Page 33 of Hot Receiver

I. Don’t. Care.

“What’d you threaten Matt Harrison with if he didn’t mouth diarrhea rainbows and unicorns for you?”

I ball my fingers into tight fists.

My leg muscles tense with each step I take toward them.

They exchange a look, no doubt wondering what I’m going to do once I close the space between us.

“Is that your mom over there?” The second one growls. He peers around me, now focusing his hate on her. “Hey, Jimmy. That’s his mom.”

A sharp scream pierces the air. I whip my head around to look for my mom. A greasy motherfucker dressed in black grabs her by the arm and yanks her toward him.

“Zak!” she yells.

“Did he learn how to take it up the ass at home? Is that what you taught him?” The guy sneers at her.

Suddenly, his face is no longer the dirty, pock-marked, scraggly beard covered one from a second ago.

It morphs into the smug bastard face of Brett Travers, my nemesis, glaring at my mother like she’s the lowest life form on the planet. He's changed from the hater he was only seconds before.

I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I just run straight for the son of a bitch.

I launch my arm back and let it fly until it lands against the guy’s disgusting, filth-ridden mouth. He flies backward against the side of the restaurant. My heart pounds, and blood bubbles, rushing between my ears.

Grabbing him by the shirt, I slam him back against the wall. I blink fast, the image so clear and crisp it’s almost likeI’m back in the locker room eight years ago facing him during one of the worst moments of my life.

The image of Brett from that day stares back at me, a taunting, pompous ass with smirk lifting his lips. It’s an image I’ll never forget, one that’s burned into my memory.

“What are you gonna do about it, Kacey? I’ll always win. I already proved that to you.”

Chapter 15

Matt

My finger hovers over my iPhone screen.

What the hell are the odds that he kept the same cell phone number from back in college?

I type the letters of Zak’s name. His contact information appears on my screen.

Biting down on my lower lip, I stare at it for a long minute.

What the fuck happened to him? Am I the reason why he nearly split that bum’s head in half the other day?

I’ve already heard from Marc, who’s shitting bricks right now because it’s the second time Zak has flown off the handle, and he’s worried about the damage it’ll do to the team heading into preseason. We have our first game this weekend against the Carolina Raptors, and he’s panicked that the stadium will be filled with more protesters than fans at this point.

I can’t blame him. Zak has made his job a shit ton more stressful over the past few days. Jesus, owners aren’t supposed to cause the drama. That’s usually reserved for the players.

“Babe?” Anna puts a soft hand on my shoulder, and the hand holding my phone drops. “Is something wrong?”

I nod toward the ninety-inch plasma screen mounted on the wall in my living room. “Yep. Something’s very wrong.”

She frowns at the screen and looks back at me. “The guy is kind of a loose cannon, huh?”

My shoulders slump and I rake both hands through my hair while pacing the length of the room. “The media is so fucking biased. I can’t believe he’d have attacked that guy like that.”

“There must be some explanation. I mean, he seems pretty hotheaded, but to physically assault someone like that for no reason?”

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