Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

“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.”

I felt the surge of adrenaline shoot through me. I felt the chips roll through my fingers before I stacked them back in place.

“Who’s playing?” I asked.

“Me and a few of the other guys.” Sam sat next to me. Soon the table was full.

One of the guys, I didn’t even know his name, pulled out a box of Cubans and placed them on the table.”

“Nice.” I smiled, lighting one.

The doors opened, and a waitress appeared with a bottle of scotch and five glasses. She leaned in front of me, wafting her perfume in front of my nose, along with a good look at her nipples. She smiled at me while she poured my drink. I slapped her on the ass as she turned back for the suite.

I looked around the table. “You bastards have managed to not fuck up the DEAN. Good job.” I took a puff of the cigar and looked at the cards in my hand.

Sam tried to put on a poker face before we started. “And the night’s not even over.”