Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“You’re my secret, and I’m yours.” Tucker’s whisper wound through my brain as McRae rambled on, and I shifted uncomfortably, tossing off a joke about making a PowerPoint presentation detailing why management shouldn’t hire him.
“Like you’ve ever made a PowerPoint in your life.” Houston scoffed. “Didn’t you pay someone to make one for you once for a class freshman year?”
“Sure did,” I said. “Some of the best thirty bucks I ever spent, too. God. I can’t believe you remember that.” I hoped like hell he didn’t remember much more. I’d all but left skid marks on the interstate transferring to Franklin University. I’d had reasons that had worked out best for me in the long run but had seemed a little…impulsive and dumb in retrospect. FU, in Southern California, had simply been farther away from Florida than Southern U. Farther from the long shadow of my family name, farther from my parents’ disappointment. In California, there were tons of millionaires, financiers, and movie stars. Out there, if I wanted to make a name for myself, it had to be on my own merit. At FU, a ton of students had high-profile parents, so off the field, I was completely unremarkable. On the field, though…
“Me either.” Houston grinned, bringing me back into focus. “It’s been a while.”
“Sure as shit has. A lot has changed. In the league. In… Just in general,” I said, snatching the opportunity to turn the conversation away from college. “You and Cullen Atwood, though. For real?” Photos of the two of them together had been published recently and they’d subsequently confirmed they were in a relationship. Cullen had also played for Southern U with me and Houston and the two had seemed tight. But I’d never heard anything about them being together back then—much less gay or bi. Then again, I’d only been at Southern for freshman year.
“For real.” Houston nodded, though something in his gaze made me more alert, searching for a layer of context beneath.
“The two of you were close back at Southern. I always kind of wondered if you two had a thing—”
“We didn’t,” Houston snapped so quickly it took me aback. The guy had never been the snappish type, but since the subject seemed to put him on edge, I lifted my hands in placation.
“Easy, tiger. Just speculating. We all played football together. Not out to mess anything up for you. Or him. I was just curious.” Houston McRae had also never struck me as a liar, but he was definitely lying to me right now, and I had to assume he had his own reasons.
“Sorry,” he grumbled, shifting once more into the affable guy I remembered from college. “We get a lot of questions like that. Media scrutiny and stuff. Puts me on edge. Thought I was done with that.”
“You won’t be so long as you’re with him or working with LA. That’s straight-up facts,” I said, and as I spoke the words, a heavy weight settled in my chest. I might as well be talking about myself. Or worse, myself and Tucker.
“Yeah, I’m aware. I can handle it, though.”
“I know you can. You were always good under pressure.” He’d always been cool as a cucumber on the field. “The Rush seems like a good fit for Cullen, yeah? He gets along with all the guys? There are a few on there…” I trailed off with a shake of my head, Tucker once again invading my thoughts.
“You still butthurt over Tucker getting drafted to the Rush instead of you?” Houston chuckled amiably, obviously unaware of how that simple comment lanced me. This conversation had become a minefield, and it felt like we were doing a back-and-forth dance of deflect and defend. “You should be thanking your lucky fucking stars every day you wake up,” he continued. “LA’s one of the winningest teams of the last decade, you shit.”
I forced a laugh. “Fair point. But what’s football without a good rivalry? Gets the ratings, too. Gets my face onscreen, gets me more sponsorships,” I quipped.
“Like you didn’t have enough money before you got signed.” Houston rolled his eyes. “It’s nice to know you’re still the arrogant prick you’ve always been.”
“I like that people know what to expect from me,” I countered. All of what Houston had said was technically true, and yet, for the first time, it all felt like a lie. I wanted desperately to ask about Tucker, fish for information about how he was doing, how his season was going aside from what I saw onscreen, what the hell he’d been up to in general, but I didn’t dare. It would’ve seemed odd, so when Houston turned the conversation back to playing football our freshman year of college, I let him, suddenly glad he’d be leaving the next day and I wouldn’t have to bob and weave through another conversation with him.