Grey snorts like that’s the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard.
Coach adds, “Team players.”
Affronted, I straighten. “We demonstrate that weekly on the field.”
“Think of it like a reform camp. Charm school. Etiquette lessons. You’ll be there a month.” Hammer’s lips press together in a slim line.
The room falls silent.
Hammer clears his throat. “You’ll attend several classes for your betterment. I hope I’ve made my point and you’ve learned your lesson. No mooning the commissioner’s daughter, or anyone else for that matter.”
A long moment of silence erupts with protests.
“What about training camp?”
“OTAs?”
“The program you’ll be attending is the only organized team activity you’ll be completing if you want to hit the field in August.” Hammer, ever the picture of calm, grits his teeth as if he’s about to growl at us. He doesn’t need to say we’d better pass this program with flying colors or we’ll get sacked.
“So, if we want to go to training camp, first we have to attend this camp?” Chase asks.
“That’s right. Your midpoint and final reviews will determine whether you join the rest of the team before the season starts.” Coach’s nostrils flare as if it pains him to say this, but he has to answer to the team commissioner.
All at once, we voice objections and try to talk him out of it—all except Grey, who remains stoically quiet as always.
Hammer seems to only hear one word among the chatter. “Unfair? Poor Elyse cannot wipe the sight of four pasty rear ends from her mind—neither can the rest of the country.” Hammerslaps the newspaper, which features the photo, blurred in select areas. One of the officials must’ve snapped it with their phone.
“Hey, my rear end is not pasty. It’s muscular and tan,” I say, unable to hide my gloating smile. What can I say? I take care of the goods.
“For an Irishman,” Grey mutters.
“Listen, my hands are tied. It’s this or walk, boys.” Hammer starts shuffling folders around on his desk, indicating the meeting is over because he has more important things to do than scolding his star players.
“This team is my life,” Grey says softly.
“All of our lives,” I echo because, for all my bravado, it’s true.
“Consider this probation.” Hammer grunts.
“Did you meanwalk, as in leaving the team?” Chase asks. “Considering the only thing I know how to do is play football, I’ll go to finishing school or whatever.”
“Can’t you have your father talk to the commissioner?” Wolf asks Chase.
“You know the answer to that.” Grey sighs.
“Which is—?” Wolf asks.
Chase lets out a long sigh. “If he did, whatever the deal Starky offered, his would be worse, much worse.”
I gaze toward the ceiling as though asking for help.
“You’ll each be assigned a personal etiquette coach. If you screw up, you’re off the team.” Hammer cocks an eyebrow.
We experience a group case of whiplash at that command.
“All of you,” Hammer says with finality.
“What do you mean? If one of us screws up, we’ll all be let go?”
