Page 12 of Just for the Cameras
Sensing the tension, Gretchen steps in. “It’s only a few hours a week, Graydon. I’m sure you can swing it.”
I shoot a glare in her direction. “And was it your idea to pair me with the fucking flamingos?”
“No, that was your coach’s and Phil’s,” she answers. “I asked him what animal he thought would best boost the team’s image, and he and Phil picked the flamingo.”
Coach Keenan clicks his pen. “They’re something that just stuck out to me. Seeing you care for such…delicate birds. It would really put a smile on my face.”
My anger roaring to life, I shoot my arm out to the side. “This is bullshit, and you know it. I shouldn’t be the one parading out there in the public eye. It should be Marshall or Trivet…or how about Bateman, who can’t seem to get the public on his side since he gets sacked every other play? Someone from offense to gain the public’s trust.”
Coach Keenan straightens up. “Please inform me,Saint, when you became the coach of this team. Because it seems that you’re under the impression that you’re the one who makes the decisions.”
“Someone needs to be fucking smart about this,” I shoot back, unable to rein in my temper.
It’s true though, there seems to be a lack of intelligence in this organization. Why would they choose me to try to gather some “team spirit” when I’m not only one of the least personable players on the team but also the one that doesn’t need to prove himself to the fans?
The offensive line should be the ones going on some sort of “apology/please like us” tour. Not me.
I make no sense as the chosen one.
Sure, I might not want to do this, and when it comes down to it, do I really have a hatred for flamingos? Honestly, I’m indifferent, but take away my time and force me to hang out at a zoo doing God knows what…yeah, I’m going to be a cranky ass about it, because I have better things to do with my life.
This is not a job for me, this is a job for someone who has a personality like…like OC.
Coach Keenan slowly nods. He’s calculating. I can see him plotting, and honestly, I don’t give a shit what he might be thinking in that pea-sized brain of his. I don’t have many years left in the game. Retirement is around the corner for me. I won’t be traded because we made it clear in my contract that this is where I will rot. San Francisco is where I end my career. I banked my money, saved it, and when I do retire, I won’t have to worry about one goddamn thing. I can tuck away into an abyss and block myself off from the rest of the world.
Just the way I fucking want it.
“I suggest you leave my office before I ask the front office to leave you on permanent assignment with the damn flamingos throughout the season.” His eyes latch onto me. “And if I hear one more complaint about this, consider your sentence doubled.”
And there he goes, solidifying my thoughts on the intelligence in this organization. He’s running this team with his ego, not what little brain he has.
And his ego has been attempting to tear me down since the moment he got here.
Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it.
Growling, I tear the door open, ready to slam it shut when Gretchen calls out, “I touched base with Maple. She said she’d be sending you aschedule. I asked her to send it to me as well so I have an idea about your visits. We want to make sure you put in the time we promised the zoo.”
Irritated, I slam the door and start heading down the hallway just as there’s a ding on my phone.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and see that it’s a text from a strange number. Attached to it is a picture of a schedule that says I’m due to be at the zoo today at three.
Fucking perfect.
I slam my truck door and work my way to the green gate with the letterB. The sounds of birds chirping mixed with humans and what I want to believe are monkeys fill the air while the smell of manure engulfs me.
Unsure of what the day would entail, I chose an old pair of jeans and a gray Foghorns shirt because I received a text from Gretchen reminding me to dress the part.
I snidely replied, asking her if that meant my jersey, pads, and helmet. And she said if I wanted to look like a jackass, then I should go ahead.
Hands stuffed in my pockets, I close the space between me and the gate just as it cracks open. Expecting to see Maple, I instead find OC on the other side with a stupid fucking smile on his face.
Jesus.
Christ.
“Dude, why the scowl?”
“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” I say as I move past him, only to see Bennett standing on the other side of the gate as well.
