The Rules We Break (The Alphaletes Book 4), page 4
Well, I’ve been out here for ten fucking years trying.
I push through the front doors, striding down the long entrance hallway and heading for the locker room. I’ve been to the practice field a few times. Before we started negotiations, Coach Aberton flew me out here to check out the facilities and meet some of the guys, even though I already know most of them.
Today is our first day of practice, and a sense of peace comes over me. My personal life may be a dumpster fire when you take into account the fact that I’m in love with a married woman, my best friends are wary of me, and my parents think I’m wasting my time playing a sport instead of taking my seat at the family business. When I’m on that field, though, all of it fades away, at least for a little while.
There was a time when a career in the NFL was a very unreal fantasy. My junior year of college, I got into a car accident. A bad one. I ended up breaking my throwing arm as well as destroying my life at the time with what came after. I didn’t really have anyone for a while there, even Erica was distant, for obvious reasons, and so all I had to focus on was getting better. I worked with a private team of physical therapists, doctors, and trainers. The works. And somehow, amazingly, I was able to get drafted my senior year.
I know some of the guys are talking about retirement. Declan already did retire, technically. He’s just back for the season. Erica told me Seb’s contract is up after this season, and he’s talking about just taking time to focus on them and the kids.
The only ones who are fully in it right now are Slater and me though obviously if Scarlett gets sick again, I know he will be out of here so fast, fines be damned. Me though, I’m happy to play until my fucking arm falls off. I don’t have anyone sitting at home waiting for me. No one to talk about where I see my life going or how my day was. I can’t lie that sometimes I crave a connection like I see all my friends have with their spouses. But then all it takes is one look at Erica, one so close but so far away glance, and the ache in my chest reminds me why I don’t want to go looking for that. Because love is a fickle bitch, and you’re never guaranteed a happily ever after. I just need to focus on my rules, on this season, and take everything else with a grain of salt.
“Ohhhh shittttt,” Slater hoots when I round the corner and step into the locker room.
I can’t help but smirk at his antics. Slater and I are probably the closest these days, mainly because his wife is also one of my closest friends.
“QB 1 is officially in the house. C’mon, rooks, make some noise!” Slater shouts at the rookies in the corner while he beats on the metal lockers like a pair of drums.
They all do as he says, quick to fit in with the team. It’s not like college where we treat the lower classmen like shit or anything. Everyone has earned that jersey, and for that, they deserve respect. But some of these kids have been watching guys like Slater, Seb, Declan, and me for years. So typically there is a little bit of a shine to it for them.
“Hey, man. How ya doing?” Declan asks, coming around the corner to bump fists with me, his accent thicker than normal.
“Shit, Mikey. Knoxville made your accent real thick,” Slater says, imitating Declan’s accent terribly.
He rolls his eyes and punches Slater in the arm but doesn’t respond because that’s just Slater. Seb walks over to us in the next moment, fist bumping all the guys before he turns to face me. He doesn’t offer more than a head dip, his eyes cold and hard on me before he turns to face our friends. I try not to let it bother me. I’m sure I’ll be getting a lot of those looks this season. As long as it doesn’t come onto the field, though, what can I do?
“Uh, Mr. Michaels?” a guy who has the face of a twenty-year-old kid but the body of a truck says.
“What’s up?” I say with a head nod.
“I’m Brandon. Brandon Shuer. Fuck, this is embarrassing, but my mom wanted me to get your autograph if it’s cool.”
I can’t help but grin at that. I’ve bagged a cougar or two in my day, and though I prefer my women to be around my age, if not a little younger, there is always an exception.
“For sure,” I say as I take the pen and paper that I now see him holding at his side. I start signing it as I speak.
“So, is your mom hot? Should I jot down my number too?”
The kid grimaces, and Slater laughs while Declan tries to hold in his laugh as he shakes his head.
“C’mon, Trev. That’s the man’s mama.”
I roll my eyes at our southern mama’s boy before I hand the paper back to the kid.
“What’s your position, Brenden?”
“It’s Brandon,” he corrects.
I just stare at him flatly to which he clams up for a moment before answering.
“Left tackle.”
“Aw, so you’re gonna protect us?” Slater says with a bat of his eyes.
I can’t help but scoff at my idiot friend.
“He’s your running back. I’m quarterback. So—”
“I know,” he cuts in quickly with a serious nod. “I got you guys.”
Smirking, I nod as I clap his shoulder.
“Like the attitude. Don’t be nervous, just play your game. Oh, and probably don’t ask for any more signatures, especially not on day one of practice. Comes across a little…”
“Pathetic,” Damion, one of our wide receivers, calls out.
Not the word I would have used, but it gets the point across. The kid screws up his face like he realizes what a rook he made himself look like before I slap him on the back.
“Hey, no sweat, man. Gotta do what you gotta do for your mom.”
“Yeah,” Slater says. “Sounds like Trev would be willing to help you do a lot of things for your mom.”
The whole locker room erupts into laughter, even Brandon as he goes back over to his buddies. I get changed quickly and soon we are all making our way onto the field. Oh yeah. This is my therapy. My peace.
Once all the guys are warmed up and waiting on the turf, the coaches come in, Aberton standing front and center with his Crusaders polo, hat and black pants on. He looks every bit the NFL coach that he could, even has the premature graying at his temples to prove it.
“Alright, new season, new faces. Hopefully, you all stroked each other off in the locker room because we don’t have time for that shit here. I’m Coach Aberton. This is your coaching staff,” he says, not bothering to try to introduce the near dozen people standing behind him. “Hope you boys are ready to go all the way this year. I expect perfection out of each and every one of you.”
“Before we get started I want to introduce someone—this is Sage. She is going to be the team’s social media girl. She will be around a lot, filming you guys, doing interview questions. Participate,” he nearly threatens as a small girl comes from the back of the group, standing next to Aberton and giving everyone a tight yet polite smile.
Wolf whistles instantly sound out just from the look of her. I mean, she’s wearing a Crusaders T-shirt that couldn’t be tighter on her tits, accompanied by some black yoga pants that look as if they were made as a second skin just for her. Not to mention the bombshell sleek black hair she has accented by those fucking purple eyes.
What. The. Fuck.
I thought she didn’t know who I was? Was that bullshit? Had to have been. Not to sound cocky, but someone definitely couldn’t be working for the Crusaders and not know who I am. What a little bit—
“My daughter,” Aberton snaps, sending a venomous look to the guys who sounded off.
A hush falls over the room, and Aberton nods at that.
“Damn straight,” he says before continuing on with his orientation spiel.
“Fuck. Who’d have thought Aberton could make a smoke show like that,” I hear Damion whisper behind me, and I have to agree. Coach is not a good-looking guy by traditional standards, and Sage, well she looks even better in the daylight than she did in the dimly lit club.
I’m staring at her, unrelenting, practically daring her to look my way because once she does, she will know how royally she fucked up messing with me. I don’t fuck around at work. There has to be a separation, and I have a strict no-repeats policy. Rule number four.
So, if she thinks this is going to turn into a thing, she will be sorely mistaken. The fact that she’s Coach’s daughter changes some things. I’ll have to put her down a little easier than normal. Hopefully she doesn’t run crying to daddy over it. It’s not like Aberton will bench me, though. Even if I did eat his little girl’s pussy before letting her ride my lap. Fuck. Kinda wish I did make exceptions to my rules. Girl fucked like a porn star.
She already tried to break rule number two, at the club, so she’s definitely trouble. I’ll just have to set her straight to make sure not a single rule is in danger of being broken because of Sage Aberton.
Sage
Standing in front of the entire Crusaders team feels a lot like being a dangling ribeye in front of a starving pride of lions. Though, let’s be honest, none of these men are starved for anything, least of all women, and most of them more accurately resemble pussies than lions. Okay, that was harsh. To be fair, I don’t know any of them personally. Well, I guess that’s not true. I sort of know one.
I feel him glaring daggers at me like if he continues, he can actually strike me down. Looks like someone had their Cheerios pissed in this morning. My dad dismisses me with a wave which I can’t help but roll my eyes at. He’s the arrogant type, all about what you can do for him and not as much about what he can do for you. There is a reason our relationship has been strained ever since Mom died. He threw himself into work and forgot that she didn’t just leave him behind. She left me too. But that’s a trauma dump for another day.
He talks for what feels like forever before he finally has the guys break up into offense, defense, and special teams. I pull out the brand new video camera Dad gave me this morning, compliments of the Seattle Crusaders, and begin recording. My dad also gave me the Crusaders T-shirt and yoga pants when I showed up in a black leather jacket and black jeans. Unfortunately for him, I don’t think he was expecting the full-sleeve tattoos that now don my arms because he practically snarled at them before storming off to his coaches meeting.
Whatever.
I know most of the guys and their positions, at least the returning vets. The rooks will take a little to get the hang of, but Dad said he wants me to come up with unique content, so I’ll probably be getting to know all of the guys in one way or another. I angle the camera down at the feet of the offensive players as they do the agility ladder that is laid out across the ground.
Slater Santos gives me the peace sign before sticking out his tongue when he gets to the end, and I can’t help but laugh. Alright, good to know. Santos will be my golden boy for content. One by one, the guys take suit after Slater and throw up some type of gesture or smile until the last offensive player comes through. Trevor Michaels.
When he gets to the end, though, he looks down at me. Like literally, down at me, as if I were scum beneath his shoes. Like I was a bug begging to be squashed. The look instantly pisses me off and has me ready to chuck this crazy expensive camera at his stupid pretty boy face. Before I let my mouth run away from me on day one of this job, he’s stepping to the side, sending me a withering glance that makes me feel two inches tall.
Fuck. Him.
I take back every decent thought I had about Trevor. He wasn’t even that good anyway. His cock barely did the job. I had to climb on top of him and take control because he wouldn’t know what to do with that thing if it stood up on its own and did the macarena. If he thinks I’ll ever sleep with him again, he’s got another thing coming. I don’t double dip, and I most definitely do not fuck with pretty boy assholes. Saturday was a lapse of judgment, one that I will never be making again.
Once practice is over, all the guys head to the locker rooms while I pack up my things. Thankfully, I’m only required to come to two practices a week and obviously all games. Everything else I can do from the comfort of my apartment, which was the huge selling point for me.
I feel two heavy presences lurking over me, causing goosebumps to erupt on the back of my neck as I quickly whip my head up. It takes a moment for my heart to calm down as it bangs against my chest like a drum while I look at the two football players staring down at me. I stand to face them as best as I can, though they both still have almost a foot on me.
“Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to scare you.” Damion Andrews smiles in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I give him a tight smile, doing my best to remain pleasant since I’ll be working with all of these guys for a minimum of five months or so. Maybe longer.
“No worries. What’s up?”
“We just wanted to introduce ourselves. I’m Damion,” he says, letting his words hang in the air for a few moments before I realize that’s all he has to say. Or maybe he’s waiting for starry-eyed recognition to flitter into my eyes.
Sorry bud, I know who you are, and if I’m honest. I’d have never picked him for my team.
My eyes swing over to his counterpart, dark hair, dark eyes, a few tattoos peeking out from the collar of his jersey, and the slight indentation that indicates he has a lip ring when he isn’t on the field. He gives me a charming, albeit practiced, smile, but for some reason, I’m kind of digging on it. Dad gave me an entire speech about staying away from his players, that they don’t need distractions, and he’ll fire me if he finds out I’ve fucked any of them, blah, blah, blah. My dad should know me well enough though to know that when he tells me not to do something, it only makes me want to do it that much more.
I give him my most seductive smile as I take half a step toward him.
“Name?” I question, and this time I’m not playing dumb like I did with Trevor.
“Jackson Donatello,” he says with a mischievous look in his eye.
“Sage.”
“I know,” he says in a way that tells me he’s already cataloged everything about me, even if it’s a part of his act to make a girl feel special.
“Donatello! Andrews! Hit the showers,” my dad’s voice booms through the room.
I don’t suppress my eye roll. Fucking buzz kill. Andrews turns and jogs off first, clearly accepting the fact that I’m not even remotely interested. Donatello, on the other hand, bends down and grabs my bag, slinging it over his shoulder before gesturing for me to go first. I catch a glimpse of my dad’s irritated face and can’t help but smile.
“You’re asking for trouble there, boy,” I tease.
He glances over his shoulder at Dad before looking back at me.
“Maybe, but you look like the kind of trouble I’d like to get into,” he says smoothly as we make it into the hallway.
“Oh, trust me. You’d never want to leave,” I say, allowing a husky tone to wrap around my words.
I can practically see him salivating, and I know that I could drag him into a supply closet and fuck his brains out right here and now. But then I’d have to fend him off for the rest of the season. Best to hold out on him for a while, make the build up a good one, before I move on.
“See you around,” I say as I take my bag from his shoulder, allowing my fingers to trail over him as I do.
He bites on the edge of his lip where I’m assuming his lip ring usually rests as he nods.
“Looking forward to it.”
I give him a soft wink before turning on my heel and heading down the hallway. As soon as I push the doors to the parking lot open, a voice calls out.
“Hey!”
I slightly jump at the surprise before turning to see Trevor Michaels pushing off the wall and walking toward me.
“Were you waiting for me?” I ask with furrowed brows.
“Yeah, we gotta talk. I—”
“Listen, Saturday was fun and all, but you’re definitely not the kind of fuck I’m willing to lose my job over, and I don’t go back for seconds. Sorry to interrupt whatever lame pick up lines you practiced in the mirror while you quaffed your hair, but I’m not interested.”
He stands there frozen for several seconds, like my words are taking a while to catch up to his underdeveloped brain before he squints and shakes his head.
“Wait. What?”
“What? Did the Wizard of Oz forget to give you a brain? That pretty boy package just a ruse so people don’t catch on that the lights are on but nobody’s home?” I question.
Trevor narrows his eyes at me.
“Are you calling me stupid?”
“Insinuating, actually. To which you proved my point. I gotta go. I—”
“Hold up, hold up. Let me get this straight. You knew who I was Saturday, obviously—”
“Obviously,” I mimic with an eye roll, causing a fire to spark in his eyes.
Normally I’m not so childish or sassy. But he’s so easy to rile up, it’s kinda fun.
“So you lied.”
I shrug.
“So you could sleep with me,” he continues.
I let out a humorless laugh as I toss my head back before facing him again.
“Deflate that ego a bit, old man. You’re the one who chased after me, the one who dragged me down a hallway and bent me over a couch. Not the other way around.”
“You’re the one who climbed on my dick like a cat in heat,” he throws out, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s got the upper hand.
“Had to,” I shrug. “You weren’t doing it right.”
Irritation passes over his face, causing his jaw to clench so tight, you’d think it would break. He looks as if he’s about ready to tear into me before he looks down at the ground and shakes his head.
“Whatever. Just wanted to make it clear there is no way in hell I’m going to fuck you again. So if you think just because you work for the team that I’m going to—”
