I suck in a deep breath and turn to the phone. Sure enough, I find it right away. “Shit.”
What an embarrassing disaster. I really hope this doesn’t change the way he looks at me, or shake Zeke’s faith in my dedication. My coaches definitely aren’t going to like it.
Troy tightens his brow. “Could there be other videos?” he asks. “Did you get up to anything else that night?” His eyes soften. “Are you okay?” he asks lower, with gruff sincerity in his voice.
Oh fuck, he’s concerned about me. That makes my stomach twist in a whole new kind of knot. And it makes disappointing him right now so much more painful. Troy works his ass off for his athletes. I don’t want to add more to his plate.
“I’m fine,” I insist, and he lets out an audible huff.
After a second, Troy ticks up an eyebrow again. “And anything else we should be prepared for?”
I wrinkle my nose. “It depends. I’m dry in that video. You’re sure there aren’t any where I’m soaking wet?”
He finds new depths to his frown. “You’re telling me there might be more.”
He’s not happy about this, and neither am I. The way I’m reacting emotionally, though, that’s the real problem.
I haven’t really considered this dynamic before. It sucks to be on Troy’s grumpy side in a serious way. I mean, every side of Troy is a little grumpy, but disappointing him sucks.
I’m swallowing his big dick every Sunday night, and now he’s mad at me?
My head spins.
“It’s not like it was intentional,” I manage. “I had a mishap.”
“Mishap?”
This time, I tighten my brow at him. “I was trying to take a…” I lower my voice to near a whisper. “Sexy pic for you,” I say with a clenched jaw. “And I fell out the emergency exit at the gym. And it escalated from there.”
Troy rubs his jaw, glaring at me. “Seriously? Sending the pic in the first place was a bad enough idea.” He shakes his head like he’s getting his thoughts straight. “Once you’re done training, you’re coming to the office to clean up your mess. Understood?”
I nod, chagrined. It’s hard to not default to our usual banter, find ways to tease him. But we’re nearing the end of the season. I’m performing the best I ever have on the field, enjoying some mind-blowing sex, and the Force is all primed and ready to win a cup and secure our place at CONCACAF.
An Orlando-inflicted disaster is the last thing I need right now, and Troy’s agency is my best chance to keep things on the right track.
“Understood,” I tell him. “And thanks for taking care of it for me.”
Troy huffs. “Fine,” he says. He turns and starts stalking toward the exit at the back of the stadium, but stops. “Almost forgot,” he calls over his shoulder. “You’re going to need a tux.”
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
TROY
I step out of the back of the car and straighten my tuxedo jacket. It’s dusk, and guests in formal attire walk the stone steps into River View Hall.
Mel has handled Orlando’s small scandal expertly. Knowing other videos could emerge and a bus full of people were nearby, she had Orlando play coy, neither admitting or denying. In a quick interview, he flashed his smile and made some cocky jokes about how good the streaker looked while refusing to give a straight answer, and just like Mel planned, the titillation of the whole thing spiked and ran its course before the week was over, earning Orlando a few more fans on the way.
To his credit, he took the hit like a pro. Orlando showed up and did whatever the agency told him, and he kept his game together on the field, too.
I’m mad at him for wasting time and money on bullshit. But I’m also noting that he’s grown, staying focused instead of letting this derail him like when he had scandals last season.
I grind my jaw, flustered and frustrated. Tonight is a work night, and Patel is the only audience I’m really concerned about.
“Troy. Or is it Frisk at the gala?”
I turn and see Orlando standing down the sidewalk. His black tux fits him perfectly. It’s stylish but still classic, the cuts of the fabric hugging his well-earned muscles.
Something rumbles inside me.
