Page 2 of Protecting Player #73 (Portland, Settlers #1 | Gridiron Warriors)
T.K
“ W hat’s the fucking problem this time?” I’ve stepped into the team’s conference room, deep within the seventy-thousand-seat Rip City Stadium, glaring at both my coach, Jeff Rogers, and my long-time agent, Alexandra King. Neither looks pleased to see me. “What?” I snap when they continue to stare.
Alex rolls her eyes and points to a screen on the wall to my left.
I glance over as she hits play, unsure of what I’m seeing until I hear the words, “Fucking beg for it, dirty whore.” A redhead is on her knees, gasping for breath around my cock that stuffs her mouth, with a hand fisted in her hair as I fuck her face.
That was a good fucking blowjob. I don’t remember the woman’s name, though.
“Well.” What the fuck else am I supposed to say? ‘Cause I can’t tell them how hard I came down her throat that night.
“That’s it?” Alex seethes, clenching her jaw tight. Coach bangs his head against the wall.
“I don’t know why there’s video of that.” I won’t defend what I do in the privacy of–squinting to make out the background–a hotel room.
“You didn’t know she recorded your entire encounter?” Alex scoffs.
“Not a fucking clue. I wouldn’t have said yes. Not to some whore I picked up after a game.” Someone I cared about, I might. But this chick is a nobody to me.
“The owners are thinking of suspending you, T.K.,” Coach snarls at me.
“They wouldn’t.” Except, they would. I keep fucking up, and it always seems to be with a woman. “Look, I don’t know who this chick is, but I for sure know she was ready and willing and fucking begged for everything we did together.” It’s rather insulting that they’d believe otherwise.
Alex drops into a chair and shuts off the screen.
“Look, Tate, you’re a fucking PR nightmare right now, so I need you to lay low.
Next week, you’re going to donate some money to the food bank and possibly visit a children’s hospital.
But under no circumstances are you to even look at another woman at this point. Am I clear?”
Scrubbing a hand up and down my face, I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, Alex, crystal clear.”
She nods, and as she’s about to leave, hits me with a parting shot. “I’ve convinced the team to hire a social media manager to help fix your image. Stay the fuck away from the woman. That dick of yours remains in your pants, or I’ll cut it off myself and sell it to the highest bidder.”
That threat earns her a brow raise, and she leaves with a big smile on her face. Proud of herself for shutting me up.
Coach whistles as he crosses his arms and glares at me. “She’s nicer than me.” Fuck , I’m not going to like what he’s about to say. “Get ready for practice. You’re doing three hundred suicide sprints. Get hydrated too.”
Just fucking great. “Hey, coach, can I get that video?” He rolls his eyes at me. “Not for that, you sick prick. I need to figure out this girl’s name. Despite what you guys think, I never would have approved that shit. I might be a fuck up, but I’m not a complete idiot.”
He stares at me for a few minutes before reluctantly responding, “I’ll see what I can do.”
That’s as good as it’ll get, I guess.
Left alone in the conference room, I sit back and close my eyes, wondering what the hell I’ve done to myself over the last few years. I’ve been miserable, and it’s fucking up my game and my life. The problem is, I don’t understand why I’m so lost.
My older brother, T.J., got married and divorced in the same year, so it’s not some kind of jealousy.
My younger brother, T.C., plays the field harder than I, and I bust his balls about it.
I’ve been with the Portland Settlers since the beginning of my career; it’s everything I ever dreamed of.
We’ve won the Victory Bowl six times and are contenders to bring it home again this year, so I’m not sure if the issue is me or the routine I’ve set for myself.
Marriage and babies never held any appeal for me.
Neither has monogamy. I think the longest relationship I’ve had was with my hermit crab, Frank, who was with me for six years before he died last winter.
He was a drunken night purchase that at first, I regretted, but slowly grew to love the little guy and took the time to learn the best way to care for him.
He was the most well-cared-for crab on the West Coast.
Giving anyone as much time as I did Frank feels like something I’m incapable of.
My parents would love to see me settled down and in a loving relationship.
I even tried early in my career but learned quickly that the woman was only with me for clout.
She didn’t give a shit about me. I had a knee injury that kept me out of play for eight weeks, and that’s when she showed her true colors.
Now, when I meet women, I don’t reveal who I am, and I leave before they can ask more questions than I’m willing to answer. It’s my tried-and-true way that won’t be changing anytime soon. I have no desire to settle down with a wife and kids. Not now, not in the future.