Page 11 of Worth the Risk
“Eh. It’s too easy to piss him off. Fun to watch him blow his top,” I say with a smile. “Remember that time when he threw the chair and broke the urinal?”
The coaches all laugh except for Coach Davenport.
“If I recall, it was because you suggested you had slept with his sister the night before…” he trails off pointedly. Oh, fuck. I had forgotten that. I’ve never met Dawson’s sister. But damn, that really pissed him off. Woodward’s smile drops from his face as his gaze narrows on me. I’m not completely sure, but I think I hear him growl.
“Tone it down, alright, Santzy? Sick of reading about you in gossip rags, and seeing bad videos on ESPN. Act like the professional we pay you to be. We don’t want to have to review your contract,” Woodward says, as he turns toward the coaches, effectively ending the conversation, and shutting me out.
Holy fuck. Did he basically just threaten to cut me if I mess up? Or just not give me another contract? My contract is up for an extension at the end of this season. I had hoped to get a couple more years in before retiring. I know I’m getting up there in age. These young guns right out of the minors and college are so much faster than me.
I skate over to the bench and grab my phone, texting Max about what the coach said. Maybe I’m getting too in my head about this. Hopefully, Max can calm my nerves.
Heading to the locker room, I pass Dawson and a couple of the other guys. They all greet me except for Dawson. Jesus, this dude is such a douche.
My phone dings with a response from Max.
Max: I’m not surprised. Word on the street is they’re waiting for you to fuck up so they can drop you.
Well, that certainly doesn’t help my anxiety.
Me: What the fuck??
Max: They’re sick of negative publicity. Your antics last season overshadowed their playoff run.
The news reported some ridiculous shit last year that wasn’t true. Evidently, I got into a fist fight with someone in Aspen, while simultaneously having a rambunctious party in my apartment that the cops had to break up. Oh, and I have a love child with a prior teammate’s ex-wife, I secretly belong to an underground sex club, and I make women sign an NDA before I let them see my dick. No NDA for sex. Just for seeing my dick. Who comes up with this shit?
Me: I didn’t even do any of the shit that was reported.
Max: I know that, but there’s so much you HAVE done in the past that they don’t believe us when we say you didn’t do stuff now.
Me: Is there anything I can do? I don’t want my career to be over yet.
Max: Keep your head down and don’t fuck up.
Lovely.
Hannah
It’s been two weeks since I started my new job with the Denver Wolves. I’m starting to feel like I have my wits about me with the job, living here, and making friends. Well, that last bit has been more difficult than I’d hoped. Frankly, I’ve never made a lot of friends. The family I come from, and their place in society, made it hard to discern who wanted to be my friend for me, and who wanted it for my family. It became easier to not let anyone in.
I was raised to be seen and not heard. Politeness, cooperation, and subservience. The men rule the show, and the women are there to look pretty. The first time I raised my voice to Jefferson, he looked at me like I was crazy. The last time I did it, I got slapped. I knew I wasn’t made to live that kind of life. My sister didn’t mind it. She wanted the money, the prestige, and the perks. I just wanted to be my own person, and have people accept me for me.
I’ll never forget how I felt once I crossed over the Tennessee border on the interstate. Like a weight was lifted. I was leaving Hannah Ann Beauregard behind. The girl who couldn’t stand up for herself. The girl who embarrassed her family by choosing a career with sports. A girl who refused to be beaten down, both physically and emotionally, by a man hand-picked by her parents.
I cried when I saw the “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” sign.
So while I’m exhausted, I’ve never been happier. I’m living my life for me now, and that is such an exquisite thing.
I could do with some friends, though.
My one and only friend is my crazy neighbor Edith. Aunt Caroline assured me that Edith has good intentions, but she’s bat-shit crazy and sassy as all get-out. Edith invited me over for dinner last week and I learned all about every single neighbor in the apartment building. Considering there are twenty floors, and multiple units per floor, it took a while to list them all. She spent an inordinate amount of time discussing Hottie, though.
While I remember the harem from the first night referring to him as Luke, Edith calls him Luca. Luca suits him. He’s got that tall, dark, and handsome vibe, and I could definitely see him wining and dining someone while speaking Italian at sunset in Rome. Okay, maybe I could see that person being me. Ugh. So hot, yet such a jackass.
I’ve only seen him a handful of times since he heard me in the bath, and every time he gives me this knowing smile with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He’s calling me by my first name, but he says it in such a way that screams uninhibited sex and pleasure. “Hannah.” He breathes it huskily, and I can feel the word skip across my skin like a tender caress. I have a visceral reaction every single time he does it, and he fucking knows it.
We’ve talked a few times, and I’ve found him quite engaging. Even when I’ve barely answered him, he’s consistently continued as if I was participating fully. His cheerful disposition is wearing on me. Yesterday he talked to me all about his love of bagels, for crying out loud.
It’s obvious Luca loves to antagonize me, and unfortunately, I play right into his hands every damn time. I’ve never met a man so infuriating. He teases me mercilessly. A couple of times I’ve managed to get in jabs. There’s been a lack of noise at his apartment, suggesting he hasn’t been partying as much. Even Edith commented on it.