Bjorn's words hit like a punch to the gut. The owner of the Terrors is sucking up to the head of the BFL. "That explains it then."
"It'd be a penalty, and you'd have grounds for a lawsuit if they terminated your contract early, so you know they won't do that."
"So I'm benched then."
"Masters said he still put you in because it's not like hewantedto lose. You're one of his best players. I think it crushed him to bench you."
"Would you bench me?" I have to ask. I'm not going through with this just to end up sitting for another season.
"I've talked about it with Robert Miller. He's never been a big fan of Edmund Jones, and he doesn't intend to start now. Plus, we all know the situation with Jones and his daughter is—"
I cut him off with the need to defend myself. "Rubbish. Complete and total rubbish. I would never—"
Now he cuts me off. "We know. Both Miller and I know, which is why we want you in Boston."
"It's going to take drastic measures on my part."
"Isn't the life of a professional athlete all drastic measures? Do what you need to do."
We disconnect without much fanfare. I feel as if I've been punched in the gut. My time in Baltimore, for all intents and purposes, is over.
And the same can be said for my entire career if I don't find a wife immediately.
Chapter 15: Ophelia
I had high hopes for my second ClikClak date.
I am an optimist, after all. I figured that the first colossal failure was a fluke, and the odds had to be in my favor for something better.
We went to Carmelina's again, because it has good food, and I was impressed at how the staff took care of me. I was hopeful that I wouldn't need that kind of support tonight.
Of course, that only lasts until the moment I feel my napkin slip off my lap, about six minutes after I sit down. As I bend down to retrieve it, something catches my eye. And that something would be my date's unzipped pants and his penis sitting out on display.
I stand so fast that I'm instantly lightheaded. A hand reaches out to steady my elbow. I look. It's the same manager from the last time I was here.
"Is everything okay, miss?"
I lean in and whisper, "The snake is out."
"Excuse me?"
"There's a disco stick sighting."
"What?" The manager narrows his eyes, now clearly thinking I'm totally nuts.
In a loud clear voice, I nod toward my date and say, "He's sitting there with his penis out, in the middle of our first date."
Every single pair of eyes in the restaurant swivels toward us. But perhaps I have lost it because I point wildly. "This is our first date and Mr. Happy is apparently joining us for a bite to eat."
My date slowly slides his napkin off the table and covers his member, who must have developed a sudden chill in the November night.
"I … I gotta go." I grab my purse and reach for my wallet to pay for the glass of wine I ordered.
The manager holds his hand up. "Don't worry, this one's on us. Oh, and wherever you're meeting these guys, you need to find a new place."
I smile tightly and walk out, holding my head as high as I possibly can in such a situation.
Did I think my first ClikClak date went well? No. Did I think it was possible for my second one to be a failure of such epic proportions so quickly? Also no.
