Jameson nods, wiping some red lipstick off his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I thought I took her home last night?”
Channing shrugs. “You did, but then she showed up here and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t be rude, right?”
Right. And in Channing’s opinion, not being rude means sticking his cock in her mouth. Fucking typical.
I’m about to crack a joke about it but Dad shakes his head and by the way he’s grinding his jaw, I know he’s pissed.
The meeting with prospective sponsors must’ve not gone like he hoped.
“That bad?” I ask.
“I have a few leads and a plan B that’s ambitious but might work if everything else fails. I just need one thing from you guys,” he says, with a tired sigh.
“We’ll win the next events and this year we’ll go to Nationals as State Champions.” I promise.
Dad levels me with a hard stare. “I appreciate your drive and your motivation, Peyton; but you know better than me that diving at the level we want is fucking expensive. Wild Horse’s money would’ve been a huge help. Especially if we want to beat the Angels and now, instead, they have that sponsor.”
I feel fury mounting again. Always the damn Angels, always in our fucking way! “We can beat those losers this year,” I declare. “Especially with the mods I’m planning on our wingsuits.”
Dad sighs. “Can you even hear yourself, son?”
His tone rubs me the wrong way and I struggle to keep my irritation at bay. “Why, you don’t believe we have the skills? We’ve been training hard. And you know I have the technical knowledge to design cutting edge wingsuits, I—”
“Wingsuits cost money, Peyton. And they need to be tested, and that costs even more money if you want to do it in safety. I have no doubt about your skills. And the Devils’ skills. But last year the Cove Angels won State and then Nationals. That, with their legacy, means that their pockets are full. Wild Horse going with them is a huge blow for our team’s finances.”
I run a hand through my hair, now feeling positively furious. “Well they fucking bet on the wrong horses! Mark my words, I’ll fucking wipe the tarmac with Darrius Penn’s ass all summer. Like the French team did with him at Worlds. And then the sponsors will line up at our doors.”
I’m not being an arrogant asshole, I swear. That’s mostly Darrius Penn’s job. He wins because he joined the best team in the country and it’s his fault that years ago I wasn’t selected. “When I’m done with that asshole and his team, Star Cove will have just one team, the Cove Devils, like it should be.”
Dad interrupts me, the rivalry between our two teams runs deep and it isn’t just sport related, it’s personal. “Right. But if you want that to happen, we need sponsors. And if you want those to pan out, there’s two things I need from the three of you.”
Something in his tone and in the way he’s looking at us tells me that we won’t like whatever he’s about to say. “You need to be civilized toward the Angels. No more spats during interviews and on social media.”
I immediately react. “You know very well that they started it. They keep going for our sponsors and they signed Trent just to spite us!”
Dad shakes his head. “Right, that might be so and Trent left because they offered him more money. I know you and Penn have always hated each other, but you need to kept your fucking temper in check.”
I roll my eyes. He knows that hell will freeze over before there’s going to be peace between the Cove Angels and the Cove Devils.
“Peyton, I fucking mean it. Don’t rise to their provocations and start cultivating a better relationship with the press. That’s one of the things that drives sponsors away. Penn is the press’s sweetheart and the sponsors love that.”
I grind my jaw; I know that the ass chewing isn’t over and I willingly take the bait. “What’s the other thing? You said you needed two things from us.”
He nods. “Clean up your fucking image. Stop being photographed with different groupies at every turn. Wild Horse passed on us because of shit like this.” He opens his phone, showing me articles I’ve seen before.
Tons of pics of us at parties, surrounded by different girls. There’s a few where I have my hand down someone’s panties; one of J doing body shots on a topless girl at a beach party; Channing with a chick’s nipple in his mouth at a club and humping a different girl on the dance floor at the same party later that night.
Every article talks about our wild partying and numerous hookups; the press has named us “The Heartbreakers.”
I don’t fucking get what the problem is. “Are you serious? Sponsors have a problem with a party or two?”
Dad puts his phone back in his pocket, his frustration is more than clear. “You’re athletes, not fucking rock stars! Sponsors want a cleaner image and if you want to have the money for your new wingsuit, you three have to clean up your act. No more Heartbreakers antics. Find yourself a steady girlfriend, or even better, keep it in your pants.”
I look at my two best friends and they look as pissed as I am; we aren’t the relationship types and what the fuck does it matter to anyone if we play as hard as we work?
“With all respect Ken,” Channing objects. “We can try and be better with the press and ignore Penn and his team of assholes, but shouldn’t winning be what attracts sponsors? And it isn’t like Darrius Penn doesn’t fuck around. He just broke up with his girlfriend and the rumor is that he was caught cheating. So why is it that the sponsors flock to him? He lost spectacularly at Worlds and he’s one sleazy motherfucker if I ever saw one.”
Dad sighs. “It’s all down to perception, guys. If he fucks around as much as you do, he certainly doesn’t get caught on camera doing it. And you know better than me why he’s so popular.”
I clench my fists so hard that my knuckles turn white; the urge to sink my fists in Darrius Penn’s face is stronger than ever. “Because the Angels is Patrick DeLaurent’s team. They are The Team.”
And I’d be in his place if he hadn’t played dirty five years ago.
Dad looks each of us in the eyes. “I’m only telling you what you need to do to put us in the position to compete with him and even out the odds. And I have just the thing that will kick start your new image. And to do that, we need to look good in front of the enemy; friendly even.”
I look at Dad as if he’s sprouted a second head. “Friendly? With the Angels? I’m sorry, Dad, I mean no disrespect, but what the fuck have you been smoking?” At the risk of repeating myself, we’ll be friendly with the Angels when hell is under a thick slab of ice, with Darrius Penn trapped right underneath it.
But whatever my father is planning, he’s dead serious. “I mean it, Peyton. No more wild nights with groupies and no more fighting. And it starts tonight. Gina DeLaurent is having a party to celebrate her only daughter’s birthday. I’ve scored the three of you invites; of course the Angels will be there. This is your first chance to start building your new image. This is non-negotiable. Fail to show up or get into any kind of trouble with Penn and his team, and so help me God, I’m going to start recruiting a new team for the next State event.”
I look at my brothers. Channing and Jameson look as excited I am at the thought of making nice with fuckface Penn and his cronies.
The fuck am I going to their lame party! But I get my stubborn streak from my father and when our eyes meet I know that he isn’t issuing an empty threat. Fuck my life, and most of all, fuck Darrius Penn!