Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection Book 3) (2 page)

C
HASE

"Hey hey hey, there's the big guy," called Reggie, our running back and one of my closest friends on the team. He patted me on the shoulder. "You ready to work?"

"Yeah," I said. Work was the one thing I was looking forward to today. As the starting quarterback for the Boston Warriors for the past five years, I'd led us to two Super Bowl wins. At thirty-seven, this season would be my last. I had great expectations. I wanted another Super Bowl ring. I had several NFL records in my sights. But I had to stay healthy, and I had to stay smart. I couldn't let this stuff with Jessica mess with my head and ruin everything I'd worked so hard for.

I turned to my teammate. "How about you? You ready to rumble?"

He grinned at me. "Not like I got anything better to do than kick some ass."

Someone snorted behind us. Pax Unger, our new cornerback, swaggered in. "Word on the street is that you're ready to retire, Reggie," he said, his tone nasty.

"Oh man—why do you always have to start that shit?" Reggie asked.

Pax shrugged and threw his locker open. He started to change, and I noticed that he looked bigger than last year. "I'm not starting shit," Pax said, feigning innocence. "But you two are both getting old. And football's no country for old men."

"Will you shut up, for once?" I asked, throwing my practice jersey on over my pads. "If I had a dime for every time you talked shit...then I probably
could
retire."

Reggie laughed, but Pax's face was tight. Most of the guys on the team, if not all, were easy to be around. We had a good sense of camaraderie and I worked hard to keep it up. But since Pax had joined us last season after Pittsburgh didn't renew his contract, he'd been a pain in our team's collective ass.

I had a feeling I knew why his last contract hadn't been renewed. It was because he was a divisive prick. He was a good player, though. Management wasn't done with him yet, so I just had to deal—we all did.

"I'm sure you can afford to retire, Your Highness," he said.

There was an undercurrent to his voice that I didn't like. "Watch it, dude."

He turned to look at me, his shirt still off and his chest puffed out. "I'm not your dude,
dude
."

I considered him. I was in a foul enough mood that punching him in the face seemed like a good idea right now. A
really
good idea.

"Woah," Reggie said to Pax. He stepped up beside me. "You need to watch your mouth. Chase's still got a good five inches on you.
Dude.
"

Pax smiled at that. "I'm not afraid of His Highness." He bobbed his chin at Reggie. "You either, Old Man."

"Why's that? Because you only have half a damn brain?" Reggie smiled and cracked his knuckles. Reggie
was
old, but he was also crazy. If he did indeed have half a brain, Pax would shut his mouth quick.

"'Cause you two have lost your bite." Pax looked at us both in a challenge.

"Did you sprinkle your cereal with PCP this morning?" I asked. "'Cause I'm not really sure why you're starting this shit with your own teammates."

Reggie crossed his arms, his enormous biceps bulging, waiting to hear the cornerback's response.

"Are you gonna run off and tell Coach?" Pax asked, mocking me. "Because
that
wouldn't surprise me one bit."

"What the fuck?" I asked him, my voice rising. "What's your
problem
?"

"You're my problem.
Dude.
Maybe not everybody's thrilled that this is the Chase Layne show twenty-four-seven."

"So go somewhere else—that is, if anybody'll take you," I said. I balled my hand into a fist, but a taunt was as far as I was willing to go.
He isn't worth it.

A smug grin spread over Pax's face, making me feel sick to my stomach. What the fuck was up with this guy?

"Oh, I got somebody to take me all right." He motioned to his chest and down the rest of his body. "All of me."

Reggie turned to me. "Maybe it was LSD he sprinkled on his cereal. Dude's trippin'."

"Seriously. What the fuck are you talking about, Pax?" I asked.

"Jessica says 'hi'." He grinned at me again.

"Jessica? As in Jessica, my
wife
?" I looked at him, but all I could think about was my mother.
"Of course there's somebody else."

No. No fucking way. Not my cornerback. She wouldn't.

Pax chuckled and beamed at me in triumph. "The very same."

That was the last thing I heard before I went after him and everything went black. And Reggie screaming for the other guys to come. Quick.

"
Y
ou can't suspend
me for two weeks, sir." I looked at Wes, my coach, desperately. "He's sleeping with my
wife.
He taunted me about it in the
locker room
. He's lucky he's not in the hospital." Pax had been treated and released by our team physician. He had a broken nose and some other nasty cuts and bruises.

Like I gave a fuck.

"No," Wes said. "
You're
lucky he's not in the hospital." He looked more tired than usual, as if the bags under his eyes had doubled in size.

I blew out a deep breath. "Jessica's leaving me for him." I called her after the fight with Pax and she'd admitted everything, not sounding sorry in the least. "He taunted me about it in public, in front of my
teammate
, and I'm the one who's getting suspended? That's fucked up, Wes."

"Watch your mouth." Wes swore like a sailor, but he didn't tolerate his players cursing. "You broke his nose, Chase. You have to be disciplined."

"What're we going to do about
him
? This is our last chance for a Super Bowl title.
My
last chance. And Pax is toxic. He wants to rip this team apart."

Wes looked at me calmly. "I can't suspend him for what he's done off the field. Adultery is not a criminal offense. What I
can
do is see if Tim will consider cutting him loose early. We can't have someone like him on the team—I agree with you about that—but it's not my decision."

Tim was the team owner. "Okay," I said. That was as much as I could ask for at this point.

"So…" Wes just sat there for a minute, gathering his thoughts. He didn't talk a lot, and he chose his words sparingly when he was forced to. "Jessica."

I nodded at him. "It's true."

"You two working it out?"

I laughed. "There's not a lot left to work out."

"Are you filing?"

I gritted my teeth. "She said she's going to do it this week."

Wes sat back and studied me. "You okay, son?"

"Yes." I sat there for a second. "No."

"You know the press is going to be all over this. Your suspension, your divorce, and her, uh…new relationship."

"Yup." I looked at him grimly. The sports press in Boston was rabid. They would analyze it to death. "What're you going to say about Pax?"

"Nothing, if I can help it." Wes shrugged. "Just that he's on the injury list, you're suspended for violating team rules and that I have no further comment."

I grunted. "That's not gonna fly."

"It'll do for now—until I figure out what I
have
to tell them." He studied my face. "Is Jessica taking this public?"

"Probably." I felt numb inside.

"I'll talk to Tim, and I'll do the press conference after that. You take it easy. Take time to lie low. Work out at home. Maybe don't leave the house too much. Hopefully, we can keep the fact that Pax is involved private for now."

I nodded at Wes. "We'll see. Pax didn't seem like he was trying to keep it a secret."

My coach looked grim. "What did Jessica say about that?"

She was excited that Pax had started a fight with me.

She told me she was thrilled that she was finally with a real man.

"Nothing, sir. Thank you," I said and quickly took my leave.

"
I
told
you to have Jess sign a prenup," my attorney said. Sitting out back by my pool, Mickey looked out of place. He had on a pinstriped suit with a crisp lavender shirt. His neatly trimmed white hair stood unnaturally still, even in the breeze.

In contrast, I wore a ripped Warriors T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. I hadn't shaved in three days.

"She saw you coming, Chase. Jesus." My attorney smoothed his impeccable pants. "So…what's going on with her, exactly? She's found a new food source in the form of Pax Unger?"

I nodded. "Appears that way."

"Who'd she hire for the divorce?" He looked grim.

"I don't know yet," I said.

"What exactly happened with you two?"

I shrugged. "She wanted to do a bunch of stuff that I wasn't supporting. So I guess she found someone who would get with her program."

"What program's that?"

"She wanted to do a reality show—based on us," I sighed. "She'd gotten an agent to pitch it to the networks and everything."

"You mean—like a
Real Housewives
sort of thing?" he asked.

I grunted. "More like a
Kendra Loves Hank
kind of thing. You know the one with the ex-Playboy playmate, her ex-NFL husband, and their kids?"

Mickey scrubbed his hand across his face. "I must've missed that one."

"Jessica wanted cameras in the house twenty-four-seven. She wanted us filmed going to dinner, fighting, the whole deal."

"Management would never agree to that," he said.

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but that didn't stop Jess from being angry when I said it was never going to happen. She said I was ruining her career."

"
Her
career?" Mickey coughed. "Why didn't she just ask
WRX
for her old sports reporter job back? Sounds like she needed something to do."

I'd met Jess when she was a rising sports reporter for a local news station. She was smart. Focused. Tenacious. She was like a female version of me. I remember the first time I saw her—tall with long legs, dark hair cascading down her back. Incredible tits…that she'd subsequently defiled with too-large, fake-looking implants. "That's not what she wanted. That wasn't enough," I said. "She wanted a show about
her.
She kept talking about the Jessica Layne brand."

"Her
brand
?" He looked stymied. "I don't think she's exactly a good role model."

"She
did
go to Brown," I said, a little defensively.

"I didn't say she was dumb," Mickey said. "I just don't think she's a nice person. No offense, son."

I sighed. "None taken. You want a beer?"

Mickey nodded. "I could do a beer." He watched as I went to the outside refrigerator on my shaded patio. "All this wasn't enough for her?" he asked, gesturing around my setup—the enormous in-ground pool, the hot tub, the waterfall. "And why no kids?"

"She liked the money," I said. "But she wants to be famous in her own right. And she'd actually started bargaining with me about the kid thing. She never wanted to have one because she was worried about her figure. But if I'd have said yes to a series deal, she would've finally said yes to a kid." I took a large swig of beer. "So she could be filmed being mother of the year."

My attorney grimaced. "Real piece of work, Chase. A real piece of work. She's going to try to soak you. You know that, right?"

I shook my head. "Let her. I don't even care. And good riddance."

He was quiet for a minute, nursing his beer. "I'm surprised you punched the guy—Pax. Doesn't seem like you, going and doing something that would get you suspended."

It was out of character for me, and I didn't do "out of character".

"But I guess you had to," Mickey continued. "Somebody sleeps with your wife—even if you don't even like your wife—you have to punch him."

"That's sort of what I was thinking. If you could call it thinking."

Mickey patted my shoulder. "It's okay, son. We'll deal with Jessica. We'll make this whole thing go away."

I took another swallow of beer, wishing that was somehow true.

O
f course
, Jessica would not go quietly. I hadn't spoken with her directly, per Mickey's orders, but he was dealing with the high-powered divorce lawyer she'd hired. Jessica had a long list of demands.

"She wants the
house
?" I screamed into my cell phone. "And
half
my money? We were only married for two years, for Christ's sake. We don't have any kids."

"She won't get it—not all of it," Mickey said, calmly, "but she's probably looking at alimony because she quit her job to support your career."

I snorted and gripped my phone, close to shattering it. "That's a joke and you know it. Everybody knows it. All she's done is gone shopping, decorate, and get her face blown up with filler. Our marriage was a two-year, all-expenses-paid luxury
vacation
for her, goddamn it."

"Chase." Mickey's voice bordered on soothing, which was a red flag for me. "She's gonna get a large chunk of your money. You need to wrap your head around that. Now, you can pay me to fight her—we can do all sorts of things to drag this out—but then you're going to spend a fuck-ton of money on legal fees. Which is fine by me." He chortled. "But seriously, if you agree to at least some of what she's asking for, she'll probably settle. I think she wants to be done with this quick."

"Why do you think that?"

He was silent for a second. "Because her lawyer told me so."

"And why is that?"

Another pause. "Because she wants to get married again. As soon as possible."

I surprised myself by laughing. I just sat on the couch and laughed and laughed.

C
HASE

A few days later, my doorbell rang. I sat up.
Shit.
I'd been wearing the same pair of sweats, doing nothing but drinking beer and eating Chinese delivery and pizza. I was camped out in my living room, the NFL Network
on constantly, not even bothering to go to my bedroom to sleep.

But it was only seven a.m. and I hadn't ordered any Chinese food yet.

The doorbell rang again.
Double shit
. It was probably my mother.

I checked the security camera.

Then I threw the door open. "Shut up."

"No—
you
shut up," Eric said, coming in and giving me a hug. My agent pulled back, his nose wrinkling below his black, stylish rectangular glasses. "You smell. Worse than usual."

He looked me up and down, taking in the rumpled sweats, which contrasted garishly with his Armani suit. Then he turned and inspected my messy house. "You bringing man-town to the main living room? I like it," he said, his face breaking into a grin. He pushed past me and surveyed the empty takeout cartons, the beer bottles, the blankets and remote controls scattered everywhere haphazardly…

"Jessica would
not
approve," he said, clapping me on the back, "so I do."

"What're you doing here?" I asked. Eric rarely came up to Boston. He preferred Los Angeles, where there was sun. And women wearing a lot less clothing than they usually wore up here in New England.

He grinned at me. "I talked to Martha. She said she was worried about you. So I thought I'd come up and stage a man-tervention." His eyes flicked to my sweatpants again and then my hair, which was most likely really messed up. "I can see I made a wise choice."

He threw his bag down and stalked into the kitchen. I followed, shuffling behind.

"You want a beer?" I asked.

"It's seven in the morning—four a.m. my time." Eric raised his eyebrows. "We're having coffee."

"
I'm
having beer."

He took out two mugs, ignoring me, and turned my Nespresso machine on. He eyed the sink filled with dirty dishes, then opened the fridge to find it mostly empty. "Your housekeeper off this week?"

"I think Jessica fired her," I mumbled.

Eric laughed, shaking his head. "She's bitter to the end."

"You can say that again."

Eric was still chuckling. He hated Jessica and seemed positively giddy that she'd packed up and left. "It's gonna be okay, I promise. We'll get this all straightened out."

He handed me a coffee, and I hated to admit it, but it tasted great. Even better than beer.

Eric eyed me over his mug. "Why're you so upset? You haven't even
liked
her for the past year and a half."

I scrubbed my hands over my face. "I'm not upset about Jess."

"Then why're you such a wreck? What's with the sweatpants and the beer?"

"Football," I said and shuffled back out toward the couch. "I'm upset about football."

"Ah. Football. I should have known." Eric sat down next to me, moving some empty food cartons so he could put his feet up on the coffee table. "Wes handled the press conference well. He never gives anything away. Christ, those reporters must hate him."

I laughed. "They'd hate him if he wasn't so good at his job. He's going to try to keep the fight quiet for as long as possible. But Pax's coming back to practice soon. Someone's going to get a picture of his mangled face and put it all together. Unless Jessica lays it all out for them first." I was surprised she hadn't released a statement announcing our split and that I'd beaten up her new lover. That was exactly the sort of drama she loved.

"I talked to Mickey…" Eric's voice trailed off.

I winced. "Did he breach his attorney-client privilege again?"

My friend nodded.

"So you know that Jessica wants to get married to Pax? Soon?"

He nodded again. "You're not upset about that?"

"Nah." I was pretty sure those two deserved each other.

Eric watched my face. "But…you're upset about what it's going to do to the team?"

I could see the sympathy in Eric's eyes. He knew me too well. "Yes."

"Okay," Eric said. "You're suspended for another full week after this, right? And there's no word as to whether the Warriors are going to cut Pax loose?"

"Yes," I mumbled. "To both."

"You're going to have to deal with him sooner rather than later."

I groaned. "I thought you were here to cheer me up."

Eric sighed. "There's also a crap-ton of reporters outside your house, in case you didn't notice."

"That's what the pizza guy said." I curled up into a ball, wishing that my coffee would magically transform into a beer and that none of this had ever happened. To me.

Suspended. Humiliated in front of my teammates.

"What're you worried about, Chase?" Eric asked.

I squinted at him. "That might be the stupidest fucking question ever."

He crossed his legs, his elegant suit out of place amidst the man-squalor. "It's not a stupid question. I'm your agent, remember? Which means you pay me a lot of money to think of things you might not. To look out for you and your best interests. To consider every angle. Remember when I told you not to marry Jessica?"

"Yep. I remember. Everyone seems to be reminding me these days."

Eric sighed. "The point is you should have listened to me then. So please listen to me now. Let's go through the steps."

I sighed and shot him a menacing look. "Seriously?"

"I'm totally serious. We need to think this through. What are you
specifically
worried about?" Eric asked.

I knew Eric well enough to realize that he wasn't going to leave me alone until I played this silly game with him, so I answered. "I'm
specifically
worried that my team isn't going to respect me anymore. That I'm not going to be able to lead them because they've lost faith in me."

"And why are you worried that they've lost faith in you?" he asked.

"That's another stupid fucking question."

"Just answer it," he insisted.

"I'm worried that everybody's going to think that I have no dick because my wife left me for a teammate—the worst teammate I've got. And that Pax's going to try to rally them all against me, because that's the kind of shit-starter he is."

Eric's brow furrowed. "He doesn't care about the team?"

"He's fucking the quarterback's wife. What do
you
think?"

"Tim'll cut him," he said confidently.

"Pax is an asshole, but he's a strong defensive player," I countered. "We need him more than he needs us right now."

Eric shrugged. "He needs a paycheck, Chase. Just like the rest of us."

"He seems to think he can do whatever—or whoever—he wants."

"We'll deal with Pax. Let's see what management does first." Eric seemed to concentrate on his coffee. "Either way, we have to face the whole thing head on. So let's break it down. Even though you're glad Jessica's gone, you're worried about what your team's going to think of you because you're a cuckold."

I looked at him grimly. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's a Shakespearean term, buddy. It means you were cheated on. Duped. Humiliated. And everybody knows it."

I grimaced. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," Eric said carefully, "it's supposed to help us identify the real problem so we can come up with a solution."

"I don't think there's a solution to having your wife sleep with your teammate and then leave you for him. In the public eye. With a very large chunk of your money."

"You're right," Eric conceded. "But there
are
ways to make you feel like you're back on top. To maintain your team's respect—but if I'm being honest with you, I know those guys. Your teammates worship you. They'd do anything for you. I don't think that's going to change just because of what Jessica did."

I shook my head. "I don't know…they won't see me the same way." Thick misery descended on me again. I could deal with everything that had happened, but I didn't want to lose the trust and camaraderie I'd worked so hard to build with my teammates. I didn't want them to doubt me, doubt my judgment.

Doubt my
balls
.

They were counting on me, just like I counted on them. This was supposed to be our year, and now everything was on the precipice of going to hell.

"You just need to seem like you're still on top. That's all," Eric said. He never failed in his supreme confidence in me. "You guys are in good shape to make the playoffs. You'll be the NFL Player of the Year. I know it. You've been working hard for this your whole life. Don't let Jessica fuck it up for you."

He stood up and started pacing. "You show your team you haven't faltered, their belief in your leadership won't falter, either."

I ran my hand over my head; I could already feel my crew cut growing out. "How do you propose I do that? Am I supposed to go back to practice next week with a big grin on my face? Fake it until I make it or something? That's fucking stupid."

"Jessica wants the house, right?"

I nodded.

"So let her have it," he continued. "Let's go find a sweet condo in downtown Boston. The press is going to be following you. Let the public see you out and about, looking fine, moving on. That sends a message. And I'm going to get you a smoldering hot girlfriend.
Blistering
hot." Eric had a manic gleam in his eye. "We'll stick
that
in Jessica's pipe and let her smoke it."

"Um…Eric? I hate to break it to you, but you can't stick my non-existent girlfriend into Jess's non-existent pipe," I said. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "I don't have a girlfriend. I don't
want
a girlfriend. I just barely got rid of my wife, who was a Grade A pain in my ass. I'm not ready for anything else. Not even close."

He smiled at me. "You don't have to be ready. You just have to look like you are."

"I don't understand." Maybe Eric was finally losing his touch.

"I'm going to
hire
a girlfriend for you. For show." He'd pulled out his phone and his fingers were already flying over it, tapping away.

"I think you've officially lost it, buddy. I thought it was just me, but now I'm pretty sure it's you, too." I looked at him as if he had three heads, but he was ignoring me.

Eric feverishly scrolled through his phone. "Do you remember Cole Bryson?"

I stared at him. "What the
fuck
are you talking about now?"

"Cole Bryson—that dude who owns the Thunder?"

Cole Bryson was a billionaire investment guy I knew from Boston. He also owned a Bruins farm team, the Rhode Island Thunder. I liked Cole, but I hadn't talked to him in ages. "Yeah, I know Bryson. What the hell does he have to do with anything?"

Eric looked up from his phone and smiled. "A buddy of mine just went to Cole's wedding. He married an
escort
. He hired her and then they fell in love. No shit. My friend said the bride and all of her escort friends were smoking hot. So I'm getting one for you. A cute one."

My headache was back in full force. "Eric…shut the fuck up." The last thing I needed in my life right now was a hooker
.

He ignored me, his fingers flying back over the phone. "No way. I'm going to get the number for the agency. I'm hiring the hottest woman on the planet to be your girlfriend. She's going to have an airtight confidentiality agreement, Chase. And a rocking bod—with
real
boobs. I'll ask specifically for that. Jess'll hate it."

I opened my mouth to object, but he cackled, cutting me off. "I can't wait to see the look on Jessica's face," he said gleefully.

And with that, he started talking on the phone before I could stop him. Before I could ask him if he'd actually gone completely, utterly nuts.