One
Wes
I was a god. And not just any god. I had an arm that could throw a lightning bolt a hundred yards, with two seconds left on the game clock, and score. They should have called me Zeus. I could run faster than any damn lineman trying to knock the shit out of me. I could read the defense faster than the whistle blew. I could call plays and execute before the defense could say their own names. I was a fucking god out on that field, and everyone knew it. The coaches. My teammates. The fans.
Hell, I had known it since I joined the pee-wee league when I was six. That's what kids do in Texas. Kids that have dads who want them to be competitive assholes before they can read. And that was me. Born to play football. Born to dominate. Born to win. Molded and coached into the best fucking quarterback to walk the planet.
And I did win. I won state playoffs in high school, I won our conference title in college, and I was on our way to taking our team to the Super Bowl. Nothing stopped Wes Blakefield. Nothing.
I could fuck any woman I wanted. I could gamble. I could party after a game. All of it. Because I won. The American Football Association wasn't going to stop me. And neither was my team. I brought them millions. As long as I won, they would look the other way.
They didn't give a shit about the women or the bets. As long as I put a W in the column every Sunday, they stayed off my back. I was a walking cash machine for those bastards.
Until everything came crashing down.
2 months earlier
"Blakefield, you want me to pick you up tonight?"
"Like a damn date? No thanks. I've got a driver." I slapped my wide receiver on the back with my towel.
Practice had been light today. We ran some drills and I worked out a new route with the receivers. I stood in front of my locker, shoving my clothes in my bag, and picked up a water bottle.
"I guess you're not planning on going home alone?" Stubbs grinned.
"Do I ever?"
The locker room was almost clear. Most guys had showered and were headed to the Dean. It was a tradition among the Wranglers that the rookies threw a party as a gift to their teammates. We didn't like to call it an initiation, but we all knew there was hell to pay on the practice field if the party sucked. The name stuck after the first rookie, Larry Dean, threw one hell of a party. I didn't know what was in store for the night, but I was hoping it involved a pair of big tits and a tight ass. The guys knew my type, and I expected them to deliver.
"See you there." Stubbs waved as he exited the locker room.
I threw my bag over my shoulder and headed out after him. I didn't expect to run into Coach in the corridor.
"Wes."
"Hey, Coach."
Coach Howell was in his mid fifties, but the poor bastard looked like he was pushing seventy. That's what coaching in the AFA did to a man. It shaved years off his life.
"I heard tonight's the Dean."
I nodded.
"I need you to keep the boys in check. Keep things light." There were dark circles under his eyes.
"Light?" No one on the coaching staff attended the Dean, and they never would, but it didn't mean they didn't know what went on there. Players talked. And God help the man whose wife or girlfriend found out about it.
"You're the team captain. I need you to show some leadership. Restraint. Moderation." He eyed me like a father telling his son taking a girl to first base was okay, but rounding second was out of the question on a first date.
"You've got nothing to worry about, Coach. I'll keep an eye on the team. I'll probably have a beer and leave. These things don't last long anyway."
"We don't need bad press, Wes. We're on the verge of the playoffs, and this party couldn't be more ill-timed. If one of my players ends up in the headlines, it jeopardizes everything we've worked for all season. You get that?"
I could appease the man, or I could tell him to fuck off and stop worrying like a damn grandma.
"Got it, Coach. The boys will behave. Don't worry."
He smiled grimly. "All right. You know the AFA rules. You know what's at stake. They're looking for anything that could be a potential problem. They don't want their playoff teams crippled with scandal. It's bad business, Wes."
I gripped my bag, trying to inch closer to my car. "Anything else, Coach?" I couldn't give a fuck what the AFA cared about. I won games. I collected my paycheck. That was the extent of my relationship with the American Football Association.
He shook his head. "Nah. Have a good time." He pulled his visor snugly across his forehead and walked toward the staff offices.
I snarled as he vanished around the corner. I wasn't a damn babysitter, and I wasn't about to tell a bunch of grown men what they could and couldn't do at a party. This was our present from the rookies, and if it involved women, booze, and some competitive poker, I wasn't going to stop it. I deserved it. I had thrown the party my rookie year, and now it was time to reap the rewards.
I started my Porsche, revving the engine a few times before peeling out of the parking lot.
This rookie squad had spared no expense. They had rented the penthouse of the Grand Rio, overlooking the Riverwalk. I barged through the doors, smiling at my teammates.
"Wes!" Stubbs jumped over the couch with a beer in his hand.
I cracked the lid and took a sip. "These fuckers did a pretty good job." I observed the girls in lingerie handing out drinks.
"They've got a special surprise for you." He waggled his eyebrows. "But I can't say what."
"Really?" I finished off the beer.
One of my linemen walked over. "Dude, this is epic." There was a brunette wearing a sheer bra and panties wrapped around him.
"I can see that." I eyed her tits, which were basically exposed. She batted her eyelashes at me.
"So where's my gift?" If Bruno had this girl, I could only imagine what they had lined up for me.
Sam Hickson strolled over. He was by far the best tight end I had ever played with. And he had become the unnamed spokesman for this year's rookie class. I liked the guy. He was solid on the field and didn't let his personal shit interfere with the game.
He tossed me my second beer. "We've got a space waiting for you."
My eyebrows rose. "You do?"
"Come on, man." He led me through the girls and the impromptu dance floor that had just started.
Sam opened the French doors to the balcony, and I grinned when I saw what he had in store.
"You like it?" he asked.
I walked toward the table and sat in one of the velvet chairs. "What's the buy in?"
"We thought fifty K would be a good start."
I felt the surge of adrenaline shoot through me. I felt the chips roll through my fingers before I stacked them back in place.
"Who's playing?" I asked.
"Me and a few of the other guys." Sam sat next to me. Soon the table was full.
One of the guys, I didn't even know his name, pulled out a box of Cubans and placed them on the table."
"Nice." I smiled, lighting one.
The doors opened, and a waitress appeared with a bottle of scotch and five glasses. She leaned in front of me, wafting her perfume in front of my nose, along with a good look at her nipples. She smiled at me while she poured my drink. I slapped her on the ass as she turned back for the suite.
I looked around the table. "You bastards have managed to not fuck up the DEAN. Good job." I took a puff of the cigar and looked at the cards in my hand.
Sam tried to put on a poker face before we started. "And the night's not even over."
I laughed. "Yeah, it better not be."
I loved poker. I loved money. I loved expensive scotch and cigars. But I also loved to fuck, and this night wasn't going to end without me taking one of these girls to the master suite. I leaned back in my chair like a king. Yeah, this was turning out to be one hell of a night.
I didn't check the time, but after I raked in another fifty thousand, I was ready for the second half of my gift. The girl who kept bringing me drinks eyed me like a lollipop she was ready to suck each time she came to the table.
"Well, fellas, you think you're ready to call it?" I looked at the group.
They nodded. "Yeah, I don't get a bonus until we win the next game so I'm out."
"All right." I pushed back from the table.
Sam stood up. "Why don't you head to the master suite?"
I kicked back the scotch, and twisted the end of my cigar in the dish. "See you boys later."
They laughed as I left the poker table. "Enjoy," they called behind me.
I let myself into the suite, closing the door behind me.
Out of nowhere walked a redhead wearing a nurse's uniform. I chuckled.
"I've been waiting for you," she whispered, flattening her hands against my chest. She bit on her lower lip, dragging it slowly under her teeth.
"Is that so?" I looked down into her brown eyes, wide with lust. This girl was getting paid. I knew that, but she was also ready and willing to do anything I wanted. I could see it.