Traded by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 15
“Good morning, JD-Five,” I say brightly from my spot at the kitchen table as Jack saunters in after his workout. He’s in mesh shorts and he isn’t wearing a shirt and God this job is really great sometimes. “What’s on the agenda for the day?” I figure it’s an easy door to open conversation, so I’m making it my morning mantra when I first see Jack...especially since I don’t have access to his calendar.
“A few of my buddies are coming over this afternoon,” he says. “And I approve of the new nickname.”
I laugh. “What’s the plan?”
“Drunk cornhole.” He says it so nonchalantly, like it’s just what guys do when they get together. “Maybe poker. Maybe cigars, but I’m not really a cigar guy.”
“Ugh,” Michelle says as she sweeps into the room. “No cigars.”
“Definitely cigars,” Jack mutters.
She wrinkles her nose. “You’ll smell like Daddy.”
Jack grins and winks at me. “Then I can use that whole who’s your daddy line.”
Michelle smacks him in the arm lightly, and he just laughs. It’s the first time I’ve seen any sort of affectionate interaction between the two of them, and it still boils down to Michelle whining about something.
“I’m working on a project with the marketing team and I have dinner and drinks with Natalie later, so I’ll be home late,” Michelle says.
“Great.” Jack almost seems like he means it—his single word doesn’t come across as sarcastic but rather a little thankful that she won’t be around the entire day. I chalk it up to the fact that he’s having friends over and he doesn’t really want his fiancée at drunken cornhole with his buddies.
He probably doesn’t want me there, either, but he doesn’t have much choice in that particular matter.
Michelle leaves and Brooke takes JJ to a playdate for a few hours, which leaves Jack and me alone at the house. He takes a shower, and when he comes down, that sexy and masculine Jack scent seems to follow him.
I try my hardest not to breathe it in.
I don’t even really like this guy, and yet I do. It’s so damn confusing.
A little after lunchtime, his buddies start arriving. Up first is Jack’s brother Luke who arrives with another Aces player I recognize as wide receiver Josh Nolan.
“This is my new assistant, Kia,” Jack says to Josh. I shoot Jack a quick glare.
“Nice to meet you, Kia,” Josh says, sticking out his hand.
“It’s, uh, Kate, actually.”
“It’s still nice to meet you, uh Kate actually,” Josh teases.
I laugh. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“She’s the babysitter,” Luke says to Josh.
Jack turns swiftly in his direction. “You told him?”
Luke shrugs. “It was too damn funny not to. Don’t worry, we can trust Josh.”
“I know we can, but the more people who know, the more likely our secret is to get out.”
“It’s more fun this way,” Luke says.
The bell rings, and Jack opens it to the tight end I recognize as the very attractive Ben Olson. The party of four hot men (plus me) is complete.
“Ben, this is Kia, my assistant,” Jack says.
“Is that what we’re calling her?” Ben asks with an easy laugh, and my cheeks turn a shade of red.
Jack leans in toward me. “Ben and I go way back. I confessed to him the night before I met you that Calvin had hired me a babysitter.”
He’d already mentioned that to me when we came up with our lie about being his assistant, but I wonder how many other people know that little tidbit. It’s good to know Ben is a person Jack considers part of his inner circle...and apparently his brother and Josh, too. Not that he had a choice on Josh, I guess.
“I’m Kate,” I say, sticking out my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Ben says, and he brings the back of my hand to his lips. I can’t tell if he’s being serious or facetious but my cheeks heat at the feel of his lips on my skin.
Jack’s off the market, but it seems as though the very sexy Ben might be up for grabs.
Jack glares at Ben before he leads the group of men through the house and into the backyard. I hang toward the back of the pack as the feeling that today’s going to be a long day washes over me.
Jack has already set up cornhole boards themed to the Vegas Aces, tape for the foul lines and pitchers’ boxes, and a cooler in the backyard. They all reach into the cooler and pop open a beer before they get started.
“I’ll be fine out here,” Jack says to me in some attempt to dismiss me.
“Oh, no,” Ben says. “The assistant stays, and the three of us are going to put her to the test today.”
I narrow my eyes at him, not sure exactly what he means by that.
“How?” Jack asks for me.
“If her job is to stop you from making an ass of yourself, we’ll find ways to get you to make an ass of yourself,” Ben says. “What was it...headlines and handcuffs? You think we could get you into both today?”
I picture Jack in handcuffs for the briefest second. Not the kind where he’s being arrested, but the kind where he’s tied down and I can do whatever I want to him.
I can think of a few things.
I shake the thoughts right out of my head. I’m still pretty new at this role, but I feel like I should at least be out here observing. Do I stop him from drinking too much? Do I demand he behaves himself with threats of calling the big boss in? All four of these men play for the same team, and one is Jack’s brother. How much trouble can he really get into?
I don’t think I want to know the answer to that.
All of them chug down the first beer like it’s a race to see who will get to the bottom first.
It’s like they’ve done this thousands of times before even though my best guess is that these four particular men have probably never played drunk cornhole in Jack’s backyard before.
Ben smashes the empty can against his forehead like some caveman once he finishes in first place, yelling “Done!” at the top of his lungs. The other three men are a little more civilized as they toss their cans on the ground and everyone reaches for another, but rowdy laughter follows Ben and his antics.
I suck in a deep breath.
I think I’ve got my hands full today.
“Game one, standard rules, draw for teams,” Jack says, all business as he chugs a bit from his second beer. I wonder if he’s hoping for a particular teammate to help assist in his victory since we all know he’s going to win.
“Side bets?” Ben asks.
Jack gives him a look like it’s a dumb question. “Of course. Plus a wager on each game if you’re interested.”
“If I’m interested.” Ben scoffs at that. “Do bears shit in the woods?”
“You’re an idiot,” Jack says. All four of them reach into a bag to grab a beanbag. Jack and Luke both pull out red beanbags and Josh and Ben end up with black ones. I guess the teams are decided.
“What are the stakes?” Jack asks.
“Ten grand?” Ben suggests, and Jack nods.
“I’m in,” Luke says, his voice full of confidence, and I can’t help but wonder if the Dalton brothers are taking these other two for a ride considering they grew up together and probably played this game hundreds of times. “You?” He nods to Josh, who nods, too.
Okay, so what I’m getting here is that the winning team will walk away with twenty grand. That’s a lot of money.
The guys get set up on their sides of the court then start their game. I hear Ben and Jack making their side bets—five hundred bucks you toss your bag over the board, a grand says you can’t get the next three in the hole, twenty bucks to chug a beer in under ten seconds—they’re all stupid, and they all make me see just how dumb men can be sometimes.
And yet...the laughter coming from the yard right now is refreshing. Seeing Jack relaxed and in his element as he has fun with his friends is a totally different dynamic than I’ve seen on him before. He projects this persona of always being disciplined and controlled to the entire world as he takes the field on Sundays during the season. He never sweats. He’s calm under pressure—even here at home when Michelle is being awful or when JJ is crying or when he’s being told a woman has been hired as his adult chaperone for nearly the next year.
He doesn’t seem to ever lose his cool, but he also seems to stay pretty even-keel...which is why I like seeing him this way. These little prop bets are silly, but he’s getting a kick out of them even as his speech starts to slur along with his pals and his movements start to shift from fluid and agile to a little sluggish.
The first game went to Jack and Luke, as did the second. I’ve lost count of the amount of beer these four have had so far, but the yard is littered with cans—a few crushed courtesy of Ben’s forehead. The stakes are the same in the third game, but the score is much closer as the beer starts to affect Jack’s performance. Actually, everyone seems at least a little affected by the beer except for Ben, who seems like the kind of guy who performs better after several drinks.
“Dude, take a video of me chugging the next beer and let’s put it on my TikTok,” Ben says.
What’s that old saying? Boys will be boys?
“Bad idea,” I say from where I sit nearby at the patio table. “You really want all the kids who look up to you and idolize you seeing you crush a beer can on your head?”
Ben laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and the other three follow suit. They’re all idiots, but at least they let go of the TikTok idea. For now, anyway.
The longer I sit out here, the more I think Ben Olson might need a babysitter, too. He’s hot, and he’s hilarious, and he’s all about having a good time, but even though his cornhole play seems to have improved, his decision-making skills after a few drinks don’t seem to be the best.
And Jack takes full advantage of that by luring him into prop bets he’s sure to lose. There’s one point when Jack is chugging a beer where I take a short video just to prove a point a little later, and he doesn’t even notice when I do it.
Ben and Josh win the third game, and they take the fourth as well. The fifth game is the tiebreaker that will determine who owes who what...in addition to the running total of Ben owing Jack a little over four grand after their prop bets.
So far I haven’t had to worry about much aside from the near social media blunder. They’re being dumb guys, acting totally immature, and wasting a whole lot of money, but nobody’s doing any harm to themselves or those around them, so my job has been fairly easy.
There’s not even anything I have to report back to Calvin, and I’m grateful for that...until that tiebreaker game is interrupted halfway through when Ben says, “Anyone want to go to the club?”
Jack raises a brow. “The same club we went to the night before the trade?”
“You fucking know it, man,” Ben says, and I immediately know they’re talking about a strip club—both from the context and the sly smile on Ben’s face. Calvin never said Jack couldn’t go places like this, but it’s still not the best idea.
“Fuck yeah,” Jack says.
“I’m out,” Luke says, and Josh echoes something similar. Why can’t Jack be the one to echo something similar?
Ben waggles his eyebrows. “I’ll drive.”
My brows dip. “Oh no, you won’t,” I say, standing from my spot at the patio table. All eyes turn toward me in surprise that the cute little babysitter spoke up. “You’ve been drinking all afternoon. There’s no way I’m letting you drive anywhere.”
Jack shrugs. “Kia has a point. She can drive.”
“I wasn’t volunteering,” I hiss, but they’re all too far gone to catch my tone. I have to tag along either way, and at least this way I have some semblance of control and I can ensure their safety…and keep them out of headlines. “This is a bad idea,” I say. “Is this really the first impression you want to leave on the Aces organization? On your new fans?”
Jack and Ben look at each other and shrug. “Fuck yeah!” they both say.
“She’s not wrong,” Josh says, and Luke agrees.
But Jack and Ben don’t seem to care as they both dream of naked women dancing just for them. The two of them could have any woman they want...and I can’t quite figure out what allure a strip club has other than the implicit bonds of drunkenness.
Josh and Luke call a car to drive them home—apparently they live across the street from each other.
Ben’s only taller by an inch or so but Jack is the leaner of the two, so Ben hops into the front seat of my little Kia while Jack folds himself into the back, the tiebreaker game long forgotten as naked dancers take precedence.
I snap a picture of Jack in the back of my car. It’s too funny not to, and I’m met with a glare when I check my rearview mirror to back out. I giggle. If I have to drive these two to a strip club and accompany them inside, at least I’m going to find little ways to enjoy it.
Ben pops open a beer in my front seat before I’ve even cleared the driveway.
“What are you doing?” I yell, and he’s midway through chugging it when he chokes at my screeching.
Jack starts laughing in the backseat.
This is the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
