those women wanted to be there. I let them be there and I enjoyed them being there as well. I did not like this. Quinn was hot, she could get it. I wanted to give it to her, but I knew better than to fuck with her, or fuck her, especially now when she had the power to ruin my career.
I would have to move to China and play in their league over there. I didn’t want it. I really, really didn’t fucking want it, or I’d have to get a real job. The thought made me shudder. I wasn’t dumb. I just had never needed to be smart because that wasn’t the thing that was going to make me and the people around me rich.
The thing they don’t tell you about sports scholarships in college was you only had to make a minimum GPA. Minimum. And that was a fucking 2.0. You could miss half your classes and still get that if you did the reading. Another thing they did was enroll you in easy courses so you would be able to pass. You were there to play your sport, but they had to justifiably show that you had a reason to be there besides your sport.
It was stupid, but that was what had earned me both a college degree and a sports career. My degree was in communications. I had no fucking clue what I could even do with it if Quinn went through with ruining my career and I had to try and fall back on it.
The Quinn thing was solved, or at least it was solved as far as it was going to get solved. I had to do damage control. I had to find out who the woman was and I had to make sure that nobody got to hear about this before Quinn had her little article or whatever ready. I was not looking forward to the interview. I didn’t even know what she would end up writing because I had told her all there was to tell about the woman and what was going on.
She had so many rules and conditions and shit, I had one of my own. She did televised interviews, but the ones she wanted with me were apparently text. That was fine. I didn’t actually care if she wanted to take pictures or video, she just couldn’t do it without my permission first. No. That would be a problem.
Chapter Seven
Quinn
Today was the day.
I couldn’t wait to hear what he would have to tell me. He better be here. That was another thing I wasn’t willing to tolerate. Lateness . He was in demand and that meant he would have to put come concessions on his time to accommodate me. That would be another way to keep him on his toes. That was where he needed to be.
I wasn’t going to take it.
He wasn’t going to run around like a hoodlum if I had anything to say about it. What he did in his spare time was no longer his own business. It was mine. If I caught him slipping one time, there would be hell to pay. He had agreed so grudgingly to my terms like he was really mad about it. He was so used to being indulged and so used to getting to do whatever he wanted, without any real consequences.
His talent was at that level that a lot of people had to train for years to attain. His genetics, aptitude, and skill in the sport that just came naturally to him was only made sharper by his training. Even at the man’s worst, when he was dulled by alcohol or whatever the hell else he took, he was still a better player than most people could ever hope to be.
Didn’t he see I was doing him a favor? What would he do if he wasn’t a hooper? All that height? It was nearly the only job he could do.
It was probably wrong for me to feel so good about having Dante in that compromising position. It was only after I had gone home and received a message from Dante telling me he was grateful that I was going to take the time to listen to him and expose the truth that I fully recognized how much power I had in this situation. The interview today and the piece I would be releasing would be about the woman, but who was to say I couldn’t get more out of him than just that ?
He was Dante Rock; the man behind the hooper persona was likely very
I would have to move to China and play in their league over there. I didn’t want it. I really, really didn’t fucking want it, or I’d have to get a real job. The thought made me shudder. I wasn’t dumb. I just had never needed to be smart because that wasn’t the thing that was going to make me and the people around me rich.
The thing they don’t tell you about sports scholarships in college was you only had to make a minimum GPA. Minimum. And that was a fucking 2.0. You could miss half your classes and still get that if you did the reading. Another thing they did was enroll you in easy courses so you would be able to pass. You were there to play your sport, but they had to justifiably show that you had a reason to be there besides your sport.
It was stupid, but that was what had earned me both a college degree and a sports career. My degree was in communications. I had no fucking clue what I could even do with it if Quinn went through with ruining my career and I had to try and fall back on it.
The Quinn thing was solved, or at least it was solved as far as it was going to get solved. I had to do damage control. I had to find out who the woman was and I had to make sure that nobody got to hear about this before Quinn had her little article or whatever ready. I was not looking forward to the interview. I didn’t even know what she would end up writing because I had told her all there was to tell about the woman and what was going on.
She had so many rules and conditions and shit, I had one of my own. She did televised interviews, but the ones she wanted with me were apparently text. That was fine. I didn’t actually care if she wanted to take pictures or video, she just couldn’t do it without my permission first. No. That would be a problem.
Chapter Seven
Quinn
Today was the day.
I couldn’t wait to hear what he would have to tell me. He better be here. That was another thing I wasn’t willing to tolerate. Lateness . He was in demand and that meant he would have to put come concessions on his time to accommodate me. That would be another way to keep him on his toes. That was where he needed to be.
I wasn’t going to take it.
He wasn’t going to run around like a hoodlum if I had anything to say about it. What he did in his spare time was no longer his own business. It was mine. If I caught him slipping one time, there would be hell to pay. He had agreed so grudgingly to my terms like he was really mad about it. He was so used to being indulged and so used to getting to do whatever he wanted, without any real consequences.
His talent was at that level that a lot of people had to train for years to attain. His genetics, aptitude, and skill in the sport that just came naturally to him was only made sharper by his training. Even at the man’s worst, when he was dulled by alcohol or whatever the hell else he took, he was still a better player than most people could ever hope to be.
Didn’t he see I was doing him a favor? What would he do if he wasn’t a hooper? All that height? It was nearly the only job he could do.
It was probably wrong for me to feel so good about having Dante in that compromising position. It was only after I had gone home and received a message from Dante telling me he was grateful that I was going to take the time to listen to him and expose the truth that I fully recognized how much power I had in this situation. The interview today and the piece I would be releasing would be about the woman, but who was to say I couldn’t get more out of him than just that ?
He was Dante Rock; the man behind the hooper persona was likely very
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