A few fantastic hours.
But that time with her is in the rearview mirror. My job is to yank this team out of the funk it’s been in, and there’s no place for a woman I’ll never see again in that mission. Besides, I’ve witnessed what’s happened to my buddies on and off the field when they got distracted by women. They start losing their focus, dulling their edge, forgetting what matters on the field. Me? I’m not perfect, but I believe firmly in a blinders approach. Stay out of trouble, don’t get distracted, and keep your eye on the motherfucking prize.
Excellence.
That’s what matters to me, and now I’ve got a chance with a team to perform.
After I shower and dress, I find Stuart, the team’s main press guy, waiting for me in the hall.
“Hey Drew,” he says, parking a hand on my shoulder. He’s shorter, with dark hair peppered with gray. His eyes match—they’re almost silvery.
“You all set for the fundraiser tonight?”
“Absolutely,” I say, since he asked me to attend a charity event to benefit inner-city youth in LA. Not only is it a good cause, but our support can help improve the Knights’ tarnished image.
“Wonderful. Lots of folks from the organization will be there, so I’ll make sure you meet everyone and that they all know our new quarterback,” he says with a wide smile. “And you’ll smile for the cameras. Get some Instagram posts, make a few comments to the sports sites. You know the drill.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, and I mean it.
***
“Make sure to look pretty tonight,” Jason says, laughing, as I turn at the light, heading to the boutique hotel.
I speak into the phone, set in the holder on the dashboard of my Tesla. “I look devilishly handsome, but I’m pretty sure tonight’s not the night for picking up chicks. Call me crazy, but I don’t think the team would be too stoked if I went into their charity event chasing tail.”
“Shame,” my best friend says, his voice smooth and cool. “I’m sitting here at Piccolo’s and the pickings are quite pretty.”
I can picture him there, enjoying a Scotch and surveying the scene, sitting like a king. It’s his favorite hipster bar, and he regularly cleans up there, along with my other boys.
“Then you should enjoy them all. Though I doubt you can pull without me,” I say as I near the hotel.
Jason snorts. “As if.”
We grew up next door to each other in a crummy neighborhood in San Diego, and played ball together as kids. At high school, he killed it as a running back, but then he switched to track after a few years to take advantage of his speed. He nabbed a scholarship to college, but that’s as far as he went in sports. The guy is amazing with financial management though, and he works his ass off as an advisor to all sorts of clients, myself included. I rarely make decisions without him. He’s become my business manager. He’s rock solid, and one-hundred percent dependable. He was the first one I called after my agent told me I was traded, and he was fired up. Due in no small part to the fact that he lives in Los Angeles. He already helped me find a sweet condo in Santa Monica to rent for the year.
“Hey,” Jason says, segueing to his business tone. “I got a request for a meeting today from a sports drink company, Qwench. Potential sponsorship. It’s in the exploratory stages, but I’ll do my due diligence, take the meeting, and see if it’s worth pursuing.”
“Excellent. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts.”
As I pull up to the valet, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Sharp vest, fine shirt, smooth shave. I look the part of the athlete who cleans up well. Like I motherfucking should. “I need to jam. I’m here now.”
“Be on your best behavior, Drew,” he says, a teasing tone in his voice.
“I always am,” I reply, and the fact is, that’s true. Clean-cut is my nickname.
“And text if you’re done early.”
“If I’m done early, I’m having a date with my mattress.”
He groans. “You are the definition of no fun.”
I grin. “That’s me. That’s why Qwench wants me now. Because I know how to get a good night’s sleep and stay out of the line of fire.”
When I hang up, I step out of the car, hand the keys to the valet, and thank him. Then I head inside, where Stuart greets me in the room reserved for the event, claps me on the back, and introduces me to several people. A photographer snaps shots the whole time, and I play the role that’s hardly a role—the outgoing, non-trouble-making, peace-loving quarterback who doesn’t throw punches or raise fists, like others before me have.
Don’t smoke, don’t do drugs, don’t have unprotected sex, and I also don’t speed. Squeaky clean indeed. Not even a traffic ticket on the record, and certainly no knocked-up teenyboppers with mini Drews baking in their bellies.
Stuart introduces me to the red-haired, freckle-faced guy who heads up this charity. “And this is Drew Erickson. He’s our new starter. We’re thrilled to have him on the team, especially since he’s already active with many wonderful charitable endeavors,” Stuart says to the ginger-haired guy.
We exchange small talk for a few minutes, then Stuart drops a hand on my shoulder and tells me there’s someone else he wants me to meet. “I’d love to introduce you to a sharp-as-a-tack woman who makes sure I don’t fumble,” he says, then winks in case I didn’t realize he was making a joke.