Boring! Had this conversation...too many times before.
"I see the look on your face," Pretore says with a sigh. "They're not joking this time."
"Let me guess...they're going to demand I go to the children's ward of Raleigh Community Hospital and sign autographs or something. Show that I'm really a teddy bear inside."
"That's not a bad idea, but no. They want you a little more involved."
For the first time in this conversation, I feel a tiny thread of apprehension move through me, and only because Pretore's voice has gone from tired and frustrated with me to actually a bit fearful. Whatever the suits want me to do, Pretore doesn't think I'll agree to do it, so I'm guessing he's getting ready for there to be a big fight on his hands.
"Spill it," I say quietly.
"They want you to be the team spokesman for an anti-drug-abuse campaign."
"I can do that," I say cautiously, because I can. I have no problem with supporting worthy causes, and even though I'm an asshole, I know how to put a smile on my face when I want to...for the greater good, you know.
"Specifically, they want you to work closely with the Wake County Drug Crisis Center and implement a program to talk to at-risk youth throughout the state."
"That's fine," I say, but the apprehension increases because this is sounding a little too easy.
"They have very specific requirements," Pretore says firmly.
I just cock an eyebrow at him, urging him to just lay it the fuck out. He's killing me here.
Taking a piece of paper from a folder on his desk, he hands it over to me. I take it and scan it, noting an itemized list of stuff, but I just look back up at him.
"Essentially, they want you committing at least five hours a week during the season, on non-game days, of course. Off-season, twenty hours a week."
"Jesus fucking Christ," I curse, because I just became the equivalent of a felon who came out on parole.
"That's not all. They are going to have your liaison report to them weekly on your progress and your attitude. They'll give him or her a list of criteria you must meet."
"No fucking way," I snarl but Pretore ignores me.
"If you don't agree, I've been told that you are to be benched indefinitely and all bonuses forfeit."
"Do I have to wear an ankle monitor too?" I growl.
"Finally," he says, his voice even stronger, "at any time they deem you to have made an ass of yourself to the public or to our fans--and the 'ass' is their word, not mine--they are going to fine you five thousand dollars per infraction."
I open my mouth to curse again, but nothing comes out. Coldness washes through me as I realize my employer has just drawn a pretty deep line in the sand. I have two choices--do what they tell me or kiss my career goodbye.
And the fucked-up thing about it--the kissing my career goodbye seems like the better choice for me at this very moment.
--
Walking up the stairs to my apartment, I pull my keys out of my pocket, eager to strip out of my monkey suit and drink a cold beer. When I hit the top step, I stop as I recognize who is standing at my door.
"What are you doing here?" I ask tiredly.
Cassie cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me, pursing her full lips as she smirks at me. "You had a great game tonight--which means you're probably in the pissiest of moods. I thought I'd come over and help you blow off some steam...'blow' being the key word."
Yeah, Cassie Gates gives the best head and I'm probably not going to turn her down, but it pisses me off that she came over without me asking her to. She's been my casual hookup for the past year, ever since moving to Raleigh with her sister, Allie, whose husband, Kyle Steppernech, is a defenseman for the Cold Fury.
"You weren't invited," I tell her as I insert the key into the lock, not even bothering to look at her.
She merely steps in close and reaches a well-manicured hand down to cup me between the legs. Leaning her chin on my shoulder, she whispers, "Come on, Alex...you know I'll make you feel good."
Her hand squeezes me and, along with the sexy purr in her voice, it works like magic, and I start to get hard. Cassie's a fucking knockout with her platinum blond hair, mile-long legs, and fantastic tits, so yeah...my body reacts.
Pushing the door open, I walk in, dislodging her hand but knowing she'll follow me to finish the job. I hear her close the door as I walk into the kitchen. Dropping my bag on the floor, I pull a beer from the fridge and twist the cap, tossing it in the sink. Taking a deep swallow, I watch as she walks into the kitchen, sauntering forward like a woman on a mission.
I know she thinks she has me figured out. That she can worm her way into a relationship with me by giving great blow jobs and even hotter sex, but she's way off base. No self-respecting woman would get down on her knees for an asshole like me, just to try to trap an asshole like me.
If I had more of a conscience, I might feel guilty about the give-and-take of our situation, but I've got no qualms about the part where I take what she is offering. I've been straight up, honest with her about how I play, and relationships aren't part of my makeup. She knows she's barking up the wrong tree if she's looking for anything more than Richter-inducing orgasms.
"Don't come over again unless I invite you," I tell her after I take another swallow of beer.
Stepping up close to me, she trails a finger along my jaw, smiling apologetically. "Sure thing, baby."
"I'm not your baby," I remind her, just because I feel like being an even bigger asshole than I normally am.
"What are you, then?" she teases me as she starts to work at my belt buckle.
"I'm the guy that fucks you when it suits me. Nothing more."
She chuckles, because that's not the first time she's heard those words from my lips. But being the glutton for punishment that she is, she merely says, "My, my, my...you are in supreme asshole mood tonight. I don't get why you have to be so mean."
Stepping away from her grasp, I walk into the living room, grab a pillow off the couch and walk back into the kitchen. I resume my spot in front of her and drop the pillow at her knees.
"There," I tell her, pointing down at the pillow with an evil smile. "So your knees don't get sore. See...I can be a nice guy."
And because Cassie expected no different of me, because this is actually a nice gesture on my part, she laughs in delight as she tugs open my fly and reaches her hand inside. With a few strokes, I'm ready for more and I push down on her head until she's kneeling in front of me.
She looks up at me with smoky gray eyes that would really be quite beautiful if I didn't know about all of the conniving she hides behind them.
"Let's see if I can put a smile on your face," she says and gives me a sexy purse of her lips.
I bring my hand up and skim my fingers tenderly across her cheek. I love the feel of a woman's skin, no matter if poison runs in her veins. Sliding my fingers through the hair at her temple, I hold her gently as she leans forward and takes me in her mouth, content to let her do the work and for me to enjoy the ride.
Yeah...she'll put a smile on my face. But that's about the only thing she'll give me that's worth a damn.
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Sugar Daddy Page 21
