Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike (13 page)

"Where are you?" he sternly asked, as if he knew something was up.

"Just hanging out," I told him, trying to dodge the oncoming bullet.

"No, I said WHERE are you. I'm at the house, WHERE is my truck?" BJ said, scrutinizing my previous response.

"Man, I'm in Gainesville!" I told him, knowing there was no way out of this one.

"Mother fucker! I knew it! You better get your ass back here with my truck!" BJ demanded, as the phone call ended.

Liz understood the conditions I was living under, so I gave her a passionate kiss and drove back to Tampa. Halloween was just a few days away and I knew exactly how to make it up to BJ.

Two days of nonstop texts were fired out from my 'B' phone with an invitation to join us for a night out on Halloween.

"We might need a bigger car," I told BJ.

"I'll call and get us a limo right now if you're that serious," BJ declared.

"I am," I insisted.

Justin and BJ found out just how serious I was when 12 girls walked into the house; each of them decked out in scandalous costumes.

"You boys are stuntin' now!" TJ the limo driver said while he pulled into BJ's driveway.

We ushered these girls to every place in town we possibly could. First it was dinner; people laughed at the site of us sitting at a table of 15 – 12 of them being attractive girls. Then we carted them off to numerous clubs, mostly because we enjoyed the scene while exiting the limo, but also because we wanted the maximum amount of people to see this miraculous power play we were pulling off.

I looked over at Justin and BJ from a distance, they were roped off in a section in the club boasting a 6:1 ratio, and I can't even begin to describe how happy they looked. They were kids in an adult candy shop.

"Do you see how Donish we look?" Justin asked, unknowingly coining a phrase we would continue to use relentlessly.

I knew one thing for sure – BJ wouldn't be complaining about me taking his G Wagon anymore.

We felt so compelled to tell other people about our 'Donish' evening that we went out the following night just to talk about it. This is when we ran into David Price, and alongside him was Evan Longoria.

This was the first time I was around Longoria since I became serious with Liz and there was an awkward tension between us. It wasn't a spiteful tension; it was more of a 'I wonder what he's thinking' tension. However, the air would soon clear when it was closing time.

"B-rad, get in my car, I'll give you a ride back," Evan insisted.

I hopped in his pearl white Mercedes S550 and we took off down the road. Neither of us said a word for the first minute or two, so I decided to bring up the elephant in the room.

"So I guess we're aware we've both messed around with Liz," I said.

"Yeah, she's a good girl, she will take care of you," Evan replied.

It was refreshing to at least address the issue and hear his endorsement – only time would tell if he was being sincere.

The majority of November was occupied by spending more quality time with Liz. We went to Disney World, we went to church, we played childish games with her little cousins and we
even
went to dinner with her parents.

She made me feel like I was a better person and it grew each time we were together. For the first time in my life – I was actually falling in love.

Ryan Zimmerman, the third baseman for the Washington Nationals, was having a New Year's party in Washington, D.C. so we all decided to go...and Liz came with me.

It was a brisk and breezy afternoon in the nations capital while Liz and I visited every monument and museum D.C. had to offer. We held hands as we gazed at ancient rocks and prehistoric dinosaur bones, like we were a noble elderly couple. I was finding life in a relationship to be much more rewarding than philandering with girls in a club.

At night, we set out for the party, which was located at a bar in the middle of downtown Washington. Once we got in, we said hello to Zimmerman and then Liz and I shared a steamy New Year's kiss when the ball dropped.

The highlight of the night, however, was when Justin's then girlfriend slapped him in the face. I don't know why she did it, but she gave us all a gift; the ride home was awkwardly entertaining.

I introduced Liz to my family once we arrived in Chesapeake, a feat no girl accomplished since high school. At nightfall, Liz and I sat in my bed and we began talking about what my next move would be.

"Are you moving to Tampa permanently?" Liz asked, with an obvious desire that she wanted me to do so.

"I don't know, it's not really up to me," I told her.

"Well, why don't you call BJ and ask him," Liz said.

"I will call him right now."

I picked up the phone and called BJ, who was already in Tampa after deciding not to join us in the bitter climate of D.C.

"Bossman, you care if I stay down there with you?" I asked.

"What... you wanna live here?" BJ responded.

"Yeah, put yourself in my shoes," I told him.

"Ha, yeah that's cool with me," BJ said.

I was officially moving to Tampa, I guess I did well enough as a pick-up artist to stick around. I'm sure BJ also knew I wanted to be around Liz...she was noticeably perky upon hearing the good news.

Once I was settled in BJ's house, I took Liz out to celebrate the continuation of our relationship, most notably how this move enabled us to be close to one another. It was her choice, so we went to see the movie 'Twilight'.

Like most guys, I thought it was boring. I looked over at Liz and I could tell she was emotionally attached to the plot. She wanted her love life to be a storybook fantasy filled with adventure and excitement.

While she was being sucked in, I was taking note of the character 'Edward' so I could mimic his antics once it was over. If I pulled it off correctly, she would subconsciously connect the same feelings from the movie towards me. Devious... probably. Could it work? Maybe.

I didn't wait long to put my plan into action. There was a scene in the movie where the character Edward ran through the trees with the girl latched around his back. My objective was clear; I needed to get Liz on my back.

"Let me piggyback you to the car," I said, setting her up for the move as we entered the parking lot.

She secured her arms around my chest and her legs around my waist – oblivious to my intentions. I took two ordinary steps forward and then–without warning–dashed into a full on sprint like Usain Bolt. At least that's who I was in my mind; in hers, I was this Edward guy.

Once we reached the car, she climbed off my back and I'll never forget the look in her eyes. She was overwhelmed and intoxicated by this melodramatic display. Whether she was aware or not; I just stimulated every subtext emotion implanted in her head by the movie 'Twilight'.

Not only was it me who was shot by cupid's arrow; BJ found a new girl as well.

The two of us went to a diner in Tampa named Daily Eats. It was a small, friendly restaurant we often visited due to their unbelievable breakfast food, but on this day BJ exited with more than just a full stomach.

Her name was Stephanie, and she was a waitress with black shoulder-length hair and a firm physique. For BJ, her most striking feature was how shy and quiet she was; this gave him free range to do what he loved most – be the one talking.

Normally, I was the one to collect numbers. It was out of character for him, but BJ took the reins and asked for her digits on his own accord and received them. This unknowingly proved to be a vital moment in BJ's life.

Stephanie came over to the house the very next day and joined us for Gasparillaa pirate festival...held annually on the streets of Tampa.

The whole charade was a giant excuse for everyone to openly drink on the streets ... I mean really, who celebrates pirates?

So we plowed through a maze of rowdy eye-patched drunks and went up to Andy Sonnanstine's apartment, which was conveniently positioned right above Bayshore Boulevard, the main street for the parade.

Within an hour, BJ and Stephanie passed out on the couch together. They were spooning and they weren't even drunk, I guess it was the right mix of combined laziness. This is when Kazmir entered the room with his own commentary.

"Oh my god! Look at Melvin, what a clown. Brad, let's go on the street and pick up some girls," Kaz announced, using BJ's real first name.

Kazmir and I caroused the streets approaching every single girl with beads on their neck or a beer in their hand. He was somewhat of a celebrity in Tampa so it was remarkably easy to walk up to a girl and be successful. In fact, it was so easy I could tell he really didn't enjoy it anymore. We, as people, want what we can't have or want what challenges us. Kazmir was able to get girls without challenge or resistance, plus he also needed to worry about them being after his money – which was a very real and existing paranoia.

"I got us tickets to the UFC fight, but we're too smashed to drive. I guess we can call a cab," Kazmir said, and then reached for his phone.

"Hold on a second, I might be able to get us a ride," I told him in an effort to prove I can do more than just pick up girls.

I wanted to show value. Having already displayed the basic skills to hang around, it was time for me to expand and get paid by someone. At the time, my 'job' only came with free rent and free meals – I wanted more.

Liz just so happened to be in Tampa with all of her sorority sisters from college and I remembered her telling me she rented a limo for the night.

"Can you come pick us up and take us to the UFC fight?" I asked Liz.

"We're eating but we'll be here for awhile so I can have the driver come get you," Liz offered, to which I gladly accepted.

I told Kazmir I had it covered and he nodded his head, trying not to seem impressed. This was probably the first limo ride he didn't have to pay for in 7 years and I knew he appreciated it. On the other end, I
really
appreciated the first row seats outside of the octagon.

We watched these savage barbarians beat the living shit out of each other for hours. Everyone thinks UFC fighters are so tough–and they may be–but they are definitely stupid. It's really not worth it to lose brain cells at such an alarming pace, unless you're making a million dollars per fight. Once it was over, Kazmir raised the bar on impressiveness.

"Do you want to go meet Dana White?" Scott asked.

"You're damn right I do," I told him.

Dana White is the president of the UFC and Kazmir somehow knew him. I'm pretty sure rich people have secret meetings with one another or something and us poor folks are not invited.

So we walked under the rope separating the first row of seats from the stage and there was Dana White. He was a bald man; thick built, energetic and he wore a costly pitch-black suit with no tie. He and Kazmir talked for a while and then I got to shake his hand. Having learned my lesson from Stormin Norman, I decided to give Dana a death-gripped handshake – because that's how you shake a man's hand.

I suppose I proved myself to be worthy of a 'raise' because when spring training rolled around – I was given a paying job.

At the time, I wasn't working for BJ and I wasn't working for Kazmir; I was working for BJ and Kazmir. My job was simple; I drove them to Port Charlotte (where spring training took place) and back to Tampa as they pleased. Although my life's ambition wasn't to be a chauffeur, I really couldn't complain. I was paid well and I had a pretty nice truck to drive to work.

Although I was mainly on the road everyday, I didn't forget the skill that got me to this point. Every now and then I would invite a group of girls to come on the trips with me. It was a welcomed surprise for all their teammates; Port Charlotte hardly offered anything in the way of girls. The demand was high, and I was the only supply – therefore I was an asset.

The job also came with certain perks, like the time I drove BJ and Carl Crawford to the T.I./Busta Rhymes concert.

After being ushered through the back entrance, the three of us were given front row seats next to the stage. The first person to perform was T.I.

It took about two seconds to realize why T.I. raps about guns all the time...it's the only way he can defend himself. He is one of the smallest adult human beings I have ever seen, and the worst part is how he came on stage and started talking shit to everyone.

All he talked about was 'hater this and hater that'. I know why he's mad, it's because of he's built like a female.

Next on stage was Busta Rhymes, who is far from being small; he's actually quite large and intimidating. Not only did he look intimidating, but he also proved it.

I saw him looking at BJ and Carl as soon as he walked on stage. It's no secret that baseball players make a lot more money than rappers do, and much to Busta Rhymes chagrin – Carl Crawford wore a $100,000 diamond watch.

Busta Rhymes started performing and everyone in the entire audience stood on their feet, including me, but not BJ and Carl. What happened next was unexpected, but classic.

"Hold on, hold on, stop the music," Busta Rhymes said, as he focused his attention on BJ and Carl.

"When I get on stage, you need to get on your feet!" Busta Ryhmes demanded.

BJ and Carl obliged and I couldn't help but laugh, although I tried to conceal it. As I said before, he was an intimidating specimen.

Spring training carried on and I continued driving. Stephanie was living with BJ in Port Charlotte so I began hanging out with Kazmir more often.

Every now and then BJ and Kazmir would get into spats over whose tasks were more important for me to carry out. They were so used to being in control over every aspect of their life, and now they were competing for my services. The business side of me looked at it as a future bidding war...that would hopefully transition into the season.

When spring training ended, we all returned to Tampa...and Stephanie opportunely moved all of her belongings into the house with us. So now I was the third wheel who was no longer being paid. In essence, I was playing the role of Owen Wilson from 'You, Me and Dupree'. I was Dupree.

Liz and I were still seeing one another on a regular basis but dating her wasn't putting money in my pocket. It was actually doing the opposite – I needed to figure something out.