Sacked (The Alpha Ballers#2) (14 page)

I must have come to my senses about what we were doing all at once, because I finally pulled back. “I’m sorry I did that, Charlotte.”

Charlotte didn’t move her head even an inch. “Don’t be, Lance. I needed that. You needed that too.”

“It was nice, but we can’t do that again.”

“I know, I know, because of your rules.” She stood up and checked herself out in a mirror, making sure all was proper. “Your rules suck, you know that?”

“I know, but they’ve gotten me this far, so I gotta stick with them.”

“Humph. That’s all I have to say to that. Humph.”

“Well put.”

“Don’t forget, Lance Parker, I still know what you did thirty minutes ago.”

“You’re the worst kind of blackmailer, did you know that?”

“Oh? How so? What kind of blackmailer am I?”

“The irresistible kind.”

“That’s the right answer, Parker.” She only used my last name when she wanted to tease me.

With that, she left the room, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts.

I knew two things. The first was that I needed to get back on the field, but I needed to find the right way to do so, without hurting myself.

The second was that following the rule was the hardest thing I’d ever done before.

CHAPTER 10 - CHARLOTTE

Even though I didn’t tell anyone just what Lance and Hud had done, a couple days later it was time to deliver the news on Lance’s recovery to the rest of the team’s coaching staff. He was going to be out at least another 4-5 weeks after a setback in his recovery.

Coach Armstrong took it well, considering what it meant. He just stoically turned and started talking to his position coaches, formulating plans to move forward with Oliver Lee starting at quarterback indefinitely.

After Morris and I finished our meeting with the coaches, I headed back to the medical wing and to Lance’s room. He was in there, of course. After the stunt he and Hud had pulled I briefly considered getting security to issue him an ankle bracelet, but at the last second I decided to see one last time if he could act like an adult.

Lance wasn’t really in the mood to talk, so I left him be and hung out outside in the waiting room at the nurse’s station. It just so happened that I was the only one on duty at the time, so I had the room all to myself for once.

I sat down in one of the couches and pulled my legs up onto the cushion, relaxing and trying to figure out what I was going to do next.

I knew Lance was in the next room. It was almost like I could feel him there on the other side of the wall. He was probably in there watching the coverage on him. While he wasn’t the most famous player in professional football, the big national cable sports channels did include stories on him in their pro football shows.

And then there were the local sports shows, both TV and on the radio. They had nothing better to do than talk about the Patriots all day, and Lance Parker and his injury and potential return was always a popular subject.

I knew that most players tried to avoid reading the coverage about themselves, but Lance hadn’t learned that yet - he devoured local radio shows and news articles about the Patriots, trying to get a sense of what the locals thought about him.

I could see how it tore him apart that people were starting to warm up to Oliver Lee despite his recent play. I don’t know how he could handle all that media attention and pressure.

I figured everyone at some point in their life daydreams about being famous and having everything they do watched and ogled by everyone else. Clearly, because we have celebrities, some people thrive on that kind of attention.

Just from my short time being around professional athletes, I knew that kind of lifestyle just wasn’t for me. It might be occasionally nice to be famous, but I wouldn’t trade that for my ability to go home and do nothing without anyone asking any questions for anything.

And what did that mean for me, a girl head over heels bonkers into a guy who was already semi-famous, and on the precipice of becoming much, much, more famous than even I had any idea about?

Because that was Lance Parker. He might have been able to go to a night club without anyone recognizing him once in a while, but if he came back from injury and led the Patriots to the playoffs, or maybe even a championship, those anonymous nightclub nights would be over forever, such was the nature of athletic fame.

I didn’t want to be in that kind of spotlight, either by being famous myself or because I was involved with someone famous. Of course, I was getting way ahead of myself, because there was no real indication, aside from a night of passion and a stolen kiss in Lance’s room, that Parker wanted anything to do with me in a romantic sense.

But say he did for a moment. Would I be able to handle being the girlfriend of a famous athlete? I’d be in the spotlight too, to a lesser extent than Lance, sure, but still not nothing. I saw how people on twitter savaged the women other athletes and celebrities dated, and I had no desire to become a target like that.

No, to me there was nothing wonderful or desirable about fame, not when you attached all the other things that came with it.

Really when it came down to brass tacks, all I wanted was the freedom to enjoy spending time with the guy I liked so we could see where it would go.

The big question I had, though, was whether that was even possible with a guy like Lance Parker. His fame was just starting to rise, and if he came back better than ever, the number of media types following him would be off the charts, and very few of them were as nice as Lily Pearson.

Of course, then, there would also be the women throwing themselves at a famous athlete, hoping to get into the spotlight. Maybe Lance would want to date someone who actually cared about that stuff, who was more comfortable with all that attention?

That definitely wasn’t me - I had no problem with obscurity and no desire for fame. Maybe that would doom us right from the start.

Of course, I was still getting way ahead of myself. Things with Lance weren’t really going anywhere yet. We hadn’t even been on a first date! And if he stuck to those rules of his, we wouldn’t even be able to for another few months.

It sucked.

And I didn’t know what to do about it, even if I could figure out how to deal with Lance’s surly mood these days. I knew that his injury weighed on his mind.

Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself standing in front of the door to Lance’s room, staring into the window at him. I dunno how long I had been standing there, but he noticed me after another 30 seconds or so and waved at me, calling me in.

I opened the door and leaned in. “Yeah? Need anything?”

“Don’t just stand there in the window,” Lance sighed. “At least come in and stare at me.”

I blushed, and came inside, closing the door behind me. “I just wanted to see if you need anything.”

“Got a spare knee that works perfectly? Preferably for the right leg?”

I held up my hands. “All out, sorry. I’m expecting a shipment in a few weeks if you can wait.”

Lance leaned back against the pillows. “Everyone’s out of stock, who’s causing this shortage?”

“Lots of interest in replacement knees these days, I guess,” I shook my head. “Wow, that got dark quick.”

“Yeah.” Lance didn’t laugh or smile. He was focused on the TV across from him. Of course he was watching sports news. That was all that mattered to him.

Lance didn’t pay more attention to me, so I pulled up a chair and sat down next to his bed and watched with him. Thankfully this report wasn’t about him; one thing about professional sports is that there was never any end of scandal, both on and off the field.

These days it was a high draft pick, a quarterback for the Cleveland Browns who was already well on his way to ruining his life and perpetuating the cycle of dysfunction that had earned the Browns the nickname “the factory of sadness.”

The media was savaging the poor young man daily, and all over social media people were piling on, delighting in someone else’s misery, especially someone who had had such an illustrious college career.

“Jackals,” Lance whispered under his breath, just loudly enough that I could barely hear it. I looked over and saw his fists clenched over the sheet of his bed.

“Oh? How do you figure?”

He stared me down. “Tearing at the guy like that, like the guy’s trying to fuck up his life. That’s not what he’s doing.”

“I dunno, it looks like he keeps making bad decisions. He lives his life in the public eye, shouldn’t he take the bad with the good?”

Lance pursed his lips. “Sure, the public eye is fine and all, but just remember, Charlotte, no one wakes up in the morning and decides to make one bad decision after another.”

Now it was my turn to stare at Lance. “That…might have been the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah? I thought the best thing I’ve ever said to you was ‘Hi’ or ‘wanna get out of here?’”

“Jerk. I think I said the last one, not you.”

“Was that how it went? Yeah, that was probably it. You couldn’t resist taking me home with you, could you?”

I knew I was getting red in the face with embarrassment, which was strange, because those long weeks ago in the club I hadn’t thought twice about taking the world’s sexiest man home with me. “Shut up, Lance.” I swatted at him across the bed railing halfheartedly. “That was a long time ago.”

“Forgotten about me already, then? Moved on to another man, perhaps?”

I must have been getting redder by the second, because Lance kept pushing. “No, there’s no one else,” I said, whispering.

“But you’ve got someone in mind, yes? Tell me about him.”

“I don’t think it’ll work out between him and I,” I started, clearly meaning Lance and me.

“Oh really? Why’s that? Storms on the horizon already?”

“Well,” I gave a small smile, “he’s a little famous, and could be even more famous soon. I’m not sure how to deal with that.”

“The limelight doesn’t excite you? Plenty of women would love to be dating someone famous.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not other women, Lance.”

“So you don’t want to be famous, or famous by association?”

I shook my head, looking deep into Lance’s dark brown eyes, barely lighter than black. “Not even for a second. Never excited me.”

Lance considered that. “That would make dating a famous guy a little difficult, now wouldn’t it?”

“And that’s even assuming he’s into me in the first place. I mean, he must have girls throwing themselves at him all day long.”

“And twice on Sundays,” Lance added, “if he really is at all famous.”

I nodded. “And on the verge of getting even more famous.”

Lance leaned toward me, sitting up in bed. “That is quite the pickle you’re in, Charlotte Calloway. I wonder what you’ll do.”

“Thank you for your support, Lance Parker,” I replied. “I’ll surely keep you updated on my personal life.”

“Please do, I find it fascinating.” Ugh, some twisted part of me loved it when we played verbal sparring games like this, but the rest of the time I just wanted to jump into his arms and forget that either of us knew how to speak at all.

And when Lance looked at me like that I was pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. And it tore me apart inside.

I had to ask him. “How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?”

“All the attention, the scrutiny, the media. How do you deal with it?”

“I wasn’t a first round pick, Charlotte, no one knows who I am.” Lance pointed at the TV, which showed the rapidly-becoming-infamous young player partying in Las Vegas surrounded by scantily-clad young women when he claimed to be back in Cleveland studying for the next game. “I don’t have nearly the trouble that guy’s got.”

“Yeah, but you still have cameras on you all the time when you’re on the field, before the games, after the games, press conferences…doesn’t it all get kinda old fast?”

Lance smiled at me, that smile that made me melt inside and want to do naughty, unconscionably naughty, things to him and with him. It was the kind of smile that could turn heads, and probably did. “Some guys work their entire lives for that kind of attention, Charlotte.”

“Are you one of those guys?”

Lance yawned, making a big show of covering his mouth with one of his giant and calloused hands. “Oh, my, suddenly getting verrrrry sleepy in here. I think I’ll take a nap.” He gave me a big, exaggerated wink, then turned over so I was faced with his muscular back, just barely covered by the thin sheet. I could see his tattoos criss-crossing his back and I wanted to study them like an art history major would study a Monet painting.

I stood up. “I know what you’re doing, Lance Parker, you’re avoiding answering my question. Don’t think I didn’t noti-“

Lance cut me off, snoring so loud it made the cup of water at his bedside shake as if a dinosaur had wandered by.

“Oh, very fun-“

Lance snored again, this time even louder, rattling the knife and fork on the plate he’d recently been snacking from.

I put my hands on my hips. “You really are the worst, you know that?”

“I know,” I heard him say just barely. “But you love it.”

“I do not!”

“You kinda do, though.” Even though I couldn’t see his face from this angle, I knew he was smiling.

And I knew he knew I was smiling too.

That bastard.

CHAPTER 11 - LANCE

What started out as a fake nap to help me avoid answering Charlotte’s very relevant question ended up very quickly becoming a real nap when I realized just how tired I was and just how comfortable this new groove in the bed I had settled into was.

I woke up an hour later and found Charlotte gone, and noticed that she had turned the TV off and cleared up my snack foods from earlier. I didn’t have much to do at the moment, so I turned the news back on and settled back in. I wasn’t particularly thrilled about not having anything to do, but I was bored of watching game film and studying the playbook.

I’d had nothing but downtime on my hands for the last few weeks, and I had reviewed all our upcoming opponents and attended the meetings just like normal. The only things I couldn’t do were workout, practice, and play. It just so happened that those were the most fun things I had to do each week, sooooo, yeah, it had been a rough few weeks.