Page 18 of Go Deep (A Bad Boy Sports Romance)
7
Slade
There wasnothing like a Friday night kegger to kick the weekend off, especially the second weekend of football season. Unfortunately, when tempers flare over football and alcohol, it’s easy to find the landlord standing on the porch the next morning yelling about damaged property.
The party had started off great. All the usual suspects were there – a handful of guys from the team, the frat brothers, and most of the girls from the cheerleading squad. Except for Cassidy, of course, but I couldn’t tell if that was because she was mad about us making out and almost having sex or because she just didn’t do parties. Ever.
Miranda, her roommate, was there, of course. She never did much socializing when she came around, but if there was a party with free booze around campus, she was there. I couldn’t quite figure that out. I had more important things to worry about, like the bet that was still going on. I had already made out with her earlier in the week, but I wasn’t quite ready to break the news to the guys yet. Apparently, there were still a few people who hadn’t put any money down. I figured I’d wait until there was enough money in the pot to make it worth it, or until I got her begging me to take her before I told anyone.
At some point in the night, after I’d managed to get myself quite plastered, some random kid—not anyone on the team or from the fraternity—got just as wasted and started mouthing off at me. I may have lost my cool, and from what I heard from the boys, I may have also mopped up the floor with him, from one end of the main floor to the other. Sadly, his ass wasn’t the only casualty in the fight.
This was why our landlord, Mr. Howard, had come to be standing in front of me right now, shouting about the damages to the house. “You know, I ought to kick you all out on your sorry asses and call your parents. I’d be well within my rights to name each of you in a civil suit for the damages to my property and the lost rent when I terminate the lease with your fraternity.”
In an effort to keep the news from reaching either my family or the national fraternity office, I decided to beg for a reprieve instead of letting things escalate. I figured anything Mr. Howard could do to me directly was better than anything my folks or the fraternity would do.
“Mr. Thomas,” I croaked through my aching head, “I take responsible for this mess.”
“How in the hell did you manage to destroy three of my antique tables and the two armoires in the front room, son?” he asked me.
“Some random guy came by last night and started a fight.” It made perfect sense in my head, but it did sound weak when I said it aloud.
“I assume you were plastered at the time,” Mr. Howard said.
“Yes, sir, we’d been drinking.” At that point I decided that the less I said, the better. I was making it worse.
“That little party you boys threw last night is going to cost you an additional fifty-seven hundred dollars in damages tomyhouse.” It felt like his voice was bearing down on my shoulders.
“What? I don’t have six thousand dollars!”
So much for keeping a lid on the talking.
“You should have thought about that before you destroyed those antiques.”
Thinking on my feet was normally a breeze, but with my head pounding from this hangover, it took a while to come to the point where I realized all he needed was some reassurance.
“I’ll find a way to pay for everything,” I announced, not knowing how exactly I could make that happen. Six grand was a heck of a lot of money. Money I didn’t have and didn’t have the means of earning without a job, which I also didn’t have.
“Damn right, you will.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
I lifted my head. That was a dumb question, even for him to be asking. “Whatever I can, sir.” I didn’t intend to sound like a smartass. I intended to make it sound like I’d simply do whatever he thought was best.
“Good. You can start tonight.”
“Start with what?”
“You know I own a restaurant downtown. You’re a pretty solid guy. You can bus tables until you work off the damages.”
I was looking for the silver lining, but there still wasn’t one. Bus tables? I didn’t know the first thing about working in any part of the food service industry, except that it was a waste of my talent and my time.
“I have football practice five afternoons a week.”
“We’re open late. Come by after practice.”
“But…” I started, but had nothing else to offer. I was fucked.
