Quarterback's Secret Baby(77)

Jess sighed on the other end of the phone. "Damn, Kaden. Twenty million? That's not chump change, you know. Do you even have any plans for all this cash?"

I laughed. "No, not really. Just put it all in the bank, I suppose."

As it turned out, Keerok offered me thirty-two million dollars per year for a three-year extendable contract. I didn't ever consider turning it down - it basically seemed like free money. Film a few commercials, send a few tweets (and I didn't even have the login information to my official Twitter account - it was all handled by my ever-growing team of media managers), smile for the camera. But I did experience a strange desire to burst out laughing - really cracking up - during the meeting. I wanted to jump up on the table and scream: "THIRTY-TWO MILLION DOLLARS? TO SELL SHOES? ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

But Barry was there with me and he took all of those negotiations with a kind of deadly seriousness I usually assume is reserved for people who save lives or fly spaceships. When the deal was signed we went out to a steakhouse to celebrate.

"Well?" He asked, grinning as he chewed what was probably a fifty dollar mouthful of Kobe steak. "How does it feel to be rich?"

"You should have asked me that last year before I signed with the Cowboys - I've had some time to get used to it now."

"Yeah," Barry replied, "but this is just the beginning. There are other huge companies who would fight to the death with each other to sign you. If you play this right, man, you're going to have so much money you won't know what to do with it."

Barry was wearing one of his signature shiny gray suits. I watched a drop of blood drip from the steak on his fork onto his shirt, but he didn't notice. It was fitting in a way, there was something shark-like and predatory about him. It never even occurred to him that some people might not have 'making more money that I know what to do with' as their sole aim in life.

"And what do you mean by play it right?" I asked. "Just keep signing on the dotted line?"

"Yeah, that. And keep your nose clean, although you're doing a pretty good job of that, I must say. Are you asexual? Pining over some girl back in some hick town?"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, Barry," I replied, "I'm not asexual."

"What then? Some girl from high school? Why not that sweet-assed little redhead you're always talking to?"

"Jess is a friend," I told him. "And she has a boyfriend."

"So it is some girl from high school!"

I didn't respond to that and only noticed too late that Barry had been joking. The lack of response to the joke is what tipped him off to the fact that it was true.

"Aw Jesus, Barlow - really?! You know any man would kill to be in your shoes, right? Hell, I would kill to be in your shoes. You could stroll into a supermodel convention and pick 'em off the shelves like groceries, you know that, right? You're young, you look like Captain America and you've got enough goddamned money to buy the planet. You're giving me depression watching you piss it all away."

I rolled my eyes hard. "Piss it all away? What, because I don't fuck every girl I see? I led the goddamned team to the NFC final, man. You're being a little harsh."

Barry shrugged. "I'm just messin' with ya, Barlow. I do think it's fucking weird that you're doing the equivalent of standing in the middle of a dessert shop and starving yourself to death with regards to the pussy that gets throw at you, but whatever floats your boat, man. Anyway. Just don't get caught doing anything that isn't family friendly is what I'm saying. It's easy if you're not stupid about it, and you don't seem stupid."

"Thanks," I replied sarcastically, grinning. Barry was an animal. Good at his job, but a total animal. We were very different men but it didn't stop us being able to work together.

"And if you ever think of getting your little small-town girl to join you out here, talk to me first."

"Why?" I asked, cringing internally at the thought of Tasha meeting Barry - not that it was ever going to happen. I had a feeling he'd have a hand-shaped mark on his face within five minutes of that occurring.

"Because it's a little fucking lame, you know? I've seen this before with some of you sports guys, especially the ones from small towns. You always leave some girl behind and then carry a flame for her for years while better women walk past you on the street every second."

"I haven't met a better woman than her," I said, feeling my hackles rising slightly.

"See? That's exactly what I mean," Barry told me. "And sometimes they get these girls to marry them and then it just turns into a big shitshow."

"Why?" I asked again, sipping the scotch we'd ordered to accompany the steaks.