The Player Gets Coached

By Janet Nissenson

The Manwhore Versus The Maneater

Finn McManus thrives on his reputation as a player's player – a term that has nothing to do with his years as a professional athlete. A notorious flirt and ladies man, the handsome, charming retired football player rarely dates a woman more than a few times, and shies away from relationships like they were a contagious disease. And despite his parents' decades long, blissfully happy marriage, Finn just can't see himself ever being in the same situation.

Delilah Ferris has acquired her own reputation over the years as something of a maneater. She makes no bones about the fact that she expects to call the shots in the relationship, and that she'll never be any man's fool. And when she meets her new neighbor Finn for the first time, she automatically puts him in the same category as her handsome, playboy father – the same father who not only broke her heart too many times to count but broke their family as well. Delilah has always vowed to steer clear of heartbreakers like Finn McManus, unwilling to ever fall victim to his charms.

But when the gorgeous, tempting Delilah quickly becomes the only woman Finn has eyes for, he pulls out all the stops to convince her to go out with him. And if Delilah weakens her resolve and agrees, will she regret her decision sooner than later? Or will the coach finally manage to whip this player into shape?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543947021

Book preview

Epilogue

Chapter One

Finn eased himself from the king sized platform bed that was intended to be the focal point of his spacious master bedroom - little surprise, he mused wryly, considering how much action this particular bed had seen over the past few years. Less than five minutes ago, in fact, the bed had been rocking and shaking as he’d given the lusty young blonde he had met earlier this evening a hard, thorough fucking. She’d been every bit as eager and enthusiastic as he was, practically tearing off the few articles of clothing she’d been wearing as soon as they’d walked through the front door of his condo, and urging him to do her right there in the living room. Finn had never been a man who needed to be asked twice to do anything, and especially not when shoving his cock inside a warm, willing female body was involved. He’d barely had time to unzip his pants and roll on a condom - a cardinal rule that he never, ever, broke no matter how drunk or horny he was or how tempting his partner might be - before the now naked nymphet had dropped to all fours and wiggled her pert ass at him invitingly.   

That first time had been wild and frantic and more than a little on the raunchy side, with the angelic looking young blonde shouting out some of the filthiest words he’d ever heard. It was obvious she liked it rough, and fortunately for her Finn had been more than willing to accommodate her needs. They had made it to the bedroom the second time, where his voracious bedmate had used her admittedly talented mouth to coax his dick back to the ready stage.  

He’d been on top this time, but that hadn’t stopped his bedmate from fully participating in the action. The little hellcat - damn, why was he having so much trouble remembering her name - had screeched and yelled and bucked like the wild thing she was, her long, blood-red nails raking along his back as he’d brought her closer and closer to climaxing. Unsurprisingly, she’d made very sure he had known she was coming, shouting this fact out so loudly that Finn had found himself wincing, and hoping that the walls of his condo had sufficient enough soundproofing so that his next door neighbor couldn’t hear what was happening.

Not, of course, that said neighbor - or any number of other residents in this posh, modern building - weren’t well aware of the virtual revolving door of females who came in and out of Finn’s place. He had a small group of male friends and acquaintances who lived in the building - some, but not all of them professed bachelors like himself - and they loved nothing better than to be regaled with detailed accounts of Finn’s most recent hook-up. Unlike, recalled Finn with a scowl, his two closest friends Jordan and Max, who more often than not changed the subject nowadays whenever he tried to discuss his latest conquest.

‘It’s a pretty sad state of affairs when a guy can’t even discuss his - well, affairs with his two supposed best friends,’ grumbled Finn beneath his breath as he grabbed a terrycloth robe from the hook on his en suite bathroom door. ‘Maybe it’s finally time for me to make good on my threats and find some new friends. Ones who haven’t been pussy whipped by their girlfriends or decided that celibacy is somehow a good thing.’

But Finn knew that his threats were empty ones, and that it would take some sort of major disagreement or altercation for him to ever seriously consider breaking ties with his former frat brothers. Jordan and Max were as close to Finn as his own biological brothers - maybe even closer in some ways. They’d been the best of friends for twenty years now, ever since the three of them had been assigned to the same floor in their dorm at Stanford. All three had despised or had some sort of issue with their respective roommates during freshman year, and as a result the trio had wound up spending a good deal of time together at other locations around campus.

After mutually agreeing that another year in the dorms wasn’t for them, Finn, Jordan, and Max had debated between getting their own off campus apartment together, or pledging to one of the on-campus fraternities. But after touring a few of the cramped, semi-dingy apartments that they would actually be able to afford, the threesome had decided that frat life was the way to go. Finn and Jordan had shared a room in the house, while Max - ever the loner - had opted for a tiny attic room of his own rather than take the risk of having to share with yet another obnoxious roommate.

Finn glanced over at the bed where his energetic partner - wait, was her name Cindy or Mindy? Or maybe it was Candy or Mandy? - had evidently worn herself out and was snoring softly. He finished belting the robe around his waist before gingerly unlocking the sliding door that led from his bedroom to the balcony, then closed the door carefully behind him so as not to wake Cindy/Mindy/Candy/Mandy.

He shivered a bit as his bare feet made contact with the cool porcelain tiles on the balcony, and was glad he’d thought to grab his robe. It wasn’t quite springtime yet in San Francisco, and the early March night air was more than a little on the brisk side. But it was also a crystal clear evening, he noted with pleasure, with nary a cloud in the sky, and no hint of the damp, chilly fog that could blanket the entire San Francisco Bay when it rolled in at times. The oft-changing, unpredictable climate, however, was one of the things Finn loved best about this city - a city he’d become infatuated with from the very first time he had visited during his freshman year at Stanford.

The lively, bustling city was a far cry from the laidback ski town he’d grown up in back in Colorado, a place where Finn had known most everyone in town, and where his family had resided for several generations. And while he’d had the happiest, most normal of childhoods, the greatest parents in the whole world - at least in his opinion - and where he had easily been the most popular boy in his high school class, Finn had always known that he needed something bigger and better than working for the family construction business, marrying some local girl, and staying put in the only town he’d ever lived in.

Football had provided him with that opportunity to spread his wings. After earning the starting quarterback position during his sophomore year of high school, Finn had broken nearly every school passing record, plus several state ones, and drawn the attention of a dozen different top universities around the country as a result. And since he was more than a little tired of dealing with snow for nearly half the year, choosing a location where the winters were much milder had been a prime factor in making his decision. It hadn’t hurt that Stanford was also one of the top academic colleges in the world, not that many people realized that a fun-loving playboy like Finn McManus was also pretty damned smart.

It was his father who’d pointed out that a career in the NFL was no guarantee after college, and that the risk of injury in his chosen sport was higher than most, so that Finn had darned well better have what Jerry McManus had referred to as a back-up plan.

And it sure wouldn’t hurt to have a big name school like Stanford on your resume one day, Finn, his father had advised. So if they’re willing to pay your way, then I’d say go for it. That being said, Jerry had added jokingly, it wouldn’t break my heart - not to mention your mother’s - if you decided to stay local and attend the University of Colorado.

But when the time had come for Finn to head out to California, his parents and three younger siblings had been nothing but supportive, even though they had all quietly realized that the likelihood of him ever moving back home permanently was practically nonexistent. Finn had known within a scant month of living on the Stanford campus that he would find a way to make California his home, and after his first weekend visit to San Francisco, had determined that the big city would be where he’d settle after college.

It had been a huge disappointment when he hadn’t been drafted by the San Francisco 49ers football team, even though he would have wound up as the third string quarterback back then. Instead, he’d headed to Miami, where he became the starter after a scant year as the backup, commanded a hefty salary, and enjoyed a successful career that had spanned a dozen years. But he’d still insisted on living in San Francisco during the off-season, originally buying a much smaller condo than the one he currently owned, and had always considered the city his primary residence.

His current job as an analyst for the NFL Network took him around the country on a regular basis to attend games and other events, though he mostly worked out of the network studios in Los Angeles. Fortunately, it was a short flight to southern California, and the taping of the show only took a few hours of his time each week. Not, of course, that the taping was the only part of his job. He had to spend long hours each week reviewing tapes of previous games, pouring over statistics and injury reports, and studying the match-ups for next week’s games. Jordan and Max frequently teased him about his cushy, high-paying profession, but his pain-in-the-ass friends had little to no idea about just how hard he really worked.

Finn took a deep, appreciative breath, drinking in the cool, crisp night air of his beloved, adopted city, and thought he’d never get tired of this view. His condo was on one of the uppermost floors of the building, and had one of the best vantage points of any of the units. The spectacular, panoramic view of the San Francisco skyline had, in fact, been one of the major selling points of this place when he’d decided to move into a larger, more modern building a few years ago. From the balcony, he could pick out any number of famous landmarks and buildings - the Transamerica Pyramid, the Ferry Building, San Francisco Bay, and, in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge and the Farallon Islands.

And the view was even more breathtaking at nighttime, when all of the office buildings were lit up, and Finn knew it was a sight he would never get tired of.

All in all, he mused, he had a pretty fine life. He had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, having socked away and invested a good portion of the hefty salary he’d earned as a pro football player. He loved his current job as a network analyst, loved the media attention he continued to receive, and enjoyed the traveling and social events that came with the job. He still had a few lucrative endorsement deals as well, serving as the spokesman for an athletic apparel line, a brand of vodka, and a hotel chain. He was admittedly enough of an egotist to get a kick out of seeing his face in print ads or hearing his voice on television commercials, and especially loved being recognized and greeted by fans.

As a confirmed and dedicated bachelor who didn’t believe in long-term relationships, Finn was footloose and fancy free, being able to come and go as he pleased without having to answer to anyone. He liked that freedom, liked the idea of being able to watch whatever he wanted on TV, or lounge around all day in his rattiest jeans and T-shirt, or go for a week at a time without shaving if he felt like it. When he wasn’t working - which amounted to more than half the year - he could sleep in as late as he pleased or get up at the crack of dawn, depending on his mood. He could eat whatever and wherever he wanted, could hang out with his friends, or catch a flight out to Colorado to see his family at practically a moment’s notice.

And of course, the very best part of being a carefree bachelor with no intention of ever getting married or having a relationship that lasted more than a week or so, was that he could freely flit from one eager bedmate to the next without the slightest qualm or hesitation or even a smidgen of guilt. Finn had lost count a long time ago of the number of women he’d fucked and then forgotten, not that he’d ever really made a serious attempt to keep a running tally. He was unapologetic about the fact that he loved women, loved sex, and wasn’t all that picky about the type of women he had sex with - provided, of course, that they were attractive, willing, and eager. Finn liked them tall or petite or somewhere in between; blondes, brunettes, or redheads; slim or curvy, though he tended to shy away from the stick thin model types who had no boobs or hips to speak of. And he’d been with women from a wide variety of ethnic backgrounds - Caucasians, African Americans, Latinas, Asians. A number of his former lovers had been older women, though that had mostly been when he’d been quite a bit younger. And while the horny blonde who was currently fast asleep in his bed was definitely in her early twenties, most of his partners these days were typically no more than five to ten years younger than his own age of thirty-nine.

He grimaced now to realize that he was going to be forty years old in just a few more months. ‘Forty fucking years old,’ he thought to himself in disgust. ‘No wonder some of those younger babes at the club tonight wouldn’t give you a second look. Shit, they’re probably too young to even know who you are, McManus.’

Over the years, Finn had taken shameless advantage of his celebrity status, picking out only the most attractive of the groupies who had always hung out around the football stadium or team hotel. He’d had more than his fair share of celebrity hook-ups, too, dating actresses, singers, and models, and having his photo splashed in the gossip magazines and newspapers on a regular basis. Since his retirement from football, he wasn’t as easily recognized, but still had plenty of opportunities to meet hot women at all of the social events he attended for the network. Though he was beginning to suspect that most of them had no real idea of who he was, given that they’d likely been in middle school when he’d been playing football, and only gravitated to him because they guessed he had money.

Jordan and Max had begun throwing hints - and not very subtle ones - that perhaps it was time for Finn to get over his Peter Pan syndrome and start acting like something other than an overgrown frat boy for once in his life. Max, thought Finn caustically, had more often than not been something of a buzzkill. The often moody, sometimes withdrawn British expat had always been picky about the women in his life, had frequently regarded Jordan and Finn with distaste at their choice of bedmates, and it had been rare for old Max to really let loose and enjoy himself. And over the past couple of years, Max had become almost a recluse, rarely agreeing to accompany his friends out to a bar or club, and Finn was willing to bet a considerable sum of money on the fact that it had been a helluva long time since Max had gotten laid.

Even Jordan, who’d nearly rivaled Finn at one time for the unofficial title of Manwhore of the Decade, had mended his ways over the past year, ever since he’d met his girlfriend Aubrey during a vacation in Hawaii. Not only had Jordan remained entirely faithful to the admittedly hot, gorgeous blonde for all that time, but she was actually living with him. And Jordan had very nearly caused Finn to choke on his steak sandwich during lunch last week when he’d secretly confided to him and Max that he was seriously considering proposing to Aubrey within the next few weeks.

"I so have to find some new friends, Finn had grumbled after drinking down a glass of water to clear his throat. The two of you are as much fun as a couple of old men at a bingo game. In fact, I’m willing to bet those old men would be more fun since they’d probably enjoy watching some porn with me. Unlike the two of you."

Max had shrugged. I’ve never really enjoyed pornography, if I’m being honest. Why settle for that when the real thing is so much more enjoyable?

Finn had looked at his friend in disbelief. Speaking from memory there, Max? Or have you been keeping secrets from me and Jordan? Though given how far up your ass that old stick has been wedged, the only way I’d believe you’d had sex in recent times was to see you in action for myself. And while voyeurism isn’t quite as satisfying as sex, I definitely wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.

In response, Max had merely taken a sip of his wine and rather discreetly flipped Finn off.

Jordan, meanwhile, had taken a different approach. Did you ever think, he’d asked quietly, that maybe it’s way past time for you to stop acting like you’re still twenty-five years old, Finn? Or quit reliving the glory days when you were playing football and could snag any hot young thing you snapped your fingers at? We can’t freeze time, after all, or prevent ourselves from getting older. And sure, you can try to find some younger friends, or pick up a woman who’s ten to fifteen years younger than you are, and try to cling to your youth like grim death. But sooner than later you’ll have to face facts - you’re almost forty years old, my man, and you need to grow up one of these days. Max and I have both accepted that fact, and now it’s your turn.

Finn had glared darkly at both men. Well, fuck that. Just because Max is turning into a virtual monk, and you’re this close to being pussy whipped doesn’t mean that I have to stop enjoying my life. Hell, even my father stopped lecturing me about my lifestyle a decade ago.

Max had given an eye roll. That’s probably because he figured you were a lost cause, Finley. And perhaps he’s right. Leave him alone, will you, Jordan? This is something Finn’s going to have to come to terms with himself. Let’s just hope it’s before he turns seventy five and he’s the only one in the singles bar using a cane.

Jordan had laughed uproariously at that, while this time Finn had been the one to give Max the bird. And while the subject had been changed after that, what his friends had said still continued to trouble Finn.

‘Maybe they’ve got a point,’ mused Finn as he ran a hand through his mussed dirty blond hair. ‘I mean, look at who’s sleeping in your bed right now. Cindy, no Candy - goddammit, what is her name - is barely twenty-three. Biologically, you’re more than old enough to be her father. Maybe it’s time you started thinking about dating more mature women, or at least dating someone for more than a week or two at a time. Hell, maybe you should be more like Max and not date or have sex at all for awhile, clear your mind and all that stuff. Maybe Aubrey has a friend she could set you up with, someone a guy could get serious about for once in his life. Or maybe…’

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open, and Mindy - no, Mandy - stepped out onto the balcony stark naked. Her long blonde hair was artfully tousled, the nipples of her pert, firm breasts hard and pointed, and her lushly full mouth curved upwards into an inviting smile.

She walked over to the balcony railing, holding on with both hands as she bent over and presented him with her tight, tempting ass.

I’ve always wanted to get fucked looking out over the city like this, she purred, wiggling that ass provocatively. Do you think anyone will be able to see us up this high?

Finn swallowed with some difficulty, even as his hands unfasted the belt of his robe. He fished inside the pocket of the robe, his fingers closing over a condom packet that he’d conveniently left there once upon a time. Uh, I’m - uh, not exactly sure, he rasped, taking hold of his erect cock, rolling on the condom, and then pressing himself against her from behind. But it’s a possibility.

His nameless blonde bedmate flashed him a flirty smile as she reached back for his cock, guiding it to the hot, wet entrance to her eager body. Even better, then.

And as Finn thrust inside of her, he thought faintly that Jordan was an idiot to even think of settling for just one woman when there was a constant, ever-changing assortment of them to pick from. And, unlike his supposedly older and wiser friends, Finn was more than happy to admit that he just wasn’t the one-woman sort of man, and couldn’t imagine what - or, more accurately, who - might ever be able to change that attitude.

Chapter Two

So nice of you to dress for the occasion, Finn. Lucky for you that the owner of this place is a big football fan, and ignores the fact that you show up from time to time looking like you slept in your clothes for the past three days.

Jordan gazed pointedly at Finn’s faded jeans, a holey T-shirt bearing the image of the vodka brand he was the spokesperson for, and the well worn pair of gray Vans on his feet. Finn’s dirty blonde hair was on the shaggy side since he was overdue for a cut, and the three-day stubble that covered his cheeks and chin was definitely not of the designer variety.

Finn shrugged at Jordan’s mockery, then dipped three French fries at one time into a mixture of ketchup, Dijon mustard, and blue cheese dressing that he’d first concocted in the sixth grade. "Unlike you two, I don’t have to wear a suit and tie to work every day. And I would have probably changed - not to mention shaved - if the conference call I was on hadn’t run overtime, and I didn’t want to piss Max off by being late and disrupting his precious schedule. Believe it or not, my friends, I actually do work for a living."

Hmm. So you say, mused Max as he eyed the odd dipping sauce on Finn’s plate with distaste. But from what Jordan and I have observed over the years, we’re not exactly sure if it’s a case of you working hard or hardly working. And may I say that is the most disgusting looking slop I’ve ever seen. Not only are you dressed like a beach bum but your eating habits are nauseating.

In response Finn merely dunked several more French fries into the mixture, then licked a few drops off his fingers, grinning mischievously at his uptight friend. Tell me, Maxwell. Were you born with that stick up your ass or did you acquire it gradually over the years? I’ll bet even at that fancy English prep school you attended with a bunch of other snobs that you were the most uptight of them all.

Max grimaced. "I was there on scholarship, Finn, as you’re well aware, and had to work in the library and the school office to help pay my way. Trust me, I had very little to be snobbish about, especially when you consider my very, very humble beginnings. But even then I was certainly more discriminating about my diet than you are. What exactly is that monstrosity you’re eating anyway? I’m sure I didn’t notice anything quite that - greasy on the menu."

Finn took a bite of said monstrosity, replying with his mouth filled with food since he knew such bad manners really pissed Max off. It’s a patty melt, with extra cheese, sautéed mushrooms, avocado, and bacon. Oh, and I had them use ranch dressing instead of Thousand Island since I can’t stand that stuff. And it’s definitely not on the menu, but ever since I donated some signed football memorabilia to the owner’s kids’ school for some fundraiser, I can pretty much order whatever I want. Want a bite?

This time Max visibly shuddered as Finn held out half of the overstuffed burger before returning his attention to his own plate, where he had rather predictably ordered some sort of plain grilled fish, steamed vegetables, and roasted red potatoes. Finn happily took another big bite of his custom made patty melt and wondered vaguely if Max ever did anything the least bit fun nowadays. Or wore anything besides one of his custom made Italian suits, pristine white shirts, and silk ties. Finn was sorely tempted to upend his plate of food - particularly the mixture of dipping sauces - right onto Max’s gray wool Brioni trousers, just to see if he could get some sort of reaction from him.

But he resisted the mischievous urge, partly because he was starving this afternoon, having skipped breakfast after barely waking up in time to make the conference call, and partly because he was half-afraid that Max might actually get mad enough to throw a punch. Of the three men, Max was by far the most dedicated to his fitness routine, which included lifting weights, rowing, and some crazy extreme mixed martial arts workout. Jordan happily admitted to being incredibly lazy when it came to working out, though apparently he’d been far more diligent about hitting the gym ever since Aubrey had moved in with him, given that she was some sort of fitness fanatic herself.

As for Finn, he did what he needed to keep in shape, though his workouts nowadays were nowhere near as intense as they’d been when he had played football. He was lucky enough to have been blessed with good genes so that he could basically eat whatever he wanted and not have the extra calories turn to flab. He stayed fit by working out with his longtime personal trainer three or four times a week, riding his bike around San Francisco nearly every day, and playing an occasional game of golf with some of his fellow NFL retirees or network executives at events.

"So why didn’t you, uh, get cleaned up before your conference call?" inquired Jordan as he refilled his water glass from the pitcher that had been left on the table. He rarely if ever indulged in alcohol during these lunches, given that he had patients to see afterwards at his busy OB/GYN practice.

Finn winked at Jordan knowingly. I, ah, might have slept in just a little too late this morning, he admitted with a chuckle. Didn’t get much sleep last night, if you really want to know.

We don’t, retorted Max. Shall we assume that the reason you had a mostly sleepless night wasn’t due to insomnia? Or because your neighbors were playing loud music until the wee hours?

Finn grinned wickedly. Now, Max, you’ve been over to my condo on enough occasions to know how well soundproofed it is. Good thing, too, considering how much noise was coming from my bedroom.

Jordan shook his head in good-natured exasperation. Speaking of coming - what was this one’s name?

Shit. Finn took a swig of his beer. I was actually hoping you guys wouldn’t ask me that question. Because, well, I sort of don’t know - at least not for sure. I know her name ends in a Y but I can’t remember if it’s Mandy or Cindy.

Max didn’t even bother to comment as he read an incoming text on his phone, but the look of disgust on his face was hard to miss, while Jordan gave Finn an admonishing look.

Jesus, Finn. You can’t even get their names straight? he asked in disbelief.

Finn gave an apologetic little shrug. Didn’t seem all that important at the time. We had much better things to do than have a conversation. Besides, I knew she was only going to be a onetime thing. Way too young for me, I’m afraid, much as it pains me to admit a thing like that.

"How young is too young? inquired Jordan. For God’s sake, Finn, I hope you have enough sense not to be hitting on college girls any longer. After that incident last summer in Cancun I thought you’d finally learned your lesson."

That particular incident had involved Finn partying hard with a quartet of gorgeous young co-eds who’d been barely old enough to drink, but more than old enough to splash the photos they’d taken all over social media. The higher-ups at the NFL Network - not to mention a couple of the firms he was paid handsomely to endorse - hadn’t been especially pleased to see their spokesperson in a state of near-undress, with several equally near-naked young women draped over his body.

Finn waved a hand in dismissal. "Nah. She wasn’t that young. She told me at the bar that she was twenty-five, but I think she was at least a couple of years younger. And, man. Talk about stamina. Jeez, I think she sucked me dry for at least the next week. I’m pretty sure that if a whole parade of gorgeous naked women were to walk through this restaurant right now that I wouldn’t be able to get it up."

I doubt that, replied Max drily. And we shouldn’t have to remind you, Finley, that while a twenty-three year old woman might be of legal age, she’s still far too young for you. Technically you’re old enough to be that girl’s father, a fact that should disturb you as much as it does me.

Jordan nodded. You’ve got to admit that’s starting to push it just a little, Finn. A seventeen year age difference is way over my limit.

Sixteen, corrected Finn automatically. As of today there’s still only a sixteen year difference between me and, uh, let’s just call her Mandy.

Max smirked as he summoned their waiter over to order coffee. You’re only thirty-nine for two more months, Finn. Less, actually. Six weeks and four days to be exact.

Finn scowled at his two know-it-all friends. Leave it to a numbers guy to be able to calculate the exact number of days left until I turn forty. I’m surprised you haven’t figured out how many hours, Max.

That would be one thousand one hundred and four, replied Max easily. I don’t know the exact time of day you were born, of course, so that number could go up or down by a few hours but it’s very close.

Finn shook his head in disbelief. It always freaks me out a little when you can do calculations in your head so fast. You’re like a human computer at times, Max.

A smile crossed Max’s face for a few brief seconds before being replaced by his usual somber expression. A skill I’ve had to hone over the years in my business, Finn. When you spend most of your day poring over financial reports and profit and loss analyses, numbers become ingrained in your daily brain function.

Jordan grinned, elbowing Finn good-naturedly in the ribs. The only numbers Finn has ingrained in his brain are how many women he’s banged over the decades, and how many condoms are still left in the jumbo sized box he keeps in his nightstand.

Finn scowled as both of his friends shared a laugh over that comment. Fuck off, Doctor Dreamboat. And you, too, Mega-Brain. I might not have a medical degree, or a Masters in finance, but I’m not the imbecile you both try and make me out to be. Hey, don’t forget that I graduated from Stanford, too. And despite what you both think, I actually work my ass off for this network job. Maybe I can’t do complicated equations in record time like Max, but I do have to memorize a whole lot of different statistics about individual players and teams so that I’m not just reading off a cheat sheet during the broadcast. So stop treating me like a dumbshit half the time, and quit demeaning my job. It might seem like all I do is attend press events and joke around on the air with the other analysts, but there’s a hell of a lot more to it than that.

Jordan and Max both stared at him somewhat incredulously, as though they couldn’t quite believe that it had been Finn who’d just made such an impassioned speech. Tactfully, Jordan changed the subject, scrolling through his phone until he found the photo he was looking for.

So, I realize that none of us have the slightest bit of experience with something like this, but what do you guys think about this ring? I’ve, uh, been considering buying it for Aubrey. You know, for when the time is right to pop the question.

Finn whistled appreciatively at the sight of the impressive diamond solitaire engagement ring. Wow! That’s sure as hell some rock, Jordan. How much is that little trinket going to set you back?

Twenty five grand for this one. Though I was considering another one that’s almost double the price. But Aubrey’s got such slender fingers that a stone that big might be overkill. What do you think, Max? inquired Jordan.

Despite his humble background - of which Finn and Jordan only knew the very basics - Max had transformed himself into quite the expert on all things cultured, whether it was fine wines or rare books or designer suits. And while Finn highly doubted that Max was in the habit of giving his women friends gifts of jewelry - mostly because he didn’t have any women in his life these days - he would certainly have an opinion to share about the ring Jordan was thinking of buying for his girlfriend/future fiancée.

Hmm. Three carats, princess cut, platinum band. Classic but elegant. It’s a beautiful ring, Jordan, and I’m sure Aubrey would love it. However, cautioned Max, since your girlfriend is also a very independent young woman, I’d be willing to bet that she’d prefer to choose her own ring. Or at least have several different ones to choose from. My advice to you would be to pop the question, and then take her to Tiffany’s.

He’s right, agreed Finn somewhat grudgingly, because - damn it - the annoyingly smug Max was pretty much always right about everything. Some chicks would only care about getting the biggest and most expensive ring on the market so that they could impress all of their friends with it. Aubrey isn’t like that at all. In fact, for such a hot babe, she might be the least pretentious woman I’ve ever met.

Tell me about it, sighed Jordan as he replaced his phone in his suit pocket. She still insists on transferring money to my checking account every month to help pay for her share of the utilities and groceries. And grabbing the bill at least two or three times a month when we go out to dinner or brunch. Betcha that’s never happened to you even once in your life, Finn.

Finn shrugged, taking the last swig of his beer. That’s usually because the woman is so eager to get in my pants that we don’t make it past having drinks. It’s not a coincidence that the food delivery drivers all know me by name, given how often I’m having pizza or Chinese food or sushi delivered.

Charming, muttered Max sardonically. Did you ever think that maybe the real reason you don’t have long-term relationships is because these women realize you’re not as much of a catch as they originally thought? He pulled back the cuff of his suit jacket and grimaced when he noticed the time on his elegant Bulgari watch. I’m afraid I’ll need to cut this short, gentlemen. I’m flying out to Houston day after tomorrow for a new contract, and I still need to review about a dozen different financial statements before I leave. Finn - I believe it’s your turn to settle the bill?

Finn patted his back pocket where he kept his wallet. Yup. I got this one. And you didn’t tell us about having to go to Texas. How long are you going to be away this time?

Max shrugged, even as he dabbed his napkin at the corners of his mouth. I’m not exactly sure. Hopefully no more than two weeks but possibly a few days beyond that.

Damn. Finn looked crestfallen. And here I was going to try and persuade you and Jordan to go with me weekend after next to New Orleans. Since the NFL draft is being held there this year, the network is hosting a series of events leading up to draft day. They’ve got a whole bunch of stuff planned for the weekend - golf, a swamp tour, dinners at the best restaurants, and a big party Saturday night with a bunch of celebrities and athletes. Guess it’s just going to be you and me, Doctor Dreamboat.

Jordan shook his head regretfully. Sorry, Finn, no can do. First off, Aubrey and I already have plans for that weekend. It’s her father’s birthday so we’ll be down in San Diego then to celebrate. Second, don’t forget that Aubrey’s been at enough parties with you to know what a wild man you can be. Do you think for one second that she’d actually be cool with me going with you? Sorry, dude, but I’m afraid those crazy times are pretty much over for me. Consider me a reformed rake.

Finn gave his friend a look of revolt. You don’t want to know what I consider you, he muttered darkly. But the first word rhymes with cushy and the second word with zipped.

Max got to his feet, and gave Finn a pat on the back. "Just because Jordan has finally decided to