“I think Killian Schultz is going to be difficult to sign,” Damon says. “I was doing some research… he quit junior hockey before he got drafted, so maybe he’s not that interested in playing long-term.”
“He got homesick. That’s why he quit.” I plop down on the bed, and Damon gives me a puzzled look as he turns his body toward me. “I was sitting behind his brothers at the last game and kind of chatted with them, fishing about him. It turns out he quitjunior hockey because he was on a team states away from his family, and he didn’t thrive because of that.”
“I see.” Damon is about to take another bite of his food when he pauses. After a moment of contemplation, he pinches off a small piece and holds it up to my mouth. “Eat,” he says, too softly. “You’re still recovering.”
“What? I’m perfectly fine now.”
“Even if you are, you still need to take care of yourself.”
Jesus Christ. He needs to stop this shit because it’s making both my heartandmy dick perk up. I part my mouth anyway, and he pops the bite of bread into my mouth, his fingers brushing against my lips.
“It’d be a waste if Killian decided not to go pro,” Damon says. “With the year he’s having, I imagine any minor league team who has a weak defense would want him. And in a couple of years, he could work himself up the ladder and be playing in the major league. I was watching his tapes, and it seems like he has a knack for reading his opponents and letting his teammates know where they should be.”
Even if I’m not as great as Damon when it comes to the sports side of things—I don’t spend time watching tapes and instead rely on scouting reports—I at least know this part. I nod, and he pops another piece of bread in my mouth.
“I heard a few agents have tried speaking to him but he seems uninterested,” Damon says.
I chew thoughtfully, and before he can put more food in me, I say, “Because of the homesickness. Offer him a team close to home with a no-trade clause and he might take it.”
“There’s no way a team would agree to a no-trade clause for a free agent straight out of college. It would be too risky for them.”
“They don’t have to put it on paper.”
Damon stiffens. “A handshake deal? Then that would be dangerous for Killian.”
“It’s risky, but even a handshake deal would give Killian the stability he wants.”
“I don’t like this,” he murmurs. “You’d be promising Killian something that’s not set in stone.”
“I’d never make the deal if I didn’t think I couldn’t protect him, and I know well enough which teams to trust. I’m good at my job and I take care of my clients, Damon. I’ve told you this.”
Damon’s silent for a long moment. His eyes unfocused, he puts the food to the side. “I see your point. I really do. I just don’t agree with it.”
I narrow my eyes. I could argue with him all day if I wanted, but it’s clear that both Damon and I have very different ways of approaching our jobs. He thinks my techniques are underhanded, but really, all I do is look for ways to keep my clients happy. Westley and Vaughn? They wanted to play together, and I found a way to make it happen even if it never went down on paper. Killian? He wants to play close to home, and even if I can’t promise him a no-trade clause, I can give him the closest thing to it.
God, Damon really is obsessed with stability and protection. He can’t deal with the risky way I do things.
It’s irritating.
Maybe I’m not doing such an incredible job hiding how I truly feel because Damon’s eyes soften when they collide with mine. “Don’t be angry,” he says.
“Pretty annoying when you’ve had this misconception of me from the start and you’ve stuck with it.”
“I don’t agree with your tactics. They’re dangerous for your players. One wrong move, like owners or management moving around who don’t care for your handshake deals, and it’s over.”
I glower at him. “How many times do I have to tell you that I protect my clients? Have I ever failed your friends?”
Damon smiles and shakes his head. “No, and they think you’re an incredible agent.”
“Huh?”
And, just like that, the ball of tension that was expanding in my chest implodes. It’s gone. That easily. Instead, it’s replaced with confusion. My posture slackens as I stare at Damon.
“They’re always gushing about you,” he says. Damon reaches between us, rubs a thumb over my lower lip, and I part my mouth. It’s instinct, really. I barely stop myself from licking his fingers, and I notice crumbs on his thumb when he lets go.
Damon, unfortunately, didn’t get the memo. He licks the crumbs off his fingers, his eyes on me the entire time, and my cock stiffens.
“I hate to say it, and I’ll probably never repeat this again,” he says, “but you really are a good agent, and they don’t ever let me forget it. I wanted to hate you for using the inside info to get them as clients, but… you’re right. It was the best thing that ever happened to them. I guess I just get stressed sometimes. I can’t let go of the fact that, no matter how well you look after them, it can still implode.”
