Then he checked the missed calls; there were as many of those as texts. His teammate and buddy, Victor, had called four times—no voicemails, of course, because Victor fucking hated leaving messages. Then there was a call from his coach, one from the head of HR for the Stingrays, and one from—fuck—the general manager.
Tank climbed over Lara’s slumbering form and grabbed his boxers, heading toward the bathroom. Shutting the door, he pulled them on as he listened to the voicemail from the GM. It was short and to the point.
Tank was being summoned to the administrative offices for a meeting. At eleven o’clock this morning.
He glanced at the time on his phone and cursed under his breath. It was just after ten now, which meant he didn’t have time to go home and change into clean clothes. Emily, his other date for the evening, had spilled red wine on his jeans at some point last night, and God only knew how wrinkled his shirt was. Or…where it was.
Tank needed a shower. But more than that, he needed fucking answers. Clicking on Blake’s number, he put the phone on speaker and placed it on the counter of the sink, so he could splash cold water in his face. He didn’t have to wait through one ring before his best friend was on the line.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Blake demanded, by way of greeting.
“Sleeping it off,” Tank answered, clearing his throat, which was gruff.
“Jesus. Go to YouTube, type in your name.”
Tank snorted. “Highlight reels from yesterday’s game? In case you forgot, I was there, so I’m totally aware I scored an amazing hattrick.”
“That won’t be the first video that pops up,” Blake muttered.
Tank clicked on YouTube and typed in his name.
The first video was titled, “Tank Phillips Scores Again.” It took him a second before he figured out what he was looking at. When he did, he laughed.
“You think this is funny?” Blake shouted through the phone.
“It was a crazy night,” Tank said. “Me and the girls decided to celebrate in style, so we got a suite at the Pendry.” Tank loved the hotel because it was situated on the waterfront in Fells Point. Which was actually pretty close to where he lived, but he had a hard and fast rule about never bringing women back to his place. “We were in the middle of?—”
“I know what you were in the middle of,” Blake interjected.
Tank snorted and skipped ahead. “When the fire alarm went off.”
“Yeah, I figured out that much. Actually, I think I’ve managed to piece out everything that happened last night. So did management.”
“I don’t see why this is a big deal.”
Blake sighed heavily. “Tank, you walked outside in your boxers, drunk off your ass, with two half-dressed women, one of whom had handcuffs dangling from her wrist.”
Tank chuckled. “We couldn’t find the key.” Which reminded him, he was going to have to pay for the damn bed he broke, trying to get Emily free so they could evacuate. Maybe if they hadn’t been three sheets to the wind and laughing hysterically over the damn alarm, they might have tried harder to find the key. Especially since, upon their return to the room after the hotel determined there was no fire, they realized the key was in plain sight on the nightstand.
“Do you know who Lara’s uncle is?”
Tank wasn’t entirely sure what Lara’s last name was, so it was safe to say he knew nothing about her family. “No.”
“Charles Steele. Of Steele Industries. One of the Stingrays’ biggest sponsors.”
“Ooookay,” Tank drawled.
“He’s not amused by the attention this video is garnering, especially considering Lara was wearing your shirt and nothing else, and the three of you were clearly under the influence. The views are astronomical. The thing is going viral.”
Tank looked at the video again. He didn’t think it looked that bad. The three of them were laughing and having a good time, even if it was a bit heavy on the PDA, and while they weren’t completely dressed, they were covered enough. It wasn’t like they were running around stark naked.
“I’ve been out with Lara several times in the past few months.” Last night had been his fifth booty call with Lara, and the second time, her bestie Emily, who was always down for a good time, had joined them. “Her uncle has never bitched about me going out with Lara before.”
“You’ve never made it quite so public before, so he’s bitching now. Loudly.”
“How do you know all this?” Tank asked.
“I came in early to work out with some of the guys. Coach asked if I knew where you were. Apparently, the general manager is pissed and looking to put your head on a stake. If this had been an isolated incident, maybe?—”
