“Oh fuck.”

I dive for the ball before it flies out of bounds.

The moment I land on the hard wood of the court, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Shit.

It’s not because of the pain radiating through my arm from the way I landed. That will go away.

But I almost wish I had broken something; it would be preferable to my current predicament. Because lying here on the side of the court with my dick hanging out the bottom of my bunched up shorts is basically the end my life as I know it.

It’s just a damn charity game, but my need to show up Munro drove me to lunge after the ball like it was the NBA playoffs.

I should have just let it go, let it bounce off into the crowd of kids and their parents. But no, I had to go all NBA All-star and dive for it like my life depended on it…in my loose gym shorts and no jock strap.

The cool air of the arena on my dick and balls snaps me to action, and I reach down and readjust as fast as I can. But it’s too late.

Far, far too late.

The gasps rolling through the audience from parents and children alike are the death kiss to my career as a children’s show host. I teach kids about dinosaur bones, not show them boners.

Not that I have one, but I might as well have a raging hard-on the way the parents are looking at me like I’m a pervert and covering the eyes of their kids with large hands.

Wide eyes and gaping mouths—that’s all I see from the 15,000 plus spectators who came here to enjoy a basketball game played by celebrities.

This was definitely not what they paid for.

Holy shit.

I scrub my hands over my sweat-dampened face and will myself to wake up from this terrible nightmare.

This cannot be happening.

Not now.

Why God? Why?

What the hell did I do to karma to make that bitch torture me like this?

I’m a good person…I think. I don’t stab people in the back. I don’t gossip. I donate to the church and do these charity events.

What did I do to deserve this clusterfuck in my life?

A hand extends over me, offering to assist me back to my feet. I almost take it until I shift my head to avoid the bright overhead lights and see who it’s attached to.

Munro. That motherfucker.

If it weren’t for him, none of this would have happened.

The asshole just can’t accept that he’s number two in the ratings for a reason. And I just had to stick it to him and rub it in his face on the court too. They put us on opposing teams for a reason, to cash in on the rivalry that already exists between us. And my team has been kicking ass all game. Until my epic dive into unemployment and internet meme fame.

Lord, did this just backfire on me.

I know he’s going to milk this any way he can to try to move his show, Bones and More, up to the top of the ratings. And I’m sure he’s devious enough to make it work. There’s no way to avoid it. This asshole won’t just let it go. It’s not in his nature.

“Looks like you could use a...” his eyes flick down to where my cock sits nestled back in my shorts, “small hand.”

Asshole.

I bat his proffered hand away and climb to my feet under my own steam. There’s no way I’m letting this jerkoff touch me and look like the fucking hero coming to my rescue.

The crowd doesn’t know whether to celebrate the fact that I’m uninjured or continue to react to my wardrobe malfunction. A sporadic, half-hearted clap accompanies murmurs and laughs.

Fucking A.

It’s the worst thing to happen to clothes since that whole Super Bowl incident. But at least then, we all knew it was planned. Flashing my junk to the entire audience, as well as all those watching on TV, was most certainly not on the agenda when I signed up to play in this charity game for the children’s hospital.

And instead of playing a friendly game of basketball and raising money for the sick kids, I just shot down my career with a scud missile.

Somehow, I force myself to ignore the gawking stares and whispered words and make my way to where the rest of the players wait for the ball to be inbounded. All that and I didn’t even save the damn thing.

Jason Rodney slaps me on the back with a grin. “You good, buddy?”

I nod and try to avoid eye contact. If he mentions what just happened, I’ll be even more mortified than I already am.

I’ll never live this down. It will haunt me the rest of my life, and that’s a long fucking time.

Jesus, Rafe, you really did it this time.

And it couldn’t have come at a worse time for the show or the network. Andy Mason has only been CEO for twenty-four hours, and I’ve already gone and exposed my junk on national television.

Why did they have to show this thing live?

If this had been recorded and replayed, it may have saved me from the rest of the world seeing my cock and balls. At least it would have only been the people in here. But who am I kidding? Someone, no doubt, has it on a cell phone video anyway. There’s no way this wasn’t getting out, one way or the other.

I’m too busy berating myself to notice the ball flying at my face until it’s too late.

Crack.

Blood gushes from my nose and down my white jersey as pain assaults my face.

Motherfucker!

Cries ring out from the crowd, and I fall to my knees on the court clutching my face. Through some immense self-control, I manage to refrain from cursing on national television, but the damage has been done.

I’m pretty sure my nose is broken along with my pride.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.