Page 38 of Tight End

Challenge fucking accepted, dick.

Chapter 15

Sam

Isit with my back straight against the leather office chair the next day. Late morning sunlight streams into the office through the loosely drawn blinds. It shines onto the top of Max Riley’s bald head, giving him an angelic look.

Which is completely ironic considering he’s bright red with anger at my role in the shit show otherwise known as last night.

Rex texted me right before I showed up for practice so I knew the ambush was coming. And how considerate of them to let me get in a grueling workout before pouncing on me like a feral cat on a very unlucky mouse.

“Your involvement with Brixton Scott shines a negative light on you as well as the team,” Max Riley, the Oakland GM, says. His forehead is pinched with worry, and I get why. He’s new to the team, and the last thing he wants are any players who are problem children. Doesn’t matter that they may be one of the best tight ends in the league. Perception is the only thing that matters.

And right now, his perception of me isn’t great.

“Sir, I understand?—”

Max’s eyes narrow. “I don’t think you do, Hartley. Any affiliation with that train wreck of a man will reflect poorly on you. Perception becomes reality.”

My stomach sinks a little bit when he confirms what I already thought.

That I am completely fucked.

Except the reason goes way beyond just me interceding in a bar fight.

I rake a hand through my hair, which is still damp from my shower. A cold shower because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happened in my guest room last night. And all that X-rated fantasizing is very inconvenient when you’re showering together with a group of guys.

“Look, we realize we can’t tell you how to live your life,” Coach Taylor says slowly, stroking his chin. “But it doesn’t take much for a player’s popularity to plummet. We’ve seen it happen before. And if anything happens to your performance, the fans will be relentless on social media. Remember when Jessica Simpson dated Tony Romo? His game went straight down the crapper and everyone blamed it on Yoko Romo.”

I swallow a snort. “My performance has been great. So obviously none of this has had an impact on it.”

Forget the fact that we only just officially started “dating” last night.

“We understand Mr. Scott will be holding a press conference at noon to discuss the altercations that took place last night and to make a public apology.” Max’s lips stretch tight. “I’ve heard that the man who was beaten is pressing charges.”

“Yeah, well in California, it’s legal to defend someone other than yourself.”

A look of surprise flickers in Max’s expression. “I wasn’t awareof that.”

“Now you are. So there aren’t actually grounds for a lawsuit.” I shrug. “The guy should have thought twice about attacking Brixton’s bandmate. He opened himself up to trouble.”

The tension in the office damn near chokes me. I don’t understand why I’m being such a defensive asshole. Max is my superior. He has a lot of power over my career with the Saints.

My heart thrums as memories from last night pummel me—except it’s not just the sex that has my mind in such a twist.

And believe me, the sex was off the hook and unarguably the hottest I’ve ever had…or even wished to have.

But the asshole rocker grabbed hold of my heart, too. Through his caustic words and insufferable attitude, I got him, loud and clear.

He’s broken. And I feel compelled to help fix him.

So for as much of a thorn in my side Brixton may be, I have to see this through. People may say a lot of shit about me as a result, but I can’t imagine any of it hurting me any more than dealing with such a tragic loss.

“And then you went and opened us all up to the same trouble.”

I can practically see the smoke billowing out of Max’s ears but I can’t help it. There’s something about the guy I can’t stand, and even though he does have some control over me, I know I’m a fan favorite. I bring a lot of money in for the Saints and I haven’t been on the team for that long, either. So I’m gambling on the fact that he’s blowing smoke up my ass with his thinly veiled threats.

“Uh,” Coach Taylor says, holding out a hand as if to tell Max he needs to shut the fuck up now. “Sam, you’re already a leader on this team. You bring lots of great press to us because of all the work you do around the Oakland area. Fans love you, the team loves you. We’re not here to reprimand you.”

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