CHANGING THE PLAYER: Charleston Pirates #1 by Chance, Jacob (digital e reader TXT) 📕

at my desk and scrolling through my social media pages. I haven’t checked them in ages and I’m procrastinating. I’m having a hard time concentrating and working is the last thing I want to do.

What’s this? TMC has tagged me. I click on the notification and it brings me to a post with the headline--LOOK WHO’S UP TO HIS OLD TRICKS. Underneath the headline is a picture of a pretty redheaded woman and Flynn. She’s leaning into him and he’s smiling at her. My stomach flip flops. I force myself to read the attached article.

What’s Flynn Shaughnessy doing back in Boston? And who’s the mystery lady by his side? Does this mean that the relationship between Shaughnessy and his agent Nadia Patel is over? Or is this a case of football’s bad boy reverting back to his old self?

Tears clouding my vision, I slam my laptop shut. I cover my mouth, smothering the sound of my crying. How could he do this to me? After all that we’ve shared, I never imagined this happening. Was I naive to think that fidelity wouldn’t be an issue? I don’t think he had sex with her, but that doesn’t mean the intent wasn’t there. That picture reveals interest on the woman’s part, and it sure didn’t look like Flynn was upset about it.

24

Flynn

“Flynn, you're seriously fucked,” Kendra supplies. “You should move away before you lose your dick.”

“What are you going on about?” I ask and she hands over her phone. Looking down at the screen, an image catches my attention. It’s me and the redheaded woman who kept talking my ear off. She was annoying as fuck, but for some reason, I’m smiling at her in the picture. And the way she’s flirtatiously leaning toward me is misleading. I spent most of my night talking to an older dude I met. I can’t remember his name for the life of me.

“You better pray Nadia doesn’t see this.”

“She never pays attention to social media,” I say confidently.

“Even if she doesn’t see it, someone might point it out to her,” Kendra tells me.

“I’m gonna give her a call in a few. I’ll make sure she knows what happened.”

“She wasn’t happy last night when we spoke.”

“Wait. When did you speak to her?”

“While you were at the bar. She called you and it was obvious you were shitfaced. You kept mentioning your ‘new friend’ and said you were getting a ride from them. If I’m her and I see this picture, I’m assuming this is your ‘new friend’.”

My eyes stay on the image as I take in all that Kendra said. Fuck. This could look a lot worse than I thought.

“Oh, by the way, in case you don’t remember, tonight we’re supposed to be at C’s Pub at six o’clock.”

“I remember seeing Clancy, but I don’t remember that part.”

“Do you remember the part where you got your ass tattooed?”

“What?” My hand goes to the back of my jeans and Kendra laughs.

“Just kidding. But next time you get fucked up, it’s going down,” she promises.

I rub my sore forehead. “There won’t be a next time.”

“Promises, promises,” she tuts, walking from the room.

I’m apprehensive about calling Nadia. I slowly sip my coffee and try to piece together in my mind how the night went. My parents walk in and set a bag of takeout down on the table.

“We thought you might like some breakfast,” Mom says, placing a cardboard container in front of me.

I smile and say, “Thank you.” Opening the top, I find a greasy bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. “This looks amazing.”

Both my parents sit down and I feel like I’m surrounded. Is this an intervention?

“How’s everything going, son?” my dad asks.

“Football has been great.”

“What about the rest of your life?” Mom asks.

My eyebrows hop upward. This might be an intervention.

Taking a bite of the sandwich, I stall. Since I’m not sure why they’re pretending to be interested, I might as well make them sweat a little. “Life is great. I’m living the dream.”

“Your sister said you have a lovely girlfriend.” Mom smiles at me.

“I do.” At least I hope I still do. “She’s amazing. You guys would love her.”

“Maybe we can meet her at some point,” Dad chimes in.

What the fuck is going on here?

I set the sandwich down. “Okay, what’s the deal with you two?”

“What do you mean?” Mom asks.

“Why all the interest in my life?”

“We’re always interested in what you’re doing,” Dad replies.

“No, you’re not. You like to tell me what I’m doing wrong or could do better. You rarely ask me anything, and you guys prefer to assume the worst of me.” I keep my calm, but I don’t pull any punches. It feels good to get it off my chest.

“Flynn, we love you. Of course we care what you’re doing. And we’re your parents, of course we offer unsolicited advice.” Mom shrugs.

“You’ve never been one who appreciated advice. You liked to learn for yourself, and after a while, we stopped butting heads with you about it. Your mom and I figured we’d let you do your thing and if you needed us, we’d be here for you.”

“And I never did.”

My mother nods. “But that’s not a bad thing. You were always so confident and sure you were going to do great things. And now you have. We’re so proud of you.”

Leaning my elbows on the table, I brace my head in my hands for a moment. When I look up, I know I have tears in my eyes. “I always felt like both of you didn’t love me.”

“Why would you think that?” Dad asks.

“I was the problem child, the challenging one who questioned everything. I made everything harder than it had to be. If you told me to do one thing, I did the other.”

“That didn’t make us love you any less, Flynn. It just made us worry about you,” Mom says.

“I always felt like the two of you loved each other so much you didn’t