No Boundaries

“I heard tonight’s the Dean.”

I nodded.

“I need you to keep the boys in check. Keep things light.” There were dark circles under his eyes.

“Light?” No one on the coaching staff attended the Dean, and they never would, but it didn’t mean they didn’t know what went on there. Players talked. And God help the man whose wife or girlfriend found out about it.

“You’re the team captain. I need you to show some leadership. Restraint. Moderation.” He eyed me like a father telling his son taking a girl to first base was okay, but rounding second was out of the question on a first date.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Coach. I’ll keep an eye on the team. I’ll probably have a beer and leave. These things don’t last long anyway.”

“We don’t need bad press, Wes. We’re on the verge of the playoffs, and this party couldn’t be more ill-timed. If one of my players ends up in the headlines, it jeopardizes everything we’ve worked for all season. You get that?”

I could appease the man, or I could tell him to fuck off and stop worrying like a damn grandma.

“Got it, Coach. The boys will behave. Don’t worry.”

He smiled grimly. “All right. You know the AFA rules. You know what’s at stake. They’re looking for anything that could be a potential problem. They don’t want their playoff teams crippled with scandal. It’s bad business, Wes.”

I gripped my bag, trying to inch closer to my car. “Anything else, Coach?” I couldn’t give a fuck what the AFA cared about. I won games. I collected my paycheck. That was the extent of my relationship with the American Football Association.

He shook his head. “Nah. Have a good time.” He pulled his visor snugly across his forehead and walked toward the staff offices.

I snarled as he vanished around the corner. I wasn’t a damn babysitter, and I wasn’t about to tell a bunch of grown men what they could and couldn’t do at a party. This was our present from the rookies, and if it involved women, booze, and some competitive poker, I wasn’t going to stop it. I deserved it. I had thrown the party my rookie year, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

I started my Porsche, revving the engine a few times before peeling out of the parking lot.

This rookie squad had spared no expense. They had rented the penthouse of the Grand Rio, overlooking the Riverwalk. I barged through the doors, smiling at my teammates.

“Wes!” Stubbs jumped over the couch with a beer in his hand.

I cracked the lid and took a sip. “These fuckers did a pretty good job.” I observed the girls in lingerie handing out drinks.

“They’ve got a special surprise for you.” He waggled his eyebrows. “But I can’t say what.”

“Really?” I finished off the beer.

One of my linemen walked over. “Dude, this is epic.” There was a brunette wearing a sheer bra and panties wrapped around him.

“I can see that.” I eyed her tits, which were basically exposed. She batted her eyelashes at me.

“So where’s my gift?” If Bruno had this girl, I could only imagine what they had lined up for me.

Sam Hickson strolled over. He was by far the best tight end I had ever played with. And he had become the unnamed spokesman for this year’s rookie class. I liked the guy. He was solid on the field and didn’t let his personal shit interfere with the game.

He tossed me my second beer. “We’ve got a space waiting for you.”

My eyebrows rose. “You do?”

“Come on, man.” He led me through the girls and the impromptu dance floor that had just started.

Sam opened the French doors to the balcony, and I grinned when I saw what he had in store.

“You like it?” he asked.

I walked toward the table and sat in one of the velvet chairs. “What’s the buy in?”

“We thought fifty K would be a good start.”