Page 53 of Hard to Handle

The crowd’s chants echo in the corridor and I miss some of what the men are saying.

“We’re nearing the end of the season, Ian. He’s probably just running out of gas. I know you’re paying him to be who he is, but between all the publicity you’re pushing on him, you’re taking time away from his game . . . and from some much-needed downtime. He’s been pushing hard for months through injuries and without a break—”

“And we’re paying him handsomely for his time.” He laughs. “Don’t try to act like we’re not. He’s your player, manage him or I will, and you’re not going to like how I handle it.”

“Is that a threat?” Finn huffs the words out as if he’s not buying Ian’s warning.

“That’s up to you to decide.”

They move back into the press box and their voices fade, but I’m left leaning against the cold cinderblock wall stunned at what I just heard.

Why in the hell are they talking about this right now, in the middle of a game? Did something else happen that I don’t know about?

As much as I hate to admit it, Finn gave the perfect, placating response.

But shit, is this what I’m walking into if I win Hunter as a client? Threats by his GM and the inability to respond with conviction because Hunter refuses to let me in?

I lean my head back against the wall as the crowd roars and sigh.

* * *

There’s a lot of time between the end of a game and when the players leave the locker room to head to the team hotel. Time is spent with coaches, with teammates going over certain plays, with physical therapists treating injuries, interviews with the media in the locker room, and then finally showers and cleaning up.

I know other female agents stride into the locker room not caring that they’re going to be hit with a bare ass or better yet, someone’s dick, but not me.

I prefer to keep things on a professional level, and I’ve found that the minute a player knows I’ve seen him naked, the dynamic changes. It opens the door to the crude jokes and innuendos and those can sometimes ruin a working relationship no matter how nonchalant you are about them.

So, I stand outside the locker room as players begin to trickle out. Some dressed up to go out for their night on the town in Boston, some a whole lot worse for the wear with ice taped to knees and know they are definitely headed to the hotel to order some takeout.

“You ready?” Callum asks as he tosses something in the trash can.

“Sure am.” I push my shoulders off the wall where I’m standing. “It’s about time I get some time with you.”

“Sorry. My schedule’s been crazy.”

“I get it. Mine always is. Great game, though.”

He snorts. “They almost came back.”

“But they didn’t.” I pick up my briefcase off the ground and wonder how a 5-2 score is almost coming back, but let it go. “What do you feel like eating?”

The door to the locker room opens and there’s a shout that sounds off before it shuts.

“Party starting early?” I joke with a lift of my chin to behind the door.

His chuckle says volumes but he waits until we round the corner, away from any ears. “It’s Maddox. He’s . . . I don’t know what’s going on with him, but it’s pulling all of us into it. I don’t know if it’s family or life or shit . . . I figured you knew since you guys, you know . . .”

“Since we . . . you know?” I brace myself for the frigid air when he opens the door to the outside for me. “What does that mean?”

“Everyone knows you guys had a thing a while back.”

“Is that so?” I laugh outwardly . . . and cringe internally.

“Yeah. Rumor was you were leaving a hotel together.”

“So nice to know my personal life is fodder for rumors,” I say, playing it off. “We had drinks a few times like three years ago,” I lie, neglecting to divulge the sordid details of our quick but fulfilling sex life. “But our interaction didn’t give me any more insight on why he’s acting how he is than you guys have.”

“Yeah, but with you—never mind,” he says as we reach my rental car.