Sage

Sage

Standing in front of the entire Crusaders team feels a lot like being a dangling ribeye in front of a starving pride of lions. Though, let’s be honest, none of these men are starved for anything, least of all women, and most of them more accurately resemble pussies than lions. Okay, that was harsh. To be fair, I don’t know any of them personally. Well, I guess that’s not true. I sort of know one.

I feel him glaring daggers at me like if he continues, he can actually strike me down. Looks like someone had their Cheerios pissed in this morning. My dad dismisses me with a wave which I can’t help but roll my eyes at. He’s the arrogant type, all about what you can do for him and not as much about what he can do for you. There is a reason our relationship has been strained ever since Mom died. He threw himself into work and forgot that she didn’t just leave him behind. She left me too. But that’s a trauma dump for another day.

He talks for what feels like forever before he finally has the guys break up into offense, defense, and special teams. I pull out the brand new video camera Dad gave me this morning, compliments of the Seattle Crusaders, and begin recording. My dad also gave me the Crusaders T-shirt and yoga pants when I showed up in a black leather jacket and black jeans. Unfortunately for him, I don’t think he was expecting the full-sleeve tattoos that now don my arms because he practically snarled at them before storming off to his coaches meeting.

Whatever.

I know most of the guys and their positions, at least the returning vets. The rooks will take a little to get the hang of, but Dad said he wants me to come up with unique content, so I’ll probably be getting to know all of the guys in one way or another. I angle the camera down at the feet of the offensive players as they do the agility ladder that is laid out across the ground.

Slater Santos gives me the peace sign before sticking out his tongue when he gets to the end, and I can’t help but laugh. Alright, good to know. Santos will be my golden boy for content. One by one, the guys take suit after Slater and throw up some type of gesture or smile until the last offensive player comes through. Trevor Michaels.

When he gets to the end, though, he looks down at me. Like literally, down at me, as if I were scum beneath his shoes. Like I was a bug begging to be squashed. The look instantly pisses me off and has me ready to chuck this crazy expensive camera at his stupid pretty boy face. Before I let my mouth run away from me on day one of this job, he’s stepping to the side, sending me a withering glance that makes me feel two inches tall.

Fuck. Him.

I take back every decent thought I had about Trevor. He wasn’t even that good anyway. His cock barely did the job. I had to climb on top of him and take control because he wouldn’t know what to do with that thing if it stood up on its own and did the macarena. If he thinks I’ll ever sleep with him again, he’s got another thing coming. I don’t double dip, and I most definitely do not fuck with pretty boy assholes. Saturday was a lapse of judgment, one that I will never be making again.

Once practice is over, all the guys head to the locker rooms while I pack up my things. Thankfully, I’m only required to come to two practices a week and obviously all games. Everything else I can do from the comfort of my apartment, which was the huge selling point for me.

I feel two heavy presences lurking over me, causing goosebumps to erupt on the back of my neck as I quickly whip my head up. It takes a moment for my heart to calm down as it bangs against my chest like a drum while I look at the two football players staring down at me. I stand to face them as best as I can, though they both still have almost a foot on me.

“Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to scare you.” Damion Andrews smiles in a way that makes my skin crawl.

I give him a tight smile, doing my best to remain pleasant since I’ll be working with all of these guys for a minimum of five months or so. Maybe longer.

“No worries. What’s up?”

“We just wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Damion,” he says, letting his words hang in the air for a few moments before I realize that’s all he has to say. Or maybe he’s waiting for starry-eyed recognition to flitter into my eyes.

Sorry bud, I know who you are, and if I’m honest. I’d have never picked him for my team.

My eyes swing over to his counterpart, dark hair, dark eyes, a few tattoos peeking out from the collar of his jersey, and the slight indentation that indicates he has a lip ring when he isn’t on the field. He gives me a charming, albeit practiced, smile, but for some reason, I’m kind of digging on it. Dad gave me an entire speech about staying away from his players, that they don’t need distractions, and he’ll fire me if he finds out I’ve fucked any of them, blah, blah, blah. My dad should know me well enough though to know that when he tells me not to do something, it only makes me want to do it that much more.

I give him my most seductive smile as I take half a step toward him.

“Name?” I question, and this time I’m not playing dumb like I did with Trevor.

“Jackson Donatello,” he says with a mischievous look in his eye.

“Sage.”

“I know,” he says in a way that tells me he’s already cataloged everything about me, even if it’s a part of his act to make a girl feel special.

“Donatello! Andrews! Hit the showers,” my dad’s voice booms through the room.

I don’t suppress my eye roll. Fucking buzz kill. Andrews turns and jogs off first, clearly accepting the fact that I’m not even remotely interested. Donatello, on the other hand, bends down and grabs my bag, slinging it over his shoulder before gesturing for me to go first. I catch a glimpse of my dad’s irritated face and can’t help but smile.

“You’re asking for trouble there, boy,” I tease.

He glances over his shoulder at Dad before looking back at me.

“Maybe, but you look like the kind of trouble I’d like to get into,” he says smoothly as we make it into the hallway.

“Oh, trust me. You’d never want to leave,” I say, allowing a husky tone to wrap around my words.

I can practically see him salivating, and I know that I could drag him into a supply closet and fuck his brains out right here and now. But then I’d have to fend him off for the rest of the season. Best to hold out on him for a while, make the build up a good one, before I move on.

“See you around,” I say as I take my bag from his shoulder, allowing my fingers to trail over him as I do.

He bites on the edge of his lip where I’m assuming his lip ring usually rests as he nods.

“Looking forward to it.”

I give him a soft wink before turning on my heel and heading down the hallway. As soon as I push the doors to the parking lot open, a voice calls out.

“Hey!”

I slightly jump at the surprise before turning to see Trevor Michaels pushing off the wall and walking toward me.

“Were you waiting for me?” I ask with furrowed brows.

“Yeah, we gotta talk. I—”

“Listen, Saturday was fun and all, but you’re definitely not the kind of fuck I’m willing to lose my job over, and I don’t go back for seconds. Sorry to interrupt whatever lame pick up lines you practiced in the mirror while you quaffed your hair, but I’m not interested.”

He stands there frozen for several seconds, like my words are taking a while to catch up to his underdeveloped brain before he squints and shakes his head.

“Wait. What?”

“What? Did the Wizard of Oz forget to give you a brain? That pretty boy package just a ruse so people don’t catch on that the lights are on but nobody’s home?” I question.

Trevor narrows his eyes at me.

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Insinuating, actually. To which you proved my point. I gotta go. I—”

“Hold up, hold up. Let me get this straight. You knew who I was Saturday, obviously—”

“Obviously,” I mimic with an eye roll, causing a fire to spark in his eyes.

Normally I’m not so childish or sassy. But he’s so easy to rile up, it’s kinda fun.

“So you lied.”

I shrug.

“So you could sleep with me,” he continues.

I let out a humorless laugh as I toss my head back before facing him again.

“Deflate that ego a bit, old man. You’re the one who chased after me, the one who dragged me down a hallway and bent me over a couch. Not the other way around.”

“You’re the one who climbed on my dick like a cat in heat,” he throws out, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s got the upper hand.

“Had to,” I shrug. “You weren’t doing it right.”

Irritation passes over his face, causing his jaw to clench so tight, you’d think it would break. He looks as if he’s about ready to tear into me before he looks down at the ground and shakes his head.

“Whatever. Just wanted to make it clear there is no way in hell I’m going to fuck you again. So if you think just because you work for the team that I’m going to—”

“Grandpa, the fact that you think I’ve been sitting here pining over you for days is adorable, but completely off base. You aren’t even my last hookup, dude.”

Okay, that’s a lie, but this guy seriously needs to be taken down a peg or ten. His ego is out of control.

He tilts his head to the side as he squints at me again. What, does he need glasses or some shit?

“Did you just call me grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I laugh. “Dude, you’re old as fuck. What are you, thirty-nine, forty?” I say, throwing out ridiculous numbers that has smoke practically billowing out of his ears.

“I’m thirty-one, you fucking brat.”

“Yikes,” I say with a grimace. “It’s called moisturizer. Might want to try it, Leatherface.”

With that, I turn on my heel and start walking toward my car. I hear him cussing me out, but I’m kinda bored now, so I think I’ll just go home and binge That 70’s Show and order a pizza. Yeah, that sounds nice.