bet on it - odell beckham jr.

chapter one

i got the job. the pay alone is three times better, so it's a win-win situation. on most days, i would stare out of the window and at the outside world, crunching the numbers into my head to see if i could call this job quits.

i had to force myself out of bed to spend 40 hours behind a tiny desk and 1960s computer to prepare and examine thousands of financial records.

and i know what you're thinking, 'don't accountants earn a lot of money?' try having a co-worker that spends his lunch break in the cubicle next to you playing with himself. i felt like the walls were made out of paper since i could hear everything he was doing.

i tried my best to stay away from him like the plague, except working in such close quarters didn't help me to do so. then again he wasn't the only weirdo that worked there.

i don't think my boss ever once looked me in the eye when he spoke to me, he was always too busy staring at my boobs. i couldn't get out of there fast enough. so when i found this job online i leapt at the opportunity.

i freaked out when i got called in for an interview, and now the job is officially mine. cloud nine is what i'm on right now, because not only am i making bank here doing something i love, i don't have to listen to nasty-ass porn at lunchtime.

i'm getting paid for managing social media accounts? i already manage my own for free. but add on the fact i'm now doing it for a professional football team? even better.

believe it or not, football is my life. well, at least it was when i was growing up. with my dad being an nfl football player, coach, and then afterwards a commentator. my entire childhood has revolved around sports.

there is something to be said for the smell of freshly cut grass on a football field, beer, hotdogs and popcorn. it's a smell that brings me right back to being a kid, being carefree and feeling like you have the world at your feet. which ironically, is how i'm feeling right now. i'm grinning like an idiot, for sure, as i scribble away at the endless pages of my contract.

"well, ms. copeland, welcome to the team. we are very happy to have you."

"i'm glad to be here too."

mr. ellis, the owner of the new york giants, clears his throat as i finish my first pack of papers—taxes and that—before moving on to the other pack.

i glance at the first page, my eyebrows knitting together before my eyes flew up to his. "what is t–"

"a non-disclosure agreement. it states that you may not speak of some of the things you may encounter with our players."

my eyes flicker back to the page. the very first line of the first page reads, in all caps and bold letters:

I,__________________, AGREE TO NOT HAVE ANY TYPE OF SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP WITH ANY MEMBER OF THE NEW YORK GIANTS FOOTBALL TEAM.

"alright, but this says i have to agree with not having a sexual relationship with a player on the team. is this an issue?" he just throws me a look.

so i guess this is where i see the problem. i mean, let me be honest here. these guys are made of the stuff wet dreams consist of. all handsome, bodies fit and rock hard from workouts, incredibly rich, obviously talented, i pretty much get it.

but, this is my dream job. i've wanted to work in the sports industry for as long as i can remember. i wanna do it alone and not with the help of my last name.

and now i'm finally here, i didn't wanna jeopardise my career over some player. who i know beforehand, are a complete waste of time.

although, it's not just football players that disgust me. it's the entire population of professional athletes.

i have personally seen what most of these guys are like when they're pictures aren't flashed onscreen. i know what it feels like to love one, even though loving them is a fat heartbreak. which it is, i don't know why people consider it.

the summer before my sophomore year at high school, my entire life was put into a tailspin. all at the hands of my cheating scandal-causing new york giant player father.

his relationship with my mom was through the roof. i still remember the endless fights before he would leave, my mom begging him to be trustworthy, and then the crushing reality that he hadn't been again.

but, i learnt to live with that. at one point, i even thought it was normal. i mean, didn't everyones' moms shut themselves out from their kids in their bedrooms and cry continuously at night?

and it wasn't like my dad wasn't interested in me. my father doted on me, trusted in me, loved me and spoilt me rotten with items and love.

then came that summer.

it was just a week or so before my 17th birthday. being a lover of parties, i wanted one and the guest list was big. mom had also helped me with setting everything up, so i was super pumped.

i don't remember all of the shit that went down, i was in too much shock to absorb everything. but, i do clearly remember standing there in the doorway, looking into two pairs of eyes that matched the same colour as my dad's.

alani and andrew had stood there fixed to the spot, feeling their eyes burn holes into my skin. their mother came up behind them, placing two bags into our house and walking off, not even turning around to see what she left behind.

that part was bad, really fucking bad.

being young, i thought the arguing would have stopped. little did i know, the fighting that came after ended up being the worst. because that was when my mom dropped the bomb on me that would change my life forever.

stop taking his side, ira. she had yelled at me when i tried to step in the middle of their argument. it's not like he's not your real father!

the words rolled out of her mouth so easily, i didn't think she meant it. it's not like my mother has been incredibly hurtful towards me, but that hit me like i ran into a brick wall.

it all happened at the moment, at the peak of probably one of the most terrifying moments in her life, to find out not only her husband was a hoe, but that he fathered two other children and knew about them.

regardless of the circumstances, i was fucked. my party was cancelled and my father moved out along with his, 'out in the open' kids. i was shipped off to a boarding school, and my mom set herself up to see a psychiatrist over her steaming suicidal thoughts from that summer episode.

my father demanded a dna test, which he got shortly after the blowout. i also got that final blow on a cold winter's day in the form of a copied email sent to me from a clinic.

omari copeland, the new york giant quarterback, was not my father.

this was my dad. the dad that rocked me to sleep when i was little, the dad that let me paint his fingernails and played dress up with me whenever i wanted, the one who pointed to me in the stands whenever he scored a touchdown.

i had sat there for numerous hours, clutching onto my phone and re-reading the email to see if what i was reading was true. however, the words never changed. i was too numb to cry but there were tears shed later on.

i wanted some kind of validation from him. some kind of action letting me know that genetics didn't mean shit to him, and i was still his daughter. i've been his daughter for the past seventeen years of my life!

unfortunately, the validation i hoped that i would get never came.

i spent the next year completely alone. i no longer had a home, well i did. i lived in a house, but it didn't feel like a home.

my mom gave up seeing her psychiatrist sometime that year, but she became so wrapped up in putting herself together, she forgot she had a broken teenage daughter to care for too.

it's a pretty shit story, and it doesn't have a good ending. but, it's my story, and if i've learned anything from that, it's this. nfl players equal fucking torture. no way would i get myself involved with that shit again.

so, for me this job is perfect. if sleeping with players has been a problem in the past, mr. ellis has nothing to worry about.