Prologue
Jake Young
"Zack, Jake, you're in deep shit!" Jerry Tucker, the owner of the Wildcats exclaims with a glare in our direction before Zack and I can even take a seat at the conference table. Our managers, agents, head coach, and a sleazy man in a suit are all present, sharing the same identical frown. It's the look of serious disappointment. Something is definitely wrong. "Go ahead, let them hear it," Jerry directs the man in the suit.
"Does the name Amanda Roberts ring a bell?" the man asks. With a raised dark eyebrow, slicked back hair, and a smirk, I'm thinking this dude looks like an evil villain. Or a mobster. Maybe a crooked politician. Then the name he just uttered hits me like a sledgehammer to my nuts.
"Mandy?" I ask. Zack stiffens beside me.
"Yes, she probably goes by Mandy," the man replies while pushing some papers down the conference table to us. I recognize them right away as her signed CYA contracts.
"Is it true you made her sign these documents last night?" the shady man asks.
I swallow and nod, having a bad feeling that our threesome the night before, my pathetic attempt to get Zack out of his funk so we can win some fucking games, is about to blow up in our faces. "That's what our attorneys, Mike Stevens and Darryl Adams, told us we needed to do." I explain why we, as a rule, have women sign the Cover Your Ass docs before we screw them.
"Stevens and Adams have been fired," Jerry bellows. Uh-oh.
"You fired our personal attorneys for us?" Zack asks incredulously.
"Yes. This is Devon James. He's your attorney now."
Attorney. Should've known that's why he looks so evil. I bet Zack and I are paying him out our asses right now for his "legal services”.
"What's going on?" Zack asks them point blank.
"This morning, Ms. Roberts told her civil attorney that you two got her drunk last night, made her sign some papers that she doesn't remember signing, and then you both," the attorney clears his throat before continuing on, "proceeded to have intercourse with her for hours, including simultaneously. Is that true?"
Yep, I’m pretty sure my cock just shriveled up in embarrassment. Beside me, Zack scrubs his hands over his face probably feeling the same shame as I am at this very moment. This shit can't be happening again! I've been warned after the last PR nightmare that my sex life better not be brought to the team's attention again.
"That wasn't a rhetorical question," Jerry yells when Zack and I remain silent. "Answer it!"
"Yes, except for the drunk part," I reply honestly.
"Did you see her drink anything?" the attorney asks.
"A beer or two, maybe a shot while we were at the bar," I respond, after thinking back to last night before Mandy and I ended up at Zack's house. All of us in his guest bed.
"She says you got her drunk, made her sign a few papers, and then basically took advantage of her while she was under the influence."
"That is bullshit!" Zack exclaims. "She wasn't drunk and we didn't take advantage of her. She was a very willing participant, if not the instigator."
"Right. Well, Ms. Robert's attorney says the...contracts she signed are null and void since she was mentally incapacitated when she signed them. She's going public with all this, including a picture of you two in bed...naked together unless we can reach a monetary settlement with her ASAP."
Oh my God.
If someone could die of embarrassment I'd be pushing up daisies right this very second. Zack, too, I'm betting. When it comes to a person's sexual preference, to each his own has always been my philosophy. But as athletes in an uber-masculine sport, if this rumor gets out...if the fans hear that shit about us...
"It's not like we touched each other. We're not gay," I mutter in our defense.
"Do you think anyone will actually believe that when they see this?" The evil motherfucker, Devon James, pulls out a large photo from his briefcase. He slides it down the long wooden conference table to make sure everyone gets a real good look at it.
And...it's us all right. Zack and I are asleep in bed, naked, while our cocks wave enthusiastically at the camera.
"Ah, shit," I grumble, covering my face with both hands, unable to believe this disaster is actually happening. We're fucked. So. Goddamn. Fucked.
"She wants a million-" the bastard attorney starts.
"A fucking million?" Zack exclaims.
"A million from each of you," Devon James finishes. A million damn dollars! Unlike Zack, I don't have a whole lot of millions in my contract.
"Fuck," Zack groans.
"The franchise is going to pay it. She's going to sign a mile high stack of non-disclosure documents while sober and in front of a room full of witnesses, but you two are at the end of the line," Jerry says. "One more even minor incident and you're gone, contracts voided under the moral turpitude clause. And you better believe I'll use this shit to blackball you with every other team in the league." He points a finger at the picture. "No one will want you!"