CHAPTER 1
COOPER
The words “he’s going to rip you a new asshole” have been burned in my brain by my grandfather since I was a kid, and I’ve never truly understood what he meant.
It usually came as I was sneaking out of his house at the beach to join friends at a midnight bonfire. I’d spend approximately five minutes opening the window in my second-story bedroom, pausing with each creak. I always thought that if I did it slowly enough, he would think that it was just the thick beach wind blowing by.
I’d climb down carefully, cautious as can be, as I drop down to the sand beneath.
Unbeknownst to me, my grandpa was a scheming son of a bitch who kept track of every time I did it. How he knew, he took to his deathbed.
But I always knew that one day I would be ripped a new asshole, and as a kid, the thought was terrifying.
For as much trouble as I’ve been in, it never quite got toripping me a new assholelevel. Truthfully, maybe it should have.
But today, in this moment, I finally understand the term.
I should have known it would be bad from the way Coach’s head lifted slowly, his eyes usually warm—albeit usually disappointed—beady as they searched mine. He wears a Baltimore Vipers baseball hat from his attendance a week ago when Leo threw out the first pitch, and my eyes focus on the light ring of sweat around the cap to avoid his gaze.
God, the man can sweat.
“What the fuck am I looking at?” he asks in that slow, calculated way he does when he’s getting ready to blow a fucking gasket.
My eyes drop to the papers in front of him. Fresh off the press this morning, dropped off by my publicist with a chuckle and a “good luck today, man.”
“It’s a contract,” I purse my lips, trying to figure out why in the world he would ask me something so stupid.
“It’s clearly a fucking contract, dipshit. What’s it for?” he snaps, his eyes blazing as he rolls back in his special desk chair meant for old men who can’t walk a mile without complaining about their ass cheek hurting.
I flinch at his tone. I’ve heard it before. We all have. I don’t think there’s a team in the league that hasn’t been cussed out by their coach, and we certainly give him enough reasons to do it.
A team of men—53 of them at least. Just the thought of it is enough to send someone’s blood pressure through the roof. Shit, having to deal with Leo is enough stress to turn a man gray in a month.
“It’s for that reality show that I talked to you about at the barbecue,” I inform him, wiping my clammy hands on my shorts.
Coach looks back down at the contract, his brows knitting together as his eyes narrow. “Reality show?”
I smile, “Yeah! It’s really interesting, and I think it’ll bring a lot of good to thetea?—”
“Cooper, you have five seconds to get the fuck out of my office before I throw something at you,” he snaps, ending my little demented illusion that I was actually talking him into being interested in a reality dating show.
I take a moment, watching his face become a funny shade of red. “Well, you’ll sign it, right?”
“Get. The.Fuck. Out!” he growls, throwing his arms up as he points to the door.
I put my hands up in defense. “Can I atleastplead my case?”
It was,very clearly, the very last thing I should have said. “Cooper, I’m so incredibly sick of this shit. You guys are going to give me a god damn aneurysm one of these days, do you know that? I’m going to fucking die, and it’s going to be your fault. You know what? No. I’ll give it to you. It’ll be a mix of you and fucking Warner.” He slams his hand on the desk. “Jesus. Fuck! Are you kidding me? Can I get a single god damn year of peace? Was last season really my only damn year I was able to relax? Warner has his balls in a jar at home and for good fucking reason. Thank the Lord for that. I had a year of near peace, and you come in here talking about some damn reality show you want to go on? Why the hell do we have to sign off on it?”
“Well, they have to film?—”
“Don’t you fuckingdareopen your god damn mouth and tell me that they have to film here. Do not tell me that’s what this is about, Henry.”
My head tilts to the side, “Well, they want to do some in-season footage. Follow me through the season like the other shows we allow to film. It’s kinda the whole point of the show.”
Coach is standing within half a second, the old man's chair flying behind him. I didn’t even know he was capable of moving so fast, honestly. “Henry, you have three seconds toget out of my fucking office before I sit your ass down for the next three seasons.”
“You wouldn’t?—”
