath these basketball shorts. My eyes are heavy and red and I’m most likely looking like a total wreck. Still, I answer the door, knowing there’s going to be bad news behind it, and there she is.
She’s standing right in front of me, waiting for an explanation. “Uhh…” I mumble to myself, opening my eyes semi-rapidly. “Shit.”
I clear my throat and turn around. “Turn the damn music off,” I yell back at Landon and Misty, that hot little number gyrating on his lap. “And get the fuck out of here. I have unexpected business to take care of.”
Misty grabs her things in a hurry and runs out. “Asshole,” she whispers.
“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath. When she’s out on lawn, half-naked still, I yell after her. “If I wake up to any extra charges or fees, I’ll never fucking hire you again!”
“Um, can I come in?” she asks. It’s Fiona. The girl from high school. The one girl I mistakenly professed my love to. You know, the one who I was going to settle down with. I feel like I just got punched in the gut. I fall back, almost literally. I have to close my eyes and catch my breath. It’s like a thousand bricks have fallen from the sky and landed directly on top of me.
The guilt weighs on me like nothing else. Back then, before I left her, I was sure I would end up as a janitor somewhere. And then I won all those championship games. And it all clicked in my head. I could be the most famous man in the world.
I left her and never looked back.
“Yeah, sure,” I mutter. “Come in. Uh, I didn’t expect anyone today, sorry about all of this.”
She walks inside, stepping over a broken beer bottle and some underwear. They’re not mine. Maybe they’re Misty’s. Who the hell knows anymore?
She sighs lightly and makes her way to my living room. “I would’ve cleaned up had I known,” I explain. She keeps on ignoring me, something I’ve always disliked about her, but maybe it’s because we’re both too shocked to know how to act. Fuck, I feel like a boy again. This isn’t good.
She’s wearing this short, black shirt and it hugs around her thick thighs perfectly. I’m used to dealing with these skin and bones women and that works just fine. But when I see a woman who knows how to carry her body with confidence and sexiness, it always gets my blood pumping. Especially this woman.
I glance at her tits and though she’s wearing a modest skirt suit, they’re begging to be held by me. Shit, I’m not in the right state of mind for all this. I can’t be trusted.
“I would’ve thought Joseph or your manager would have warned you,” she says. “So, I guess we’ll just get the basics out of the way. I’m Fiona Breckinridge, your new Public Relations manager. Yes, we went to high school. Yes, we dated. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to let it ruin a good season together.”
She purses her lips and I sigh. This is already too heavy for me. “I—” She cuts me off.
“No need to explain yourself,” she says, quite methodically, like she’s been rehearsing lines for days. “Look, here’s the deal. I just came from Los Angeles. I was used to living on the coast. In fact, I loved it out there so much that I bought a house. However, things don’t always go as planned. The Oregon Black Wings hired you on the team and now they need me to make you look good.”
“I—” Again, she cuts me off, holding her hand in the air and taking a deep breath. Come on, woman. I don’t give a shit.
“Let me finish,” she sighs. “I’m used to professionalism. I’m used to working with the best players in the league. They say that you were good. Well, I need you to prove that to me and the world around us. I’m not going to lose my job just because they assigned me to a loose cannon.” She sits back in a chair, making herself right at home, and waits for me to speak. Landon sits, dazed in the corner of the room. I can already tell he’s bored with this. I am too.
Loose cannon? Who does she think she is? Fucking Obama’s PR agent? “Look, honey,” I smile, looking smug as all hell. “This isn’t your first rodeo. I get it. It ain’t mine either. But you need to get a few things straight before we start working together. First, you’re my PR manager. Not my fucking mother. You do your job and make me look good. That’s it. Second…” I try to think of a second point I want to make, but nothing comes to mind. “Second, just leave me alone.”
“I—” This time, I cut her off.
“I’ve been hailed as the best player in the league right now because it’s the truth. I am the best. I will be the best. I won’t go home without winning. On the off chance that one of my teammates fucks up a play, I will go and train ten thousand times harder than the rest and I’ll come back on the field the next weekend and drive it on home. I’m not finishing my career without a plaque in the hall of fame. Got it?”
“I—”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have some important things to take care of,” I say. I glance over at Landon who nods and opens another bottle of champagne. He turns the stereo surround sound on again and I lean back in my $3,000 Italian leather chair. I smile and I know I’ve gotten to her.
Still, I can’t stop staring at the stockings gripping her tight flesh, her creamy legs. The way they disappear underneath the trim of her skirt drives me crazy. So many thoughts come to mind. What I’d do to her, what she’d do to me. I imagine her crawling toward me on her knees, mouth wide open and ready for me.
I have to literally shake myself out of it. After all, she was my high school fling and the only girl I ever thought I loved. As it turns out for some men, you end up falling in love with the game more.
“Fuck this,” she mutters under her breath. She makes sure to cover the opening of her skirt as she picks herself up from the chair, walking modestly to the door. It’s clear
she knows what I want, but she’s not going to give it up that easy, if at all.
She turns around, before opening the door at the front of the house. “We’ve established an understanding,” she says. “You’re a douchebag.”
“Great,” I laugh. “It hardly affects me.”
She opens the door and walks out into my yard, leaving the door open. Fuck.
“You know, it actually will affect you if you keep up this act. It’s worked out well enough for you up until now, but I’ve dealt with a lot of players in my lifetime. There’s one thing I’ve discovered. Winning power gets to a man. And if he’s not strong enough, it almost always breaks him. I’m looking forward to you winning these games for your team, but if you fail, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Wow,” I laugh. Fiona’s become one cold bitch. I smile and glance at Landon, who’s doing the same. “I think I like her,” I tell him.
66
Fiona
I’ve seen a lot in my time, working for the big leagues. It’s nothing new to see a stripper rub her ass on a player’s face. It’s a bit shocking when it’s your ex-boyfriend from back home, however. Still, I can manage to put business first and emotions second. That’s essentially the name of the game, right?
Still, I can’t deal with this prick’s attitude. Of course, when I get back to my rental house, all I can think about is today’s interaction. How the hell was that the same guy I fell in love with? He was so sweet back in Arizona. Sure, he had big hopes and dreams. He wanted to be a great football player and I wanted the same for him. He never acted better than anyone else though. So what changed?
We used to laugh, kiss, and tell each other sweet nothings while we laid in bed together, fairly innocently. I always remembered those times with an odd sort of fondness attached to them. There was even a sort of longing for them at times. I loved the way we used to watch old games and he would tell me his big plans. “Someday, Fiona, we’re going to take over the world. We’re going to go all the way to the pros. And once it’s all said and done, we’ll run away. They’ll look everywhere for us, but we’ll have vanished without a trace.”
It was high school romanticism at its finest and I knew it probably wouldn’t ever happen. Back then, when I was so entranced with him and hoping for the best future outcome for both of us, I accepted it. I really thought we would be together forever.
Now look at me. I’m 28 and living in a rental, somewhere deep in the Portland woods. I have to take orders from my ex, and to drive the nail even further, I have to make him look good. I suppose it could be worse. I suppose I could be homeless or something.
My best friend from high school, Jennifer Hawks, seems to be on my side on this one. Thank God. We decide to catch up and take a walk to the nearest bar, some dive around the corner.
Outside, the air outside is refreshing and beautiful. The sun is setting and the clouds are out, but it’s still so nice. I love the California breeze around this time normally, but Portland will be an easy adjustment. The whole city has transformed since the last time I was here. Now, there’s new shops on every corner, a dozen restaurants opening up every single day, and plenty of happy people. Fine, Joseph, I think to myself. You win.
“I absolutely love living here,” Jennifer says to me. “Seriously, you’re going to end up wanting to stay.”
“Fat chance,” I mutter. “I have to admit, however, I’m really liking the vibe of this place. LA is so… LA.” I laugh.
“Ugh,” she says. “I hate that place. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s really fun to visit sometimes, but the whole industry just takes over your life. I swear, I was running from party to party, every single night, just to get one contact for the business. I don’t know why I was so invested in that lifestyle.”
“I get it,” I laugh. “You’re describing me. Truth is, it’s going to take some getting used to not doing that every day. I lived for networking.”
“You’re almost 30,” she looks at me like I’m crazy. “Settle down. Find a real man and just relax. You don’t have much time left.”
Jesus. Is it really that bleak? “I’m not dying, Jen. Come on,” I laugh, shaking my head.
“Just messing with you a bit,” she says as we walk up to the bar. She swings open the door and we both walk in. The delicious smells of hops, old wood, and greasy onion rings instantly sweep into my nostrils and I realize I probably need a drink or two. Or three. Shit, just give me the whole pitcher and a plate of wings and I’ll be fine.
We sit down and order just that. “So, you’ll never guess who I’m assigned to,” I say to her once we’re situated.
“Who? OJ Simpson?” she asks, looking at the TV above my head. There’s a football game on and I turn to glance at it. I can’t help but shake my head.
“No,” I laugh. “It’s worse than that. Trust me.”
On the television, I see him. Jackson Leeman in all his glory, shining on the LED screen, and guess what he’s doing? He’s spitting on a group of fans after a game and screaming at them to ‘fuck off.’ I bury my face in my hands and groan.
“No,” Jen says. “Don’t tell me it’s Jackson.” But the look on my face says it all.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” I smile.
“Oh God,” she says. “You’re going to have to work overtime on this guy. Fiona, you’re going to have to quit.”
I laugh and our server comes with our pitchers. I eagerly pour myself a glass and take a big sip of orange lager. “I can’t quit,” I say. “Besides, it won’t be that hard, will it?” I’m hoping she can give me some hope because right now because I have very little.
“I’m serious, girl. You need to find another agency who’s not going to fuck you over all of the sudden like this,” she says. “You’ve given how many years to them? A decade? That’s true loyalty, babe. They need to show you some respect. Don’t they know you two have history?”
“Joseph knows everything. Are you kidding me? He does his research on everyone and everything,” I tell her. “But at the end of the day, he doesn’t really care about our feelings. This is a job and I have to do it well still.”
“Oh, God,” she moans, taking a sip of her beer. I pick at a wing and roll my eyes. “Well, welcome to Portland. You’re officially screwed.”
“Yup,” I laugh with my mouthful. “I’m hoping it won’t be that bad. Like, I won’t have to see him all that much. I’m pretty sure he just stays in his mansion all day with his teammates. It’s a bit far off from here.”
I hear the door slam open and my heart races when I see who walks in. A barrage of loudmouthed, laughing football players come hollering through the bar. “Alright, guys. Get the pitchers. I’m fucking ready to destroy something!” It’s him. It’s Jackson and he’s ready to… um… destroy something. His words, not mine.
I turn to Jennifer and widen my eyes. “Are you kidding me?” I mouth at her. Her mouth hangs wide open.
I avoid eye contact as much as I can. There’s no way I want to deal with him right now. Yesterday was enough, dammit. I feel a warm, strong grip around my shoulders, and I know I’m fucked. His hands cup and his fingers press into the knots on my back and shoulders. Suddenly, I feel a wave of relief flow throughout my body.
No. I am not going to enjoy a massage by Jackson Leeman right now. He’s honestly the most annoying man I’ve ever met. “Damn,” he finally says, “you’re tense, baby. What’s wrong?”
“Please stop molesting my shoulders,” I say, closing my eyes and trying my hardest not to freak out on him. He lets go and backs off.
“Come on, I’m not doing anything to hurt you,” he says. “Look, we’re coworkers now, right? We have to do our best to get along. We might as well be friends.”
A player by the name of Boris Holloway throws his arms around Jackson’s neck and screams. “Let’s get fucked up!”
This is honestly what I was afraid of. He’s turning this team into a bunch of hooligans. He’s making it okay to be an idiot in f
ootball and sure enough, the team will suffer because of it. When I look into this sea of jock straps, all I see are a bunch of fools looking to impress Jackson. They know he’s the best. They’ve read the headlines. Now, all they want is a chance at the same type of spotlight, so they mimic his behavior.
I grab Jackson and pull him aside. Landon, from across the bar, smiles at me. I purse my lips angrily and look at Jackson directly in the eyes. “Look, I don’t care what you do on your own time. I get your shtick. You’re the guy who doesn’t give two fucks about playing by the rules, yet you come onto the field and take the team to victory. Big deal.”
“You don’t know me at all,” he laughs and takes a sip of my beer, right from my hand. I’m flabbergasted and heavily annoyed.
“Fine, whatever,” I sigh. “But your teammates look up to you. Set a standard, dammit. Or else the whole thing will fall apart.”
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you since you’re being so honest with me,” he says. “Plus, I’m already pretty drunk from pre-gaming.”
“Great,” I mumble out loud.
“You’re hotter than ever. Do you know that?” he says, hand on my shoulder. I back away from him and feel my face turn red. He’s wearing a type of cologne I’ve never smelled before. He smells like whisky too. I can’t help but notice his rumpled button-down shirt. It hangs wide open, exposing tattoos over his ripped abs. Look away, my mind tells me. I do, but it’s awkward and I can tell he saw me.
“Thanks,” I say. “But this is business. We are business partners. That’s it.”
He just continues on his rant, eying me up and down. He stops at my tits. Ugh. “I would love to—” He stops himself and thinks about what he’s about to say for a second. “You just look really fucking sexy in those little suits you always wear. But next time we see each other, I’d like you to wear something more comfortable.”