Page 150 of Game Misconduct
And now?
Maybe he’s giving me what I asked for.
Clean lines.
No blurred boundaries. No blurred hearts.
I exhale through my nose and press play again.
“You wanted clean lines,” I whisper.
The video plays.
Finn’s laugh echoes.
I don’t laugh with it.
My hand shakes as I press rewind.
And watch it again.
Later that afternoon, the team’s returned from off the road and Finn McCade slouches into my office like he’s here for a damn massage.
Still in joggers, hoodie unzipped halfway, hair damp from a post-workout rinse he probably didn’t even shampoo.
The grin on his handsome face is automatic, wide and smug, like this is just another day and not a PR crisis with his ass at the center of it—literally.
“Hey, boss lady.” He winks, flopping into the chair across from my desk without asking. “Didn’t expect to be summoned so soon. You trying to keep me from going viral twice?”
I don’t smile.
Don’t respond.
I just slide a single printed frame across the desk. It’s from the paused video. The one where his shorts are halfway to hell and Maddox is blurred in the background, mid-flinch.
Finn blinks down at it. His mouth twitches.
“Okay, first—objectively hilarious. Second—those shorts were team-issued. Technically, this was a wardrobe malfunction. Shouldn’t I get hazard pay or something?”
I lace my fingers together on the desk. My voice stays level.
Calm.
Controlled.
Clipped with a serrated edge.
“You mooned a child in front of six sponsors, three local reporters, and the mayor’s wife. From the home team’s city.”
Finn winces. “She laughed. She definitely laughed.”
“She also called Dean to ask if your next stunt will involve streaking the holiday parade.”
He doesn’t answer.
I lean forward a fraction and let my tone cool a few more degrees.
“This isn’t just a locker room prank gone rogue, Finn. This is a viral headline. It’s a meme. It’s a potential liability. And it’s a warning shot for every exec on the legacy board waiting for me to screw up.”
