Page 2 of Turn Me On
He has his reasons. I have mine.
And as soon as I grab a shower, I can get the hell out of here and deal with them.
* * *
One shower later, I stand at my stall, buttoning a crisp purple shirt and tucking it into charcoal slacks. Turning to Gunnar, I hold out my arms wide. “So, do I look good or holy-fuck good?” A man should always look sharp for his agent—a sign of respect for the hard work they do.
My friend gives me a serious once-over, then shrugs. “Eh, I’ve seen better.”
I cup my ear. “What was that? Hotter than hell, you say? Thank you.”
Rolling his eyes, he laughs. “Get out of here. Go enjoy thenews.”
I shudder. “News can be bad. It’s driving me crazy. I just want to know what it is.”
“Why do you play baseball if you hate surprises?” Gunnar asks.
“I likegoodsurprises,” I say, stuffing my phone in my pocket. “Like when I homer off a tough lefty, or when the next season of my favorite comedian’s podcast releases early.”
And when a guy likes to fuck the same way I do. That’s the most welcome surprise of all.
Gunnar offers a fist for knocking. “Then may all your dreams come true tonight, man.”
I knock back, then grab my water bottle, and head out for my meeting at the Luxe Hotel. I snag a parking spot on the lower level and take the stairs to the black and white lobby.
Vance, the man who’s repped me well during my year in the minors and my first three years in the majors, is easy to spot, parked on a ruby-red velvet couch, tapping away on his phone. Would it be rude if I flopped down next to him and demanded he tell me everything now?
Probably.
Better to ease into it. I don’t want to be a pushy jackass. Too many athletes are.
When I reach the pro football player turned sports agent, I clap him on the shoulder. “Let me guess. You’re ready to make us rich tonight. Or, in your case, richer,” I say with a grin.
Vance’s logged more than a decade in the business and has made quite a name for himself at CTM. I’m lucky to work with him, and especially lucky to work with the biggest agency in the world. CTM reps everyone—actors, writers, athletes, rock stars. Hell, if God needed an agent, God would call CTM.
Vance glances up, looking slick and polished in his sky-blue shirt, no tie. “That’s always my goal.” He stands and hauls me in for one of his signature hugs. “Good game tonight,” he says when he steps back.
I flick some nonexistent lint off my shoulder. “I try to knock in a few runs now and then.”
“Keep that up and we will get you a fat contract next year in addition to these deals,” he says.
“I’ll have to call you Santa Vance.” I laugh, trying to keep it light, maybe trying too hard not to let on how I want to set myself up for the future. Baseball is merciless and gives no guarantees. One bad break and my career could be over before it’s really begun.
“So, did the deal with Energize Drinks officially fall apart?” I aimed for nonchalance about the energy drink sponsorship, but, yeah, that sounded pessimistic as fuck.
Vance tilts his head, curious. “Why would you think that, Zane?”
It’s what I do when it comes to work.
“Oh, you know,” I say. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
He smiles. “Let’s save that talk for dinner,” he says, all warm encouragement. My tension doesn’t retreat. “But tonight, we’re going to have dinner with the rest of the team at CTM and make sure everyone’s on the same page so we can hit these deals hard. How does that sound?”
Sounds like shorthand forEnergize Drinks still has cold feet. Only, I don’t say that to Vance. Doubting your agent isn’t a good look on a client. “Works for me if it works for you,” I say, gathering the enthusiasm and support I should show as a team player.
“It does. I am an agent of good. And I told you I havegoodnews—”
“Dude, you saidnews. Next time, include the adjective,” I tease, but I feel ten times lighter.