by Jesse Jordan
“Okay, okay... chill man, I guess that whole getting worked up on Sundays is a cyclical thing,” Tom says. “Listen, I'm getting calls from other teams... it seems the Knights are shopping you around as trade bait.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up. “You're fucking kidding me!”
“Not at all. I even talked with the general manager, Red Hallifax? He won't confirm it of course, but he also didn't deny it. Now, when I've got team execs doing that little dance with me, it tells me the truth... you're on the trading block.”
“You gotta be kidding me,” I mutter, rubbing at my eyes. “Why the fuck would the Knights want to trade me?”
“Nothing confirmed kemosabe, but the word I'm hearing from my sources is that the team's got holes they want to fill, and you're the only trade bait out there that'll let them plug three things at once. And... well, let's just say your locker room situation isn't that big a secret. Everyone knows Crenshaw hates your ass.”
“And Red kisses Joe's,” I growl. “But the team just getting rid of me... when....”
“Yeah,” Tom says, not expanding. The pics of me and Samantha have been on the web for a while, I'm sure he knows. “Listen, maybe this can be a good thing. Your stock's skyrocketed, Lincoln. Look at it like this. Back in May, the best I could get you was a league minimum deal with nothing else going. Chicago couldn't even trade you for conditional draft picks, man. Now, the figures I'm hearing makes you a fucking blockbuster. Any team that wants to bite on you is going to do it for one of two reasons. First, they're a playoff contender. Nobody who's season's already over is going to trade for a guy who is a free agent come February first unless they're looking at option two. That is, they're going to want to keep you. That means big money, man. Cha-fucking-ching!”
Money. Sure, for Tom it's all about money. After all he gets ten percent of my contract. A big contract can mean big bucks for him too. “Tom... there's other reasons.”
“I know,” Tom says, dropping the subject. “But you gotta look at it this way. You can take the trade, and go to a new team and kick some ass, show the Knights they fucked up... or you can be a bitch and retire. Because that's really all you can do, man. Just because you like being there doesn't always mean they want you there. Know what I'm saying?”
“Yeah,” I reply, wanting this call to end. “Listen, keep me up to date, but the game's coming on. I wanna watch, and get ready for tomorrow, my suspension's over at midnight.”
“I gotcha homie. Hope the game goes your way. Take care.”
Tom hangs up, and I head into the kitchen, whipping up a protein smoothie to calm my stomach while the game gets going. I've been super strict on my diet this week, not letting my feelings about Samantha or the suspension put me in a 'comfort food' mindset. If anything, I'm down a few pounds. I've worked out hard to make sure that tomorrow when I can get back to practice that I'm ready to go.
The team needs me, too. Atlanta, who's been a pushover on offense all year long, rips us apart. Without my pressure on the quarterback's blind side, they're able to knock out long runs with their double threat running back, and when Nick and the rest of the linebackers start stacking the box to stop the run, they go right over the top for long pass gains. We're down two touchdowns before the first quarter's halfway done, and the offense is having to play catch-up the rest of the way. With no threat of a run and the convenience to just keep their nickel package in, Atlanta's defense pounds on Joe Crenshaw and the rest of the offense as their linemen know all they have to do is go quarterback hunting.
I force myself to watch all the way to the last second, my fists clenched with anger and frustration as I look at the final score. Knights, fourteen... Atlanta, forty nine. I haven't been on the losing side of an ass kicking this bad since college.
I shut off my computer, knowing what the story of the hour's going to be, and not wanting to hear it. With the Knights now having dropped four games in a very competitive division, we're going to have to win out to get into the playoffs. Twelve and four isn't that hard, but it means we're going to have to win some very tough away games against other playoff contenders. By luck of the draw, the last two weeks of the season are against teams that are also in the playoff hunt... no easy games left.
I send Nick a quick text message, telling him I saw the game and to give me a call if he wants to talk, then lay down on my sofa. I wish I could talk with Samantha, but so far today her phone's been off the whole time, she's probably traveling with the team and doesn't want the interruptions.
I must nod off for a little while, because the next thing I'm aware of is my phone ringing, and the light outside's gone that deep golden amber of sunset. Sitting up, I see I have been asleep for nearly an hour, and that it's Dad calling. Of course I'm going to take the call.
“Hey Dad... guess you saw the game too, huh?”
“Saw it? Hell Lincoln, me and the guys analyzed the whole damn thing on a four foot high wall of monitors,” Dad says. “Guess you didn't see our post-game evisceration of the Knights' game plan?”
“Nope, I couldn't stomach anymore of it and laid down. How was it?”
“To quote Ronnie, off camera of course, it was the biggest clusterfuck he's seen in a pro game since the XFL. I'm sure you saw what he means.”
“It wasn't pretty, Dad. But I wouldn't call it that bad.”
Dad chuckles, and I'm sure he's nodding. “For sure. But you know Ronnie, he's got a bit of a mouth on him as well as an opinion. I'd say the team had no idea how to game plan your absence.”
“Yeah well... that may be the future from now on,” I grumble. “At least, that's what Tom heard.”
Dad sighs, and I get it, the guy being traded is often the last one to hear about it. “It's never easy to be traded mid-season, Lincoln.”
“At least I'm not hauling a family and child around,” I reply, thinking back to when I was five and Dad was traded mid-year. We moved from New York to Seattle, and Mom certainly wasn't happy at the time. “But Dad... I don't want to be traded. It's not the team, it's... other things.”
“Sam Porter,” Dad says, one of the few people willing to say her name around me. “Son, I understand. She's a beautiful woman, no doubt. And you two... click?”
“I think so. Dad, she's like nobody I've ever been with. And we said we love each other. I just don't understand how that could lead to me being traded. But... Dad, Monday I stopped by the stadium, you know, just to check in. Caused some ruckus, apparently Red has this rule that suspended players can't even be in team facilities unless they've got a doctor's appointment.”
“It's an old-school rule,” Dad says. “Comes from the old days when players were getting suspended for alcohol or coke, and the teams didn't want guys overdosing on their property. It's very much Red... you want my opinion son, pro football's passed that man by about a decade ago.”
“I know what you mean,” I reply, giving my honest take. “But anyway, after I left I went to a local gym, got in a workout. I washed up and headed back to the stadium, I thought I might surprise Samantha with a dinner out or something.”
“Romantic... full suit?” Dad asks. He teased me a little about it at first, but I think he likes that I've got that endorsement contract with a big and tall clothing supplier.
“Damn right. But when I got there, I was a bit early and waited in the parking lot. I was watching for Samantha, not wanting to get in trouble with Red again, when I saw her coming out of the stadium... and Joe Crenshaw's with her. Dad, he laid a lip lock on her that damn near peeled the paint off the fucking walls.”
“What did you do? I'm assuming you didn't murder him since I saw someone wearing his uniform in Atlanta. Although as much as they beat on his ass, he might have been a zombie.”
“I hightailed it out of there,” I admit. “Dad, I didn't want to start a fight on team property, I certainly didn't want Red to have a reason to suspend or fine me more, and I didn't know what the fuck was going on. I've tried to get in contact with Samantha si
nce then... but other than a few text messages we haven't talked all week.”
“So you're worried about more than just football,” Dad says, reading my grumble in response perfectly. “Son, it sounds like you've got a lot on your plate... but at the same time, the answer's pretty simple. First, a question. Do you trust Sam Porter?”
“I... I do, Dad. I love her, and I trust her.”
“Then talk to her, son. Tomorrow, go in to the stadium as soon as you can, have a talk with her. I've actually heard she's been given new responsibilities with the team, maybe she's just been super busy like she told you. But tell her what you saw, and ask her the deal. Then make your decision. If that means going to another team... I've been proud of you this year, Lincoln.”
“You say that every year, Dad. You've been saying it since I was playing for the Pee-wee Marauders.”
Dad laughs, knowing I'm right. “Yeah, that's true. But I've always been proud of you as a father... this time I'm also proud and excited as a former football player myself. You're becoming more than just a man I'm happy to have as my son, you're becoming the football player you've always meant to be. Don't let this stop you, whatever direction you take.”
I nod, knowing Dad's right. “Okay, Dad. Hey, any rumors on where a trade could land me?”
“How about Cleveland?”
“Oh for fuck's sake Dad, that's not funny!” I yell, making Dad laugh. “I'm serious!”
“Well, I've heard San Fran, LA, and New England might be interested. I'd avoid New England if I were you.”
“Yeah, I'd probably show up only to be decapitated my first practice and the body hung from the stadium lights to appease the fans,” I joke back. “How's he doing, anyway?”
“They're tight lipped over there, but from what I'm hearing the neck's okay... once he clears the concussion protocol he'll be back on the field,” Dad says. “Listen, don't worry about that. And don't worry about your monster, I can hear that in your voice too. You just get to work Monday and you do your damn job the way I know you can.”
“I will, Dad. Thanks. Give my love to Mom, okay?”
“Of course. And Lincoln? Mom understands if you're not able to make it home for New Year's this year... you can make it up with a visit for Valentine's.”
“Tell Mom it's a deal. Even if I'm still with Samantha... I think Mom would like to meet her, don't you?”
“She sure would. Okay, then. I love you, Lincoln. Take care.”
“Love you too, Dad. Thanks, I will.”
Chapter 21
Samantha
The early morning sun pierces through my office window, making me wince. There's a reason I prefer to do my office work after nine in the morning, I'm on the side of the stadium that gets the brightest morning light. And after not getting home until nearly one in the morning, bright sunlight is not what I need.
Thankfully, there's always the one foolproof, no shit way to get any morning started... coffee. I open up my thermos, which is filled with a divine seven hundred and fifty milliliters of Columbian supermo, and inhale the steaming scent. “Yesss... all I gotta do now is get some Venetian blinds for my windows.”
“I'd probably go with accordion blinds instead, they're much classier looking,” Lincoln says behind me, making me jump slightly. Thankfully, none of my coffee spills, and I manage to set it down without looking like a complete idiot. “Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you.”
“No... it's okay,” I respond, quickly capping my thermos. “You're in early.”
“I came in to see you,” Lincoln says. “I haven't seen you in nearly a week.”
I nod, sighing. “I know... that's my fault, babe. I've had so much on my mind and didn't know how to tell you about it all.”
“Well, how about we start with what I know, and then what I need answers to, and we move from there?” Lincoln asks. He's dressed for 'work,' so he's wearing team warmup gear, but in his eyes I see more pain than I've ever seen him in. “I got an interesting call from my agent yesterday. Rumors are I'm on the trade block.”
I inhale, and nod slowly. “Red told my father and I on Monday. Monday... god what a fucking mess.”
Lincoln nods, and closes my office door before sitting down on the edge of my desk. “And Joe Crenshaw kissing you?”
I growl, looking up at him. “Do you think I kissed him back?”
“Hard to tell. I was hightailing it out of the parking lot because I knew if I stayed around another five seconds to find out, I was going to get arrested for assault. Ninety nine percent of me wants to say no, that what I missed was you trying out for punter using Joe's balls. But one percent of me is worried, because you haven't been really open with me for the past week.”
“And you have?” I ask, trying not to get mad. “Lincoln, I saw you driving away, and I wanted to talk with you. But I had so much on my mind about this trade situation, I didn't know how to deal with it. And no, I didn't kick Joe in the balls, but I didn't kiss him back. I wanted to kick his nuts into the upper deck, though. I just can't, and I couldn't talk with you about it because of the position I've been put in.”
“What's going on?” Lincoln asks, turning to look at me. “Wait, first... Samantha, whatever else is going on... say you love me, that you're my woman, and I don't really care about the rest. We'll get through it.”
I laugh, coming over and taking his hands, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. “Lincoln, of course I love you. This past week has been so fucking hard because I love you so much. You see, I've got a Faustian deal with my father, and you're the pawn in the middle of it.”
“What do you mean?” Lincoln asks, pulling me closer. I can feel his body press against mine, and deep inside a part of me that hasn't felt his touch in over a week is crying out that my deal with my father doesn't matter, what matters is this right now. Still, I have to get this off my chest before it tears me apart.
“When Red came to Dad and I about wanting to trade you, I protested. Red was... pissed off. He more or less accused me of being led by my feelings for you and not my professional point of view. After he left, my father and I continued that discussion. It got pretty heated, and I'll admit I sort of put my foot down. So Dad made me an offer I just couldn't refuse, as Godfather-y as that sounds. If Red tries to trade you, or any other member of the team, I have final say-so. I can approve or veto any trade. But, there's consequences. If I go with what Red says, regardless of how the season turns out, I stay where I am. If I veto him on a trade, and the team misses the playoffs... I'm out of a job.”
“Damn... your father's a son of a bitch sometimes, isn't he?” Lincoln asks, and I nod. “Why'd you do it?”
“Two reasons,” I reply. “First, the public reason I told my father is that if I'm right, and I veto a trade and the Knights get to the playoffs, then I get a written guarantee that when Dad retires, I become the operating owner. He'll sell me enough of his shares in the team that I'll control the organization, and the league will go along with it. It'll take most of my trust fund, but I don't mind. The second reason, though... Lincoln, I love you. And I can't bear the thought of you being sent away because Joe Crenshaw or anyone else is jealous of us. But that scared me, and I spent Tuesday and Wednesday thinking, just thinking. I love you Lincoln, but I have to be sure that whether you stay with the team or not... I have to be a good owner. I won't turn the Knights into some personal pet project just because I love you. I needed to know, deep inside, that I could separate the businesswoman from the woman.”
“And what did you determine?” Lincoln asks. “Samantha, if you say you love me, but I have to play somewhere else, I'll do it. I don't want to... I like being a Knight. I love being able to come into work every day and know that at some point, I'll see your beautiful face and that afterwards I'll be able to go home or go to your place and be able to share a meal with you, to hold you in my arms as you tell me about your day, to make love in one of our beds, and to be content like I've never been content before. But if you need me
to, I'll go play anywhere. I'll do whatever is needed to make this relationship work. Because I love you.”
His heartfelt words tear away the last of my reservations, and I put my arms around his neck, touching my forehead to his. “Lincoln, I love you too. And I realized on Thursday that I can't be two people. I can't be the businesswoman and the woman. I have to be both, and be honest to myself. So if you want to be a Knight... I'll veto any trade Red brings to me with your name on it. On two promises.”
“What're those?” Lincoln asks, pulling me close and dropping his voice. “No more suspensions?”
“That's part of it,” I agree, smiling. “Lincoln, we've got to win out this season now. That means I need you to play at the level that I know you can. I want to see you ripping out the spine of every team that you face from here on out. Don't be afraid of your monster, don't worry about the league. You're a clean player, I talked with Nick Sedgwick about the hit. Get us to the playoffs.”
“I'll get you there babe, even if I have to play both ways,” Lincoln promises me. “What's the second thing?”
“Play so hard because watching you turns me on so much all I can think of is impaling myself on your cock and screaming your name,” I growl, pulling his lips towards mine. “And right here, right now... lock that door, come back here, and fuck me on this desk until I'm forever your woman.”
Our lips close the last of the distance between us and touch, our bond instantly reassured as I feel him pull me against his hard body, his moan combined with my whimper saying more than words ever could. We almost stumble-dance over to the door where I twist the lock, glad for the first time that there's no interior windows to my office and my door is a steel cored security monstrosity.
“Total privacy,” I joke as I kneel down, pulling his warmup pants down. His cock's already half hard and emerges from his shorts thick and ready for me. I lick my lips and even before Lincoln can say anything I swallow as much of his cock as I can, my pussy flooding as I feel him grow harder in my mouth.