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Before I know it, I'm being ushered into the conference room. I hold my new jersey over my arm as I enter the room to raucous applause, seeing Luke, Troy, and Coach Sanders in the front row. My new head coach steps up and shakes my hand, telling me he's proud to have me as a Carolina Panther, and looking forward to having me on his team. Some of the other coaches, including the offensive coordinator, whom I will be working with the most, introduce themselves and welcome me to the team as well. Then everyone settles for me to answer some questions.
"How does it feel to hear your name called as the first pick of the draft?" One of the reporters asks.
I chuckle. "I don't have an answer for that just yet."
They ask me a few more questions, and then I'm led to the table, where a folder with a Carolina Panthers logo sits at the middle seat. My name is embossed under the logo and I run my fingers over it. Lights flash and cameras click as I open the folder and look through the pages, knowing that everything is in order.
"You have a hell of an agent, Jack. I don't think I've ever negotiated so many details or signed a higher signing bonus."
On the last page, my eyes widen at the numbers. There are a lot more digits and commas than I ever expected. My eyes flash over to Bryant, who smirks and nods. He stands up and hands me a pen.
"Congratulations, Jack," he whispers, and pats my elbow. The touch is innocent, but it sends a wave of warmth through my entire body.
We aren't making any statements about who we are to each other, but we're also not hiding. We decided that figuring out a newish relationship was hard enough without the pressures of going public. So we're just going to live our lives, and do our jobs the best we can. In the meantime, Bryant is coming to Charlotte, North Carolina, and moving in with me. Now that he has his first successful rookie talent signed, he's going to spend a year learning the ins and outs of being a professional sports agent. So far, he's already the best anyone's seen, because he truly cares more about the player than the paycheck. And I know he'll be like that for all of his clients, not just me.
"Show us your jersey!" Troy says, and I roll my eyes at him, to which everyone laughs. Honestly, I'm impressed we were able to keep my surprise a secret.
After unbuttoning and removing my suit jacket, I stand up and slip my jersey over my head, avoiding Bryant's eyes until I'm ready to face him. Maybe this was stupid. I smile for the pictures before looking over at him. His mouth is open a little, and he has what looks like proud tears in his eyes as his eyes trace over my #88 jersey. I have to look away in case I start tearing up, too.
"I heard a rumor that you were able to choose your number, is that correct?” One of the reporters asks.
"Yes, that’s true. I got lucky that the number I wanted was available," I answer.
“Is the number significant?”
“Very,” I say. “It’s the same number that once belonged to the man that changed my life.”
BONUS EPILOGUE
JACK- ONE YEAR LATER
"Fuck!"
The tires squeal as our rental car jerks and then hydroplanes on the road in the dark Texas night.
"Fuck!" Bryant barks again. "Quit that shit, or you'll get us both killed!"
I stifle the chuckle that tries to escape my throat, but holding it back only makes it come out as a snort. Bryant scowls over at me, absolutely at his wit’s end with my bullshit, and my grin grows wider.
"You should really keep your eyes on the road in this weather," I say, lifting an eyebrow.
The redder he turns, the more my dick perks up.
He's on edge. Being back here is stressing him out more than he cares to admit. Ever since the press conference today, his usual surly demeanor is edged with nerves. Having to shake hands with his old boss without telling him off in front of a room full of reporters seemed to take a lot out of him. And while I've gotten used to the snap of cameras and attention whenever I go out in public, he's been able to escape most of the media's scrutiny over the past year. Not now though. Today kicked off what I'm sure will be a media frenzy that will likely follow us wherever we go now. Bryant's phone app for the security cameras around our house is already showing paparazzi and news vans surrounding our property, despite knowing full well we aren't home.
Speaking of phone apps…
Bryant flinches and growls. "Jack, I swear to fuck I'm gonna?—"
"Gonna what, Coach?" I sass, increasing the intensity of the butt plug a few times before giving him a brief reprieve before he really does run us off the road.
"I knew letting you talk me into this thing was a bad idea," he mutters.
"You fucking like it," I say with a smirk, holding my thumb over the screen. I bite my lip, challenging him with a pointed glare.
"I like it when we're at home and I can take my frustration out on your ass," he snaps.
"I'm sure Troy will let us use the apartment," I say, ignoring the tightening in my pants at the mere thought of how hard he comes when he's pounding into me while the butt plug vibrates against his prostate.
