I rack my brain trying to remember his name. Gary? No. Greg? No. Oh right, Geoff with a G. He made a whole annoying thing about it being spelled G-E-O-F-F and not J-E-F-F.
When I saw it spelled with a G when he messaged me on Tinder yesterday, I should have known he’d be the clingy type and sleep over. At least he was a decent lay.
I quietly extricate myself from his hold and slip out of bed naked before grabbing my phone and heading out into my living room. I look down at the phone and realize it’s the owner of my team. Shit. What does Prescott Wellington want?
I accept the call and do my best to act cheery when I’m anything but. “Good morning, Mr. Wellington.” Ugh. I sound like the angels inCharlie’sAngels.
In his raspy, near-death, old-man voice, he responds, “Good morning, Kennedy. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.” I roll my eyes as I look out the window of my New York City apartment and see a billboard of the most annoying basketball player in existence.
Tonight is the WNBA draft. I know he’s going to ask me to babysit whoever we select. Ugh. Rookies. Fucking useless. At least we have the fifth pick, so I know I won’t have to play with the most over-hyped player in league history, Sullivan O’Shea. The media-greedy bitch has practically hijacked the league, and she hasn’t even been drafted yet. Yet here she is, on a billboard for our league already. God, I hate her.
I pull the phone from my ear when he loudly clears the disgusting phlegm from his throat. Good lord, he should be on some sort of breathing machine.
“Kennedy,” he wheezes, “there’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to shoot straight.”
“Ooookay.”
“As you know, there’s an expansion team this year.” The Philly Beavers. “We’re only allowed to protect five players from our current roster. The rest are subject to being scooped up by the Beavers.”
Everyone knows this, but I’m one of the best players on my team. In the league. Surely they protected me. It never even occurred to me that they wouldn’t.
He continues, “After careful internal conversations with the general manager and coaching staff, we decided not to protect you and?—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I interrupt. “I’ve led the team in rebounding all three years I’ve been here. I led the league in double-doubles last year. I’m a goddamn all-star.”
He exhales another audible wheezing breath. “Kennedy, it’snot about your numbers or your performance. You’re obviously valuable to the team in that regard. It’s your…camaraderie with your teammates and general demeanor that are problematic for us. You’ve been suspended by the league seven times in three years for your dirty play. Your teammates have been in my office countless times asking that we trade you. Put simply, you’re a cancer in the locker room. We’ve reached our boiling point. When we made the decision not to protect you, Philly immediately grabbed your contract.”
“No!” I shout. “Not Philly. I refuse to live in Philadelphia ever again.”
“It’s your hometown, Kennedy. Where your family lives. I was hoping this would be welcome.”
Panic rises to my chest. “It’s not. I promise to do better. Please let me stay. I love New York City. This is my home. Give me one more chance,” I desperately plead.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We can’t keep you.”
“What about a trade to a different city?Anyother city.”
He’s quiet for a brief moment before admitting, “I tried, but we weren’t able to find an appropriate fit. It’s already a done deal. Philly owns your contract now. I’m truly sorry, Kennedy. Use this as an opportunity to reinvent yourself. If you embrace it, it could be a fresh start for you,” he says in a hopeful voice.
Fresh start? Fuck him and everyone on the damn team and staff. “Screw you, Prescott Wellington the Fifth and your fucking pretentious name. You’ll regret this, asshole.”
I end the call before he can respond. My mind is spinning. I hate Philly. The prospect of living in the same town as my family again is beyond unappealing. There’s a reason I went to college in California. To get as far away from them as possible.
The rage in my body is overflowing when my phone pings with a text notification from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hi, Kennedy. This is Reagan Daulton. I’m the new owner of the Philly Beavers. We’re excited to have you on our team. As I’m sure you might assume, we’re drafting Sulley O’Shea tonight as the first overall pick in the WNBA draft. She’s in New York for the draft. I’d like for you to meet her and some of your other teammates tonight at nine. I need you to come thirty minutes early so we can talk privately before the others arrive.
Oh crap. Sulley O’Shea. She’s going to be my teammate. I wonder if life smokes a cigarette after it fucks me.
The media worships the ground that princess walks on. They refer to her as a phenom. This is such bullshit. This whole team is going to be about her. What a nightmare.
Me: Sorry. It’s late notice. I’m out of town.
Unknown: No, you’re not. I have eyes and ears everywhere. You’d be remiss not to remember that. Let me be clear, you WILL be there tonight. You WILL arrive thirty minutes early. I’ll send you the address later. I look forward to seeing you then.
Who does this bitch think she is? I’ll arrive if and when I want to.
