by Max Monroe
The only thing that would have been better was having them completely naked, but that was an adult film angle neither Wes Lancaster nor my parents would be comfortable with me tackling.
Sean Phillips sure would make a good porn star, though. Not skeevy or creepy or anything.
Unable to stop the visuals as the guys sat down and made themselves comfortable, I let my mind drift off to dirty and erotic thoughts.
White towel slung over his shoulder.
Droplets of water sliding down his toned and defined abs.
Toned body naked. Every single inch of him bared for my inspection.
“Excuse me, sir,” I’d say, my hair in pigtails. “I’m lost, and I need your help finding my vagina.”
“I’d be happy to help,” he’d say. And then he’d take out his cock and go on an exploratory mission.
Fuck, I had to get it together.
Quickly, I refocused my gaze to my laptop and mentally reminded myself now was not the time or place to start fantasizing about naked wide receivers and their penises, porn-style voyage of discovery or not.
“So, what do you have for us today?” Quinn asked innocently. He couldn’t know my plans, obviously, so he had no idea just how fun his question was. I grinned at him from across the table.
“Well, first, I’ve got lunch,” I announced and nodded toward the opposite end of the room at a hearty display of sandwiches, chips, drinks, fruit, and whatever else the team’s nutritionist allowed. “So, help yourselves to some food, and then we’ll get started.”
Bribing people with food was always a good idea. It mellowed the mood and settled nerves, and if I was really lucky, it turned people into pliable pawns. I knew sandwiches didn’t really say bribery, but it was the best I could do. I’d requested pizza, but apparently, that wasn’t an appropriate in-season meal.
The team’s nutritionist would probably have a coronary if he knew my daily meal rotation consisted mostly of coffee, donuts, and tacos.
While I hooked up my laptop to the large, flat-screen television hanging on the wall behind me, the guys grabbed some grub and sat back down.
I gave them a few minutes to gain some food energy, and with cameras now rolling, I dove right in.
“Welcome to Lunch and Learn with the Mavs,” I announced, and Cam looked up from his sandwich. Once he noted the PowerPoint slide on the flat screen, his brow rose and the corners of his lips followed suit.
“Lunch and Learn?” he asked suspiciously, sensing he’d been trapped by the food.
I nodded as I spoke in a comforting tone. “Don’t worry, it’s not as serious as it sounds.”
“Well, thank fuck for that,” Teeny chimed in between bites of grilled chicken, and Sean smirked.
“This short segment is meant to let your fans get to know you on a more personal level. But, you know, in a fun and playful way,” I explained.
“So it’s not a round of twenty questions about my cock size?” Teeny asked, and I laughed.
“Well, not today.”
That would be a huge seller, though, if I could ever make it work. I’d just have to bleep out every time he said cock with a picture of a rooster. Immediately, I started picturing a segment called Measure My Rooster. I doubted I could swing it with the Mavericks, but I could definitely pull it off in personal content. And the people would love it, trust me. If anyone was an expert in what kind of content people wanted to see these days, it was me. You didn’t reach several million followers without understanding what got views on YouCam.
The biggest key to it all? Be yourself. Even if it meant allowing yourself to be the butt of the joke.
“And I just know,” I continued, “that when intertwined with all of the practice and game footage, it will be a touchdown. You thought your fans were rabid for you before? Just wait until after this series goes live.”
Sean chuckled softly. “Love the confidence and football lingo, honey.”
Of course he loved confidence. The man had it in spades. Hell, he had so much cocky confidence, he should’ve considered scheduling a neighborhood garage sale and downsizing.
“Today’s focus is social media training.”
Three of the guys groaned audibly.
“You’re going to train us on social media?” Sean, the only non-groaner, questioned with a quirk of his brow. “I should warn you. The last time Georgia Brooks attempted this, it didn’t go well.”
“Have no fear, Sean,” I responded and couldn’t fight the smile from my face if I tried. “I have a feeling you, especially, will get a lot out of this.”
Quinn burst into laughter over a mouthful of a turkey sub. He covered his mouth, and once he swallowed down the food, he looked around the room until his eyes locked with Sean’s. “Oh man,” he finally said through soft chuckles. “I haven’t felt this excited about something since you were on Jimmy Kimmel’s Mean Tweets.”
Middle finger in the air, Sean silently tossed back his response.
“All right,” I announced and stood up from my seat. I positioned myself beside the large flat screen, and I even had a little metal pointer in my right hand for comedic effect.
“I took the time to review your social media accounts. And I can’t deny, some of you do a fantastic job of really giving your fans what they want to see.”
“Just some?” Cam questioned, and I nodded.
“Don’t worry, Mitchell. You’re included in that.” I clicked to the first slide, and it was an Instagram post by Quinn Bailey. It was a photo of him and his lady love, Cat Wild. They stood underneath the summer sun, sunglasses covering their eyes and beautiful smiles stamped on their faces. He had his arm wrapped around her, and she was nestled into his side. The tagline: This woman makes everything better. #bae #WildCat #mine
“This is a great example of perfect social media content. Awesome job, Quinn.”
I clicked to the next slide, and it was a video from Cam Mitchell’s Facebook. A short clip of him walking his four-legged best friend. Lucky, a little meatball of an English bulldog, was the star of the show.
I was a sucker for cute animal videos, as were most internet surfers, and Lucky did not disappoint.
“Love this so much, Cam. And, for the love of God, call me if you ever need someone to watch Lucky.”
Cam grinned. “Deal.”
The next slide was a picture Martinez had posted to Twitter a few weeks back. It was a photo of him holding his brand-new baby niece, Mya. Chubby cheeks, a ton of jet-black hair, and a little pink romper, she was a pint-sized heart stealer.
“Same goes for you, Martinez. If your sister ever needs someone to watch Mya, I’m your girl.”
He winked. “Get in line, Sixy. My sister has a whole list of babysitters she’s bribed with overpayment and free food.”
God. Now I really wanted to babysit. Before, I’d kind of just said it for effect. I pouted, and Teeny laughed.
And the fourth slide? A photo from Mr. Manwhore’s Instagram.
He was on the beach, his sexy, toned body shirtless, and his full lips were wrapped around the spout of a bottle of water.
The tagline: Who is feeling thirsty?
Plus, a winky face emoji to bring the sexual innuendo on home.
It was a hot fucking picture.
But I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Sean that.
I bit my lip to tamp down the laughter that wanted to bubble up from my throat and forced my mouth into a flat line.
“And this,” I started and turned my lips down into a little, half-disappointed frown. “Well, this tells me that there’s a lot of room for improvement.”
“Room for improvement?” Sean questioned, and a smug smile covered his mouth. “I completely disagree, honey. That looks like perfection to me. Plus, look at all of those likes and comments.”
I shook my head. “But it’s not nearly as good as Cam’s video. Think about the other guys’ posts for a moment,” I said, and he looked at me like I’d asked him to translate my words into Ch
inese. “They all showed some personality,” I explained. “They showed tiny pieces of themselves without giving too much to their fans. They showed heart.”
“And what does mine show?”
“Abs.”
“What?” His lips parted in surprise. “What’s wrong with my abs?”
I shrugged and forced my expression to remain neutral. The instant I cracked, he’d know I was merely fucking with him.
Obviously, Sean Phillips’s social media was on point. Besides Quinn Bailey, he had one of the highest followings in the entire league. And trust me, the man knew exactly the kind of content his followers wanted to see.
Including me.
But again, he didn’t need to know that. At least not until after I had the opportunity to razz him a bit.
“It all just comes across as…well…vain…”
Quinn, Martinez, and Cam burst into laughter at my words.
And damn, it was a Herculean effort not to join them.
“Ho-ly shit!” Martinez howled. “This is the best social media training I’ve ever been a part of!”
Sean’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed, but he took it all in good spirits.
Which made it even easier for me to continue on into three more rounds of social media examples, each one ending with the same variation on photos of Sean.
Abs under the sun.
Abs at the gym.
Abs behind a protein shake.
Each picture of his that appeared on the flat screen only urged his fellow teammates’ laughter to get louder and louder.
“All right,” he said after the last photo. A sexy, amused little smirk stayed fixed on his oh so full lips. “You have to be screwing with me right now.”
“Yeah.” I nodded and dropped the act, a big old smile kissing my lips. “I’m definitely screwing with you.”
“Wait…” He paused, and his eyes narrowed. “So, this social media training…it was all just a prank to pull my leg?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much.”
Martinez’s laughs bellowed inside the room, and he slapped his hand down on the table in hilarity. “Goddamn, this was so good.”
“What’s wrong with my abs?” Cam repeated, mocking Sean in a high-pitched voice. “My abs are amazing. Ladies love my abs!”
Quinn laughed, and Sean flipped them all the middle finger.
“You can all just fuck right off,” he said, but his words held no real threat. He enjoyed the teasing, and most likely, the attention. He was a good-natured guy with a strong self-awareness, and he fucking knew how good he looked. A little mocking only enforced it.
“Before I officially end our first Lunch and Learn with Mavs session, I need to acknowledge the fact that Sean took my little prank like a man. And because of that, I’ve got a little present for you.” I reached into my bag resting beside my feet and pulled out a plastic, golden trophy I’d had made just for him. “Today, Sean Phillips, I present to you the award for best abs.”
He grinned and stood up from his seat, taking the trophy from my hands.
“Speech!” Quinn shouted in a low, deep voice. “Speech!”
“Wow. I don’t even know where to begin,” Sean said, clutching the award to his chest. “I have so many people to thank…” He turned toward me and grinned. “First, I’d like to thank the lovely Six Malone for creating such an amazing highlight reel of my abs. I know it probably took a lot of work to scour through each and every one of my photos to find the very best ones. And I’m sure, at times, you were so torn over the plethora of amazing options.”
I laughed at that. He had a point. It’d taken me more than a few hours to stalk all of his social media. And most of his photos were straight-up eye candy that might as well have been sent from hot guy heaven.
But, obviously, he didn’t need to know that.
“I’d like to thank God for creating the perfect specimen of a man that is me. And I’d like to thank my teammates for all those times they stood by my side and only made me look better.”
The guys clapped and chuckled, but before they could get too carried away with razzing each other, Wes Lancaster peeked his head inside. “Sorry to interrupt the party, but Coach Bennett just called a team meeting downstairs.”
Quickly, they pulled it together and stood up from their seats. All about a good time when they had the freedom, but serious when duty called. At the end of the day, this was their job just as much as these videos were mine.
None of them would even be talking to me if the team weren’t paying them to.
I nodded toward Barry and Joe to cut the cameras and waited patiently for the guys to make their way out of the room.
“Thanks for lunch, Six,” Quinn said as he picked up his empty lunch plate and cup and tossed them into the trash. “I thoroughly enjoyed this.”
“Dude,” Martinez chimed in. “Me too. Any time you need me to participate in fucking with Phillips, count me the hell in.”
With Sean at the rear, the guys filed out of the room, but he paused before his feet passed the threshold. Two steps, then three, he moved closer to me, until we were standing nearly chest-to-chest.
Quiet as a whisper, he leaned down and said, “Just so we’re clear, I’m one hundred percent all man.”
“Is that so?” I questioned back on a murmur.
He nodded. “Yeah, and just like today, I take everything like a man.”
Take everything like a man?
Like everything everything?
Am I included in this scenario?
I hated that I had the urge to cross my fingers and toes.
“Oh,” he added, “and you should probably watch your back, honey. I’ve heard paybacks are a bitch.”
“You planning on retaliating?”
He shrugged. “I always keep my options open.”
Of course, the manwhore always kept his options open.
His never-committed relationship status was proof of that.
“Bring it on, Phillips,” I whispered back, but my words sounded way too dirty just to be referring to teasing pranks.
Was it bad that my brain started imagining beds and a naked Sean and a naked Sean’s penis?
That wasn’t bad, right?
Yeah…keep telling yourself that…
Shit. My gut instinct told me Sean Phillips just might have become an itch I needed to scratch.
Fresh off a home game win against Minnesota, we were officially the leader in the league with overall wins. Seven and fucking 0, baby.
If we kept playing like this for the rest of the season, that championship trophy we were all vying for wouldn’t be just a dream anymore. No, it would be a reality.
With every win we slid under our belts, the greedier we all became. Especially me. A championship was starting to feel so close I could taste it.
And now, after a forty-eight-hour rest from our last game, we were balls deep into practice.
The practice squad was present, challenging their active roster teammates on every play during scrimmage. And they weren’t holding back. Not one fucking bit. They hit hard. And scrapped harder. They fought us like gladiators, unwilling to settle for defeat.
It was exactly what we needed.
No doubt, if we ended up hitting our season’s end goal of bringing the championship trophy back to New York, these guys would be a monumental part of that.
Coach stood off to the sidelines chatting with Bailey, while the rest of us stayed huddled up at the fifty-yard line.
When QB jogged back over toward us, I could see the anticipatory grin smudged across his lips underneath his helmet. “You ready for a little Razzle Dazzle?” he asked, eyes locked on me.
Instantly, excitement spilled into my veins, and my heart pumped faster. Feet light, I did a little dance on the turf and wiggled my fingers in the middle of the huddle.
Razzle Dazzle was a play our offensive coordinators had created, and it packed one hell of a punch with its creative choice in routes. Executing a zi
g and a zag, I had to run from one side of the field and then back across to the far corner of the end zone. It was a test of foot skills and athleticism, and it almost always caught the other team off guard, nothing for their hands but the balls between their legs as I danced into the end zone to add six to our tally.
“Let’s do it.”
“All right, Razzle Dazzle,” Bailey said into the huddle. “Martinez, hold your line. I’ll need every second I can get in the pocket. Williams, keep your routes quick and snappy to pull the defense. And Sean, well, do what you do best.”
I smiled around my mouthguard and put in a wink for pizazz before breaking apart and heading to my position on the outside.
We lined up, toes to the lines, and the practice squad matched our power and size on the other side of the coin.
“Hut!” QB shouted for the snap. I watched the ball as it left the line, hard and swift in Sam Sheffield’s hand as he pitched it to my man and busted up to block. From one heartbeat to the next, his words were the starting shotgun to my race.
Off like a rocket, I sprinted forward for ten yards before switching my route and dropping my defensive opponent like a bad habit.
Five more yards and I looked over my shoulder to find Bailey still confidently in the pocket, his gaze laser-focused toward the opposite side of the field.
Until it wasn’t.
One quick look toward me, and he visually confirmed the opportunity the play was designed to create.
Me, unmanned, and yards of open field.
Quinn sent the ball to the air, and I watched it soar through the sky, increasing the long strides of my legs as I followed it toward the end zone.
Hands up and ready, I jumped to meet the line of Quinn’s well-placed pass, prepared to bring it back down for the groundwork. Once the skin of the ball kissed my fingertips, I snagged it from the air, cradled it to my chest, and kept running until my feet crossed into the end zone.
Fucking Razzle Dazzle, babbbbby!
Coach’s whistle blew as I did a squat and whirl, a signature celebratory dance move I’d spent years perfecting, and then turned toward the field. QB’s eyes were on me, and a shit-eating grin was on his face as he jogged toward me.