I nod earnestly. “Derek, c’mon. You know I do.”

He raises a brow.

“I’m always thinking past the next lay, to the one after that.”

Derek’s mouth tightens as I chuckle, before he mumbles something and starts to get up.

“Okay! Okay!” I laugh as I grab his arm. “Derek, stay, I’m sorry. I’m listening now.”

He glares at me.

“Scout’s honor, I’m listening.”

He sighs. “I’m talking endorsements, asshole. I’m talking sports drinks, and shoes, and your handsome mug behind the wheel of a Lexus up on a billboard.” He steeples his fingers as he looks at me. “I’m talking money that makes your contract look like pocket change. Sound good?”

Okay, I’m listening.

I nod. “You’ve got my attention.”

“It’s where the real money is, buddy.”

I snort and raise my hands up. “Well? Why aren’t they knocking?”

Derek turns, snagging the gossip magazine lying on the bar, and tossing it at me. “That’s why.”

I grin as I look down at the headline in my hands. It’s two days old, and I’ve of course already seen it, but it’s still making me crack up.

My “shenanigans”, as Derek put it when the story first broke. My “predilections towards fucking my own shit up,” I believe were his exact words. I glance down at the paparazzi shots - then ones of me leaving the club with that girl that night, followed by pictures of my Maserati crashed into the side of that Starbucks on Vine about twenty minutes later.

“No one got hurt, the place was closed.”

He gives me a look.

“Derek, it’s fine, she was eighteen.”

I can literally see the temperature of Derek’s face rising.

“She’s the junior commissioner’s daughter, dip-shit.”

I grin as I take a big pull of my whiskey, thinking about that night and that hot little mouth. “Well she should learn to keep her hands to herself in moving vehicles, Derek.” I shake my head. “I really don’t see how it’s suddenly my fault-”

“I know you’re not really that fucking stupid, Taylor.” Derek’s glasses are back off as he rubs the bridge of his nose again. “Junior. Commissioner’s. Daughter,” he says, annunciating each word.

“Well, what the hell is he doing letting his daughter hang around NFL players then?”

“For fuck’s sake, Austin,” he shakes his head. “You’re not hearing me. Clean your shit up, or you’re going to get shut down faster than you can say minor leagues.”

I snort. “Please, with this arm?”

“People have been blackballed for less.” Derek puts his glasses back on and gives me a stern look. “Don’t fuck with these people, Austin. This isn’t college ball where everyone’s going to hold your hand, and jerk you off, and let you get away with murder. These people hold your paychecks, and your future. You gotta learn to play ball with them. Besides,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “As much a nightmare as that one is, we’ve got bigger problems.”

He slides the phone my way, but it only takes one glance down at the tabloid site headline for my face to sour.

“Derek, you know that’s bullshit.”

He glares at me. “Is it?”

I frown as I glare down at the article, at that condescending, knowing grin on the blonde girl’s face.

“I never touched her, Derek, so unless she’s claiming immaculate conception-”