by Ryli Jordan
I can still hear my stupid moans echoing in my head. What an idiot.
I feel tears at the corners of my eyes, and I stand up abruptly. Mark isn't going to say anything that I don't already know, and I have to get out of here before I embarrass myself further, I know. I can't believe…
But I can. These football players are spoiled brats, used to getting everything that they want in the world, and damn everyone else. I can't believe I fell for this shit.
I make it out into the hallway before I begin sobbing, and I run out of the building as quickly as I can, ignoring anyone that I run past.
My job here—my entire future—is ruined now. There's no way the Chicago Knights are going to let me back, and there's no way any other legitimate agency is going to hire me, not with this stain on my reputation. Even if I'm not really well-known enough for them to have placed me just yet, it's only a matter of time before every news agency in the country has my name and knows who I am—because after all, it's right there in those comments: “Ben Price sacks new assistant press agent!”
That's all it ever was to him, I know. And I'm ashamed that I fell for it.
Chapter Thirteen — Ben
I'm lying on the couch, trying to relax and forget the fact that everyone I know is currently at practice, when I get the text from Bubba. Hey man, check yo sex tape, it says, with a link to a Twitter video.
I roll my eyes a little but click the link.
It's no secret that I put my sex tapes up online as part of this contest with my teammates, but it's always funny to me to see which videos end up trending. Usually, there'll be a big spurt of interest at first, and then weeks will go by before anyone else watches it—and then suddenly, out of the blue, some of them will take off again.
This time, though, when I start the video in the link that Bubba's sent, I'm a little confused. I actually can't figure out which video this is—it's as though I've never seen it before. The moans sound familiar, and I recognize the way my fingers clamp possessively around the woman's hips. But it isn't until I see the cast on my ankle and hear myself ordering Marissa to do...all sorts of filthy things to me… that I really clue in.
Holy shit, this is the video I shot of Marissa the other night. The virgin Marissa. The sweet woman that opened up to me. The one I would have never tried to post our banging online.
I'm totally baffled for a second. I know that we got drunk together, but I don't think that I was drunk enough that I would have uploaded this to the internet without her knowing. And I don't think that she was drunk enough that she would have consented.
Couple that with the feeling that I don't remember ever even watching this, and I'm sure that something must be wrong here.
Thanks for leaving your phone unlocked yesterday, comes the text from Bubba, and I realize with a sinking heart that he has taken it upon himself to post the video that I never meant for the world to see.
I try frantically to delete the thing, because I know Marissa is going to flip out if she ever catches wind of this—which I'm sure she will since she's a journalist, tasked with saving the image of the Knight despite my shenanigans. But I can't delete the thing: since it was posted by Bubba, the only person who can delete it is him.
I call him immediately, but of course, he's still at practice, and he must have left his phone behind as soon as he sent me the message about checking out the damned thing.
And when I check, I realize that the video has been posted to literally hundreds of websites already, and the play count is growing obscenely. I don't care about myself being seen on video, but I know Marissa is going to be mad as hell.
And I don't know how I'm going to convince her that I never intended for this. The other night had felt good; we had clicked in a way that I basically never clicked with women. And why here I definitely didn't want to hurt her—and hell, I'd kind of been hoping that maybe we could do it again, with a little more fire next time.
That was never going to happen, not with this video out there.
As though my thoughts had summoned her call, I suddenly had an incoming call from Marissa. I grimaced and answered it, not entirely sure what I was in for.
“How could you?” she asked, but instead of the indignant screech I had kind of suspected, she was in tears, and I felt my heart break a little. “I trusted you,” she told me. “It was my first time, Ben, and I-” She hiccuped on a sob, and I winced.
“Marissa, trust me-” I began, but she didn't give me time to finish.
“No,” she interrupted. “Ben, I-” but she doesn't finish her thought either. Instead, I hear her gasp a little, and then I can hear the noisy chatter of paparazzi in the background. When you've been in the business for as long as I have, the sound is unmistakable. “You sent paparazzi to my house?” she asks, her voice a horrified whisper, and I can hear the fresh onslaught of tears in her voice.
“I didn't,” I tell her firmly. Shit, this is so bad. “Marissa, keep driving,” I tell her, making my voice as authoritative as possible. She seemed to respond to my orders the other night in bed, so I can only hope she'll respond just as easily over the phone like this. “Keep driving, and come over to my place. I need to talk to you, and I don't think-”
“The press would have a field day,” Marissa interrupts, the scorn evident in her tone. “If I go over to your place, they'll all see, and-”
“That doesn't matter,” I insist. “Marissa, trust me-”
“Screw you,” she says, and it's the first time that I hear her upset. “Ben, you've ruined my career—do you realize that? You've utterly destroyed it. Mark's already fired me, and I'm sure that now, every news agency in the country knows who I am and that I was the one on that stupid video that you posted, and-”
“I didn't post it,” I insist. “Marissa, I swear—I would never-”
“But you did, Ben,” Marissa insists, and she sounds hurt, in a way that I never wanted to hear from her. “I gave you my first time, and you… Well, you put it up on the internet so that strangers I don't even know can mock it. Everyone's commenting about-” Her voice chokes off, and she can't say anything else, and I feel horrible.
“This guy on my team, Bubba, he's the one that posted it,” I tell Marissa.
She snorts. “Why would Bubba Reade post my sex video online?” she scoffs.
And I hate to admit it, but… “Because I did the same thing not long ago,” I tell her, raking a hand back through my hair. “I mean, not exactly the same. But I saw this sex video on his phone, and it'd been a while since he'd posted anything. So I thought that I'd just post it for him and… Well, I'm sure he thought he was just doing the same thing and-”
“I got fired, Ben,” Marissa repeats, as though I might not have heard her the first time. “My career is over. And I can't do this anymore. Clearly this whole thing wasn't for me. Clearly I'm just some dumb girl who-”
“You're not,” I interrupt before she can go any further. “Marissa, god. You don't even know how beautiful you are. You're smart and you're sexy, and I started this whole thing just trying to get into your pants, but from the time we went to that children's hospital thing… You're the only person who's made me open up, in a long time. There's a reason I wanted you to be there when I was stuck at the hospital. There's a reason-”
“Ben, stop,” Marissa says, her voice sounding raw. “I can't...” She sighs. “I'm going to leave Chicago for a while,” she tells me. “And probably get a new phone number. I'm sorry, Ben, but I just can't do this. I-”
“Let me talk to Mark,” I plead with her. “This was all my fault—let me explain that to him. There's no reason you should be losing your job. If anyone should lose their job, it's me. I dragged you into this. I should never have made the video. I should have waited until you were sober before I pressured you into something that you maybe weren't comfortable with. I-”
“That wasn't what happened,” Marissa argues, and I'm glad at least to hear that much out of her. But it does nothing to really assu
age my guilt; I've still lost her her job.
“Come over,” I ask her again, my voice even more pleading.
“No,” she says though. “Ben, I'm sorry, but… Well, I really can't do this. I'm packing my bags as we speak, and I'm going out to my dad's place tonight.” I can practically hear her grimace in her next words. “He follows the Kings, so I only hope he hasn't seen...”
“Come over,” I tell her instead, almost desperately—and I'm not sure why I'm so eager to prove myself to her. If it were any other woman, I'd probably be laughing this whole thing off with Bubba, thinking about how stupid she was to let me con her into taking the video in the first place. But Marissa isn't just any other girl.
“No,” she says again. “No, I...” She trails off. “I'm sorry you weren't the person I thought you were, Ben,” she tells me, her voice sounding far away and wistful. “I really thought...” She trails off again.
“Marissa, wait!” I say. But I'm talking to a dead line already.
Chapter Fourteen — Ben
I know that the only way to convince Marissa that I never meant for this to happen is to talk to her, and I know I'm not going to get a chance to talk to her except face-to-face; she isn't answering my calls anymore, and after a while, the line doesn't even ring, as though she's turned the thing off entirely.
But since she has told me she's going over to her dad's that night, I know I have to act fast.
I still can't drive myself, so I decide to order an Uber. Fortunately, the guy arrives quickly, and when I explain why I'm rushing over to Marissa's, he steps on it.
When I get to Marissa's, there are paparazzi everywhere outside—and I know that there's no back entrance to the place. I frown and try to think of some way to get through them. But it's not as though I have security guards with me, and I can't let them barricade Marissa inside.
This whole thing just isn't fair to her. And having never had to deal with the paparazzi before, I can only imagine that she must be feeling a bit scared and upset. I need to get in there and make sure that she's okay.
I make the split-second decision to get out of the car, even though I know this is going to cause an epic media storm. But I know that I can't let Marissa take the fall for this one. Maybe she shouldn't have slept with me, but I had been the one egging her on. I had been the one to persuade her to have sex with me. And ultimately, it was my fault that the sex tape had happened and that it had been leaked. I had to take responsibility for that.
The thing was, if it had been any other girl, I wouldn't have risked my career like this. But with Marissa, it wasn't about risking my career or not; it was about looking out for a girl that I kind of...liked.
And press storm or not, I was a football player; I knew that I could push through the paparazzi if I needed to. But they thankfully gave me a pretty wide berth due to my injury, although there were camera flashes going off left and right.
I eventually made it to the doorstep and rang the doorbell. “Marissa, it's me,” I called through the door, wishing that her phone were turned on and that I could at least text her. “Please open the door and let me explain!”
I didn't care what kinds of foolish nonsense the paparazzi heard me utter right then; it was as though they didn't even exist and it was just Marissa and I in this curious bubble of time and space.
I rang the doorbell again and again, just hoping that she would come to the door.
“Ben, what does this mean?” one of the reporters shouted near my ear. “Are you dating this woman?”
“Why do you care so much about her?” another called.
“Was this more than just a one-night stand?”
The questions become more and more numerous, and the crowd begins to close in on me.
“Marissa!” I yell, almost desperate to get away from the journalists and into her warm embrace.
She finally opens the door and tugs me inside, slamming the thing shut behind me.
For a long time, neither of us speaks. I'm still reeling from the crowd outside, feeling adrenaline rush through my body. Marissa, I'm sure, is still upset with me and is trying to figure out what exactly to say to me.
“You shouldn't be here,” is what she finally settle on.
“I know,” I say with a groan, closing my eyes briefly. “Look, Marissa—I figured this was the only way to get you to talk to me. And I need to-”
“I don't want to hear anything that you have to say,” Marissa says, childishly putting her hands up over her ears, as though that's going to stop the words from penetrating.
“What are the Kings going to do to you?” Marissa demands. “I'm the girl and I get fired—but what is the jock going to get punished with? Maybe they'll suspend you for a game or two—but you're out for the season already. By the time next season starts, this will all have been forgotten. Because after all, you're the star quarterback...”
I grimace and shake my head. “Marissa, honestly—I'm not sure how this is going to affect things,” I tell her. “Remember, you know as well as I do that my contract is on pretty shaky terms at the moment. I just haven't been delivering the points this season, and now that I'm out for the rest of the season anyway… Well, there are a lot of people who are calling for me to be fired. It's a very real possibility that I'll be traded to another team, or will at least be bought out and listed as a free agent.”
“Bullshit,” Marissa says with a snort. “You're Ben Price. Anyway, if they were going to do anything to you, they would have done it already. I was fired hours ago, and they must have known who I was for even longer. But they've already shown that they don't care that you post your sexcapades online for anyone to see. Why should it matter this time, even if I was an employee?”
She sounds bitter, and I can't blame her. The truth is, I don't really know how this will impact me or even if it will. I haven't heard anything from management yet, but that doesn't mean there's nothing forthcoming. I decide to try and reassure her.
“Just because they haven't said anything yet, it doesn't mean that they're not going to,” I tell her. “I just walked through a bunch of paparazzi outside your place, which means that there will be yet another shameful story about me in every paper and tabloid in the country. On top of that, if they were planning to trade me, well. Those trades take time and negotiation. There's no saying that there isn't something already in process.”
“Wouldn't they haul you into any sort of negotiations they were doing?” Marissa asks suspiciously.
“Not necessarily,” I say grimly—and the more I think about it, the more likely it is that they're sitting there already behind closed doors, trying to figure out what they can salvage from this situation. Even though I haven't been posting great numbers that season, every team in the league knows the potential is there, and they'll be trying to get the best deal possible. There could be some very interesting discussions over the next few days…
“I won't have much a choice in whatever it is that they decide,” I say with a sigh. “The fact is, Marissa, that unless I retire—which I don't plan on doing anytime soon—I'm contractually bound to follow through with whatever sort of trade they offer, unless I want to buy out my own contract. That means I could end up anywhere, on any team.”
Marissa is silent at that. “Then why did you come here?” she asks. “If there was so much at risk...”
“To be honest, I wasn't thinking about that part of things,” I admit. “I was just thinking about the fact that you were probably sitting in here all by yourself and worried about what was happening outside. And I was thinking about how unfair that was to you. I wanted to try to salvage things between us, if I could.”
Marissa stares at me for a long moment, and I wonder if maybe I've managed to convince her that I really didn't mean for the video to get out and that I really do care for her.
But in the next moment, her face is back to neutral, and she turns her head away from me. “Ben, you should leave,” she tells me.
“Wait,” I sa
y. It's a long shot and a last resort, but… “Sue them,” I tell her. “Here, I can give you the name of a friend who is an attorney. And you can sue the Chicago Kings. And me as well.”
Marissa laughs a little. “Sue you?” she asks, sounding incredulous. “What exactly am I supposed to sue you for? You saw the tape, I'm sure. Does it look at any point like I'm not enjoying myself?”
I shrug a little. “Maybe not, but no one can fault you for having a good time,” I say with a little leer. Marissa doesn't look amused, and I shake my head. “Harassment, for one,” I tell her, ticking the offenses off on my fingers. “Sue me for harassment. And discrimination, both by me and by your employer. And unfair employment—there's no reason why the clause about not sleeping with coworkers should apply to you and not to me.” I shrug. “I'm sure there are more reasons, but I'm not a lawyer. This guy, Matthew Rivers, will help you, though.”
She looks indecisive. “But what about you?” she asks. “I'm sure that suing you and the team isn't going to make your situation any better. And-”
“Don't worry about me,” I say grimly. “Marissa, it's about time I took some responsibility for my actions. I've been acting very stupid for a very long time now. And anyway, lately things haven't really been working out for me in Chicago. Maybe this is a sign that I should move on and find a different team and a different home.”
Marissa continues to stare at me for a long moment, but she finally nods, seeing, I'm sure, that there's no other way. “Okay,” she agrees. “Give me this guy's name and I'll get in contact with him.”
Chapter Fifteen — Marissa
There are no words for how nervous I am as I walk into the attorney's office to settle this case once and for all (I hope). Matthew has told me that it's a good thing I'm suing the Chicago Kings because they never want their lawsuits to go into a public court and are nearly always willing to settle outside of the courts. He says it's pretty likely that we'll be able to get a tidy settlement for the case, as well as the removal of the dirty sex video and some other things.
