The Playbook

by Missy Johnson

  “Nothing,” I mutter, scowling at the change of subject. “The usual. Can we not talk about me for a while? What’s up with you? How’s work?” I ask.

  Her face brightens. “Good actually. I think I’m being considered for a promotion already. I’m not supposed to know, but I overheard my boss talking about it.”

  “That’s great news,” I say, genuinely happy for her. If anyone deserves to be rewarded for her effort, it’s Erin. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that she’s still only eighteen. “Hey, let’s go out and grab some lunch or something. Like old times,” I suggest.

  Erin grins at me and nods. “That’d be great.”

  It used to be a regular thing, catching up over lunch and a few drinks to chat about what was going on in our lives. But then life got in the way and our catch ups took a back seat. I kind of miss knowing what’s going on with her. And with Mum too. I’ve been so focused on fucking up my own damn life that I’ve forgotten to check in with the people I love. God, listen to me, getting all sentimental. Too much alcohol always brings out the pussy in me.

  It’s late afternoon when I finally get home. I down some water and painkillers, turn my phone off—which hasn’t stopped ringing since I left the club—and dive into bed, falling asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

  It's after midnight when I wake up and I'm feeling better until I see my phone. Over twenty missed calls from Serj and a dozen more texts. I make myself a sandwich—partly trying to stall dealing with him—and then call him back.

  “About bloody time, you dipshit! Where the hell have you been?” he shouts down the phone.

  “I felt sick, so I came home.” There was no point telling him I was utterly useless after doing God knows what all night. No doubt he knows about my run-in with the coach.

  “Cut the crap, Jake. You think I don't talk to Karl? I'm your agent;, it's my job to keep track of you and if you go AWOL they are gonna call me, so where the hell did you go?”

  “Look, back the fuck off, Serj,” I growl. “I felt sick so I went home.”

  “How?” he barks. “Your fucking car is still there.”

  “My sister came and got me,” I retort.

  “Because you were too hungover to drive yourself?”

  “No, I—”

  “JAKE,” he barks, his voice so loud that I jump. “I know you were hung-over. Don't fucking lie to me,” he hisses, clearly agitated. I seem to be having that effect on a lot of people lately. “You’re in every fucking magazine doing shots off some chick’s body.”

  “Serj—” I pause. I am? How do I have no recollection of that? I almost feel ripped off that I don’t remember. I make a mental note to hit google image search later. “Fine, I had a few drinks, but I was not hung-over. I’m sorry, okay? I was worked up last night and couldn't sleep, so thought a cheeky drink would help; is that such a crime?”

  “In Crystal Hill it is, yes! I've spent most of the afternoon trying to save your career, you dumb fuck.”

  “They won't fire me, Serj, they—”

  “Jake, they were so close to letting you go. You need to wise up and do as you're told or next time you are out. Can I make that any clearer?” He sighs. “I can't keep saving your ass like this. I'm not paid enough for this shit.”

  “But they can't fire me.” For the first time, the enormity of the situation begins to kick in. As shitty as it is, I need this job.

  “You pull another stunt like this, Jake, and your career is over. For good this time.” His tone softens. “I’m serious, you need to drop this attitude and wise up.” His words sink in and I stand there silently, running my hand through my tangled hair.

  “I take it you’re listening this time?” he asks. It must be obvious from the lack of retorts shooting from my mouth.

  “Serj, I got it, okay?” I mutter the words, my expression sullen enough to rival a depressed teenager’s.

  “Good. Now go back to bed—alone—get some rest and I will speak to you tomorrow”

  He hangs up, and for the first time in my life, I do as I'm told.

  Chapter Eight

  Jake

  Saturday morning—game day—I wake up before the alarm goes off, and I’m feeling pretty good. It’s been three days since I last drank, and though my body protested to begin with, I actually feel better for it.

  The only shit thing in my life is the fact that I’m still stuck at Crystal Hill. Maybe Erin is right. If I work hard I can repair my reputation and just maybe another club will give me a chance. But for now, I resign myself to the fact that I’ve got to play with a bunch of useless assholes who couldn’t win a game against a bunch of pre-teen girls.

  When my alarm goes off, I get up and straight into the shower. I know I need to be on top of my game today, not only because I want to win, but because I know I can’t have any more photos of me printed. The fucking paparazzi will do anything to make me look bad.

  Arriving at the club, I walk into the change rooms and head straight for my locker, not even bothering to acknowledge anyone. Not that there’s anyone to actually acknowledge. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them all huddled in the corner, laughing at something. My body tenses, and right away I assume it’s something to do with me. Not that I really give a shit, but when Murray looks up and laughs, my defenses kick in tenfold.

  “Well, good morning, sunshine; feeling better today, are we?” He raises his eyebrows. It’s a blatant attempt to bait me but I’m not biting. Yet.

  “Much better, thanks for your concern,” I say, my tone dry. I nod in the direction of the iPad Luke is holding. “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “Ah, Jakey, not everything in this world is about you,” he shakes his messy blond hair from his eyes. “Though I know you think it is.”

  “What the fuck is your problem, Murray?” I growl, spitting the words at him. “Are you this much of a cunt to everyone, or am I special?” I step toward him menacingly, my hands balled into tight fists beside me. So much for staying away from trouble. Serj’s words ring in my head.

  “Guys, come on,” Dean stands in front of Murray, pulling him away from me. “Dude, we talked about this; he’s not worth it,” he says to Murray, nodding in my direction. I let out a laugh. It’s like I’m not even here.

  Murray still staring at me, nods his head. He narrows his dark, hate-filled eyes, then just like that, he’s grinning at me.

  “Benj Horton is a good friend of yours, right?”

  “Yeah, so what?” I reply, my guard up. Benj was one of the few players on my old team that I actually got on with. I wait for Murray to continue, knowing it isn’t going to be good.

  He reaches over and yanks the iPad out of Luke’s hands, tossing it in my direction. I scan it. What the hell is this shit? If the subject were anyone else but Benj, I’d be laughing. It’s that fucking blog again, this time with an interview with a chick slating him after spending a night with him. The story goes into extreme detail, outlining everything from his preferences in the sack, to how he disappeared in the morning, leaving a wad of cash on the nightstand.

  “Oh man,” I mutter. For once it’s not about me, but I really feel for Benj. I know from experience there are two sides to every story.

  “My favourite line is: ‘I had to fake every orgasm because he has a baby dick.’ That is fucking hilarious. He’s not gonna pull again any time soon, huh? Unless it’s with his own hand,” Murray jokes. The other guys dissolve into fits of laughter.

  “So do all you guys from Tottenham Park all have baby dicks?” asks Pete. I glare at him. I’ve been here a week and that’s the first time he’s spoken to me.

  “Not as small as they are here,” I snap. This is going to be a long day. Hell, it’s going to be a long season. I scan the article again, trying to find a way to track down the source. This blog needs to be stopped. First that letter to Ash, then my photo, and now this? I have no idea who is behind “The Playbook,” but they’re fucking with the wrong people.

  Ign
oring the chuckling from my teammates, I toss the iPad back at Luke. Sure, it’s funny now, but wait till it’s their names being dragged through the mud. I’m outnumbered, so there’s no point trying to defend my old clubmates, and anything I say is only going to get me in trouble. I can’t afford to fuck up again and Murray knows it. I tense as he walks over to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. I don’t move a muscle, because if I do my fist is going to find his face.

  “Jake,” he grins, amusement in his eyes, “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I think we need to at least try to get along; we’re teammates, after all. I’m the captain of this team and I should be setting an example for these idiots.” I’m sure he’s fucking with me, but I go along with his game.

  “Whatever. I’m here to win. That’s all. Whether or not you like me is the last thing on my mind.”

  “You really think you can just waltz in here and turn this team around?” He lets out a low laugh, his expression harsh. “You really do have tickets on yourself, don’t you?”

  “I have talent. If embracing that is being cocky, then that’s what I am,” I shrug. “You lot are useless. Everybody is going to know that because from here on, CHFC is going to win. It’s not going to be hard to connect the dots that I’m the difference.”

  Murray’s eyes blaze. He glares at me, his fists in tight balls beside him. The other guys stand behind him in support, looking equally pissed. I sigh and rub my neck. This is only going to make things worse.

  “You think you’re that good? Prove it,” Murray sneers.

  “I plan to. That’s the whole point, remember?” I remind him. “You wanna make this interesting, I’m all for it. I can wipe the floor with this entire team.”

  “Fuck, you’re unbelievable,” Murray says. He shakes his head in dismay.

  “Your mum said the same thing to me last night,” I reply, “right before she planted herself on my cock.”

  “You fucking—” He lunges at me, but Luke and Ezra hold him back. I laugh, my arms crossed over my chest. “Geez, you can’t take a joke. Which is surprising, considering you’re playing for one.”

  “You and me, Tanner. First to score three goals wins. Winner picks the loser’s punishment.”

  I shrug. “Easy. Make it five if you like.”

  Coach calls us over for a pep talk, not that I need it. I’m pumped and ready to prove myself. Murray spins some bullshit about being a team and playing to win, but I’m not even listening. I’m too busy figuring out what depraved, embarrassing, soul-destroying things I can come up with for his punishment.

  “Jake, got a second?” I look up and see Serj. I glance at Karl, who nods impatiently. Serj pulls me aside, his expression concerned.

  “Watch yourself out there, okay? I know you want this to work out because I know how much football means to you. Just go out there and play and ignore all the other shit, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Serj,” I mumble, looking straight ahead out into the stands. I spy the photographer I decked the other night standing on the sidelines. Great. “I gotta go. We’ll talk later,” I promise him. I race out onto the field with the other guys, my mind on one thing.

  Scoring three goals and leaving Murray to eat my dust.

  What the hell just happened out there? In my whole career, I’ve never played a game where I’ve not gotten a single possession, let alone goal. Until now.

  I storm into the change rooms after the guys, and grab Murray by his forearm. He turns around and plants his fist on my jaw, knocking me to the floor. The other guys stand around so I stay on the floor. I’m pissed off, but I’m not stupid.

  “You got something to say, Tanner?” he snarls.

  “You set me up,” I retort, getting to my feet. “How the fuck could I win that bet when none of you would let me even look at the ball?” Dean and Mike at least have the decency to look sorry for me, while the rest of the guys just laugh.

  “Little Jakey,” Murray says, grinning, “you’re so cocky but so, so stupid. What did you think was going to happen? I knew the second you agreed I was going to win. These guys just helped me make sure of it.”

  “That’s not fucking fair and you know it. There was no chance of me getting a touch, let alone three fucking goals. You can fuck your bet. Whatever else you have planned, you can just forget it.”

  My jaw clenches, pain ripping through it. I can already feel it bruising, but I ignore it, because I’m too damn angry to focus on anything other than this.

  “A bet’s a bet, Jakey. Don’t tell me you’re going to wimp out on me? I’ve already thought up your punishment,” he says.

  “No fucking way, Murray. You’re a piece of shit. I’m not scared of you. I don’t know what your fucking problem is, but I don’t give a shit about you or your piece of crap little team here.” The pain in my jaw is nearly unbearable, and for a second I wonder if he’s broken it. Man, that guy can land a good punch. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be complimenting him on it.

  I stalk over to my locker and yank my bag out, keen to get out of there as fast as I can. I’m on the verge of calling Serj and telling him to fuck his management, followed by a call to Karl so I can tell him to fuck his football team, when Dean approaches me.

  “Look, a bet is a bet,” he says quietly, leaning against the lockers. He glances back at Murray, who is too preoccupied with himself to notice we’re talking. “These guys will never let up on you unless you go through with this. You’ve got four years here, mate. The punishment isn’t that bad anyway. Trust me.”

  I turn to look at him “Yeah? I follow through with this, and then what? They keep refusing to give me the ball? What’s the point in being here?”

  “To get paid. They’ll give up eventually. Trust me, mate. I was you last year.” He shrugs, and then walks off. I call out to him.

  “Dean?”

  “Yeah, mate?” he turns to look at me, expectantly.

  “I’m not your fucking mate.”

  Chapter Nine

  Abbey

  I'm sitting at the end of the bar watching all the hot guys walk in and look around the room, as if they’re weighing up their options. Nobody seems to notice me here, and I guess I kind of like it that way. I can sit here and observe, and try to guess what their story is. Like the guy who just walked in with the sexy brunette. He keeps glancing back at her friend, who walks a few feet behind them. She catches his eye every now and then. I’m convinced they’ve got something happening on the side, and the poor brunette has no idea.

  I take a sip of my cocktail and glance at my phone. Mel was supposed to be here half an hour ago, but I’m used to her standing me up. Besides, I’m having fun just enjoying my own company.

  My eyes widen when Adam walks in. He stops in the doorway and looks around. He spots me and waves. My heart begins to pound as he walks in my direction. I wet my lips and smile, hoping I look more in control than I feel.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs when he reaches me. I gasp as he sweeps my hair back behind my ear, keeping his hand on the side of face. He kisses me, my lips tingling as his touch mine. “Abbey, I’ve been wanting to say this for so long.”

  “Yes?” I urge him as his fingers trail down over my breasts. He smiles lazily and leans closer to me.

  “Beep! Beep! Beep!”

  I sit bolt upright in bed, panting furiously. What the hell was that? I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved it was only a dream. The empty feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it’s more of the former.

  Sighing I get out from under the covers, still fully dressed. I throw my hair back in a clip and take my laptop out to the kitchen, where I make myself a coffee as I wait for it to load.

  I juggle my coffee and laptop, while checking my email, over to the couch. Sitting down, I let out a squeal. That can’t be right! I have six hundred new emails.

  “Fuck me,” I say quietly to myself.

  “I’ve got to be still dreaming,” I mut
ter, my voice getting louder with excitement. I’m not sure which is more unbelievable—hooking up with Adam or this.

  As I read through the emails, I’m elated that they are all really quite positive, thanking me for speaking up. I have emails from women who have been with men just like guys I’m calling out. Finishing off my coffee, I spot a few emails headed with names. Names that I recognize—more footballers, like Tom Pritchard and Matt Denson, both top players for their respective teams. I click on one of them and start reading.

  Dear playbook,

  I loved your email outing Asher - and I want to urge you to continue with your quest.

  I recently went on a date with Matt Denson and suffice to say he was an awful person. He talked down to me, treated me like shit in front of his mates, only to turn it around and treat me like a princess when they had left. If only I had realised that it was to get me into bed. The worst part is that I let this happen. I feel so stupid. I can’t prove it, but I think he even took photos of us having sex. I’m terrified they’re going to wind up in the wrong hands and ruin my life.

  You have to stop him from doing this - please if you are doing another article, let it be Matt.

  I can give you more info if you want it, so please call me.

  Sandy

  I take down her number and name in my notepad. I’m sure I’ve heard Mel go on about Matt in the past. I wonder if she knows anything? Not that I can exactly ask her without her getting suspicious.

  Clicking open the next email, I read a couple of paragraphs about Tom Pritchard. I add his details to my notebook, already sure this guy’s only crime was not proposing to the girl at the end of their date.

  Picking up my phone, I punch in the number Sandy put in her email and send her a text.

  Me: Hi Sandy. Can you meet me at Thrive in an hour? I’m interested to hear more. The Playbook.

  I get a reply almost instantly.

  Sandy: Wow, really? I’ll see you there. Thanks so much.