Brandon’s first team bonding night as a Jacket is just before training camp starts. He’s been in Columbus for a couple of months, bought an apartment, moved all his stuff over from Chicago.
It’s going well. He almost never gets lost on the way to the arena anymore.
‘Strip club!’ Joey crows, over breakfast, when people are throwing ideas around. ‘It’s
‘Uh,’ Brandon says. ‘I’m not actually super into objectifying women, so I’ll just bow ou–’
‘It’s not a
strip club,’ Cam says, on Brandon’s other side. ‘Can you imagine? PR would
‘Gay strip club!’ Joey says.
Right. Of course. Because PR wouldn’t freak out about that.
They don’t have to pay or queue to get on. Apparently Joey knows the owner. Brandon’s Not Asking. He disappears for the back office as soon as everyone gets in the door, pretty much.
It’s all very. Glittery. Brandon doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many pairs of booty shorts in his life.
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