Out of Bounds

“You’re looking good, Erickson. Keep up the streak,” he says, his voice gruff, because it’s always gruff.


“Do my best, sir.”

After a light workout the next day and some game tape review, I catch up with Jason in Santa Monica for dinner. There’s a new taco truck he’s been raving about, and tacos sound damn good to me.

“Two in a row, man. That’s the way to do it.” He claps me on the back when I join him in line at the red and yellow truck named Flipper’s Tacos.

I give him the side-eye. “How the fuck is that the name of a taco truck?”

Jason takes off his aviator shades. They complete the look he has working—the pressed pants, the polished shoes, the tailored white shirt. By contrast, I’m in jeans, a T-shirt, and ball cap, thank you very much. He flashes me a grin as he tips his forehead to the vehicle. “The guy who runs the truck has a Chihuahua named Flipper.”

“Ah, well. That makes perfect sense to name a truck after a dog.”

Jason points past the window to the illustration of said canine. “There’s the main man.” He lowers his voice. “By the way, Flipper’s owner is a big fan of yours. He’ll probably want a selfie with you. You cool with that?”

I nod, as I roll my neck side to side, trying to work out the kinks. “Absolutely. I’m all about smiling for the camera these days.”

“Excellent. I figured the team would be happy too, since they love your good-guy-about-town image. They released some shots of you from that charity thing you did a few weeks ago.”

I arch an eyebrow as we move up in line. I don’t follow that stuff too closely, but I’m glad Jason does. “They did?”

“Don’t worry. It’s all good. The team loves you. They love this happy, shiny face you have going on in public,” he says, clasping my chin and squeezing my cheeks like a grandma.

I smack his hand away. “Dude.”

He cracks up. “Little do they know you’re a sourpuss off the field.”

“I’m not sour. I’m sweet,” I say, with a wink.

“Anyway, keep this shit up and we can tie up some deals left and right, make some of the donations you’ve wanted to,” he says, since part of my goal with Jason is not just financial security or smart business; it’s also making sure I give back to some of the organizations I leaned on when I was a kid playing sports. It’s good to be in a position to return the love, and in a big way.

“Awesome. That’s what I like to hear.”

“And that was a nice shot of you and the hot chick from the front office.”

My spine straightens, and a dose of worry zips through me. Shit. A swirl of images of the team’s troubles rushes before my eyes—the crashed cars, the pregnant teens, the drug-using players. I don’t want to tarnish the good rep I’ve had for years, or the one I’ve managed in just a few weeks here in Los Angeles. Or hers. And I certainly don’t want to risk anything bigger—like my job. “What do you mean?”

“I saw it online. You and the blond babe. There was a shot of the two of you in front of the banner. Good stuff,” he says, then turns away from me when we reach the window.

Whew.

I drag a hand through my hair, reminding myself that posing at a charity function is not in the same league as the past problems. Hell, it’s hardly even on the same planet.

But it’s smart to be careful. And it’s a good thing it wasn’t obvious from the photo that I wanted to fuck her. Or that I nearly did later that same night. Well, her hand, if you want to get technical. Ah, hell. Now I’m thinking about screwing Dani, instead of ordering fish tacos from Flipper’s person.

Jason drops a hand to my shoulder and introduces me to the guy behind the window. Time to force out all thoughts of the woman I can’t have as my buddy says, “Drew, I want to introduce you to Ramon.”

A tattooed, burly man with a baby face extends his hand from behind the window. “Good to meet you. Big fan. Whatever you want. It’s on the house,” Ramon says, gesturing behind him to the kitchen on wheels.

I wave a hand, dismissing the offer. “Appreciate that, but I’m more than happy to pay for your fine food. And I appreciate the compliments.”

“And I’d appreciate it if you can bring a ring to Los Angeles,” he says, with a wry smile.

“I will absolutely do my best,” I say, and when the food is ready, Ramon refuses the cash, so I stuff a fifty in the tip jar.

Ramon grabs his phone, and we smile for the selfie camera.

We eat, then Jason and I wander along the promenade. We pass the movie theater, and I stop in my tracks when I read the marquee. “It’s tonight,” I say, my mind cycling back to Dani and our conversation in the car.

Jason knits his brow in question. “Heaven Can Wait? That old flick?”

“That old flick is a good flick, man.” I check the time. It’s almost seven.

“You and your love of old movies,” he says, shaking his head, like I amuse him.