I do know.
Too bad I didn’t stick to one-night stands.
But he doesn’t need my sob story.
“Good for you,” I say, getting a cup from the buffet.
“You okay?” He’s watching me intently.
“Yeah, all good.” I fill the cup and take a sip. Nice and strong. Just the way I like it. Especially on a day like today.
“Hey, I have a question for you,” I say, suddenly remembering my conversation with DeMarco.
“Shoot.”
“I know this is a little shady, but could you talk to your brother, find out if there are any rumors about DeMarco getting traded to the Thunder.” Technically, they need my permission, but there are always loopholes when big deals are in the works. That’s what makes me nervous.
He grimaces. “Please tell me that’s not a real thing.”
“He said it was, but he might have been fucking with me.” I don’t talk about the clause in my contract because it’s no one else’s business.
“That better be all it is,” he mutters, yanking his phone out of his pocket. He immediately starts typing and I sip my coffee as we wait for a response.
Then my phone buzzes and I see Serena’s name flash on the screen.
She’s calling me.
But I don’t have anything to say.
Not now.
I’m too hurt and frustrated to be sure I won’t say something I’ll regret, and in spite of everything, I’ve never been the kind of man who lashes out. My M.O. is to just walk away, and that’s probably the best move in this case.
I let the call go to voicemail and wait as Ashton starts typing again. Then he looks up at me.
“Apparently, yes, there have been some conversations, but as far as he knows, no offer has been made.”
“Fuck. Me.” I pull in a deep breath to calm my breathing.
I won’t play on a team with him.
And I have a contract protecting me from that. Maybe that makes me an arrogant ass, but I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let DeMarco derail my career.
He tried when we were younger, and he got drafted earlier than I did, but my career has been stellar while his has had huge ups and downs.
“Thanks,” I tell Ashton. “I have to talk to Coach.”
“What’s going on?” he calls after me.
“I’ll tell you later.” I pull out my phone and text Coach Teller, who responds immediately, telling me to come up to his room.
“I need to know what the deal is with DeMarco,” I say by way of greeting.
Coach arches his brows, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Well, good morning to you. Come on in.”
I’m itching for a fight, that’s how wound up I am at the moment, but obviously I’m not going to do that with Coach Teller. He can tell I’m agitated, though, and cocks his head.
“What’s going on?” he asks in that calm, patient voice that’s so soothing in the locker room.