Double Desire by Cassandra Dee

Author:Cassandra Dee [Dee, Cassandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cassandra Dee Romance
Published: 2019-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cain

Damn, this NCAA lecture was boring. Colt and I already know where we want to go. State’s the place for us and we’re practically admitted already. The head coach has already come by our house three times. They’ve talked with Dad, and the school’s already hosted us for pre-admit weekend. So I figured the meeting with the NCAA was just a formality. It would be more talk about rules, regulations, and things we already knew.

But it was odd. When we showed up, we were guided to a private conference room and the commissioner was there. Really? Commissioner Dean, the man himself, was sitting inside with another dude by his side, ready to take notes.

But that was fine. This was going to be cakewalk and I strode in, confident and assertive.

“Colt, Cain,” the older man said jovially, shaking our hands as we sat down. “Door please,” he directed the other man.

The door was closed, shutting us into what looked like a sound-proof room.

“What’s this about?” drawled my brother. “We’re into State, we’ve decided that’s the place for us.”

“We realize that,” said the Commissioner formally, “But we wanted to talk to you about infractions.”

What the fuck? We hadn’t even matriculated and they were already talking to us about breaking the rules before they were broken. Fuck my life, this college shit was getting to be a drag.

But the commissioner continued.

“It’s come to our attention that you know Jimmy Long, the equipment manager of the Eagles,” he said.

Colt snorted.

“Of course we know him. The dude’s always around, why?” he asked. “What does it matter? Is he selling drugs or something, dealing dope? Because my brother and I don’t use the juice,” he said, his voice menacing, his eyes already shooting sparks.

“No, this isn’t about steroids,” said the Commissioner slowly. “Nothing like that. It’s come to our attention that the footballs you use are deflated.”

I sat back, thunderstruck. Deflated balls? What the hell? Was this some kind of sick joke?

“What do you mean?” I asked slowly. “We use regulation footballs, the same as anybody else.”

But the man wasn’t answering my questions.

“Aren’t you the one who checks them before each game?” he asked Colt, his question directed at my brother. “Don’t you check all the game-day balls before they’re used?”

Colt frowned, his handsome face stormy.

“Sure, but it’s routine. I squeeze them, but it’s not like I get out the gage and check each one’s pressure individually. Why? Was I supposed to?”

“I don’t know,” said the Commish slowly. “We have reports that the balls were underinflated, making it easier for you to grip and for your brother to catch.”

Oh fuck. What the fuck. This was serious shit, and not some slap on the wrist for going to strip clubs and banging hot chicks. This was the real deal before our career even started.

“Listen,” I growled, feeling my muscles tense as my jaw clenched. “We’ve never skirted the rules, and it’s all fucking lies. Where the fuck is this coming from anyways? Did another team complain?”

“Well, no,” said the Commish.

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