Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He was supposed to be an itch I’d scratched, then moved on, but somehow he had burrowed beneath my skin, sank down, and rooted himself in the marrow of my bones, and yeah, that was some poetic fucking shit, but it was how I felt. He’d somehow become a part of me, this extension of myself that lived inside me.
And it definitely wasn’t beneficial when we were about to go play the biggest game of Garrett’s career so far.
This fucking guy had totally ruined me and— “Ouch. Shit.” I rubbed my side where Tucker elbowed me.
He cocked a brow that said, You dumbass. You look like you’re about to jump his bones in the middle of the locker room.
My dick was on board with that idea, so I figured it was smart to look away. “Thanks, man.”
“I can’t believe this,” he said in a low voice. He’d muttered those words countless times since finding out about Garrett and me, so I ignored him. Mouth close to my ear, he added, “Focus on football tonight.”
Now wasn’t the time to get lost in thoughts about Garrett. It was the time to win a fucking football game and rub it in Whitt’s face when we did. I was a vindictive motherfucker. So sue me. And if I planned to pummel them, I should probably get my head in the game. “We’re gonna go out there and show these motherfuckers who we are!” I said loud enough for the whole team to hear.
Everyone but Nance cheered. He’d decided he hated both Garrett and me. Good thing the feeling was mutual.
“Hell yeah!” Cross concurred.
“Let’s fucking do this!” Garrett chimed in.
Coach gave us one of his speeches about playing as a team and being smart with the football, all the shit we’d heard before, before telling us it was time to show them what the Rush were all about.
Everyone broke away after that. I approached Garrett before we made our way out of the locker room. This game meant a lot to him. He didn’t have to tell me that for me to know because…well, fuck, because I knew Garrett. He could hide his nerves with everyone else, but he couldn’t with me. “You okay, G?”
His gaze darted away. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You don’t have to hide with me.”
He sighed, then shrugged. “Guess I couldn’t even if I tried. I want this win, Rams. I fucking need it.”
I’d held myself back from doing it since we put the brakes on this thing between us, but I didn’t now. I smacked his ass. “Then we’re gonna do it. I promise.”
We both knew that wasn’t something I could guarantee, but instead of calling me on it, he smiled and agreed.
I was fucking flying.
It was a bit ridiculous that one playoff game could make me feel like I was on top of the world, but as Garrett got the first down halfway through the third, the Rush up by fourteen points, a damn fireworks display went off in my chest. Playing with him was almost like foreplay, edging me and making me want more from him.
“Motherfucker,” Benson, one of LA’s defensive men, gritted out, before heading back to the line.
Coach mumbled a play in my earpiece, which I relayed to the guys in the huddle. We broke into position. I winked at G, who smiled around his mouthpiece at me. I could see the light in his eyes, damn near feel it radiating off him. This game was ours, and it was great to share it with him.
“White 80! White 80! White 80. Set hut!” I called out just before Tuck snapped the ball to me. I caught it, eyes darting around the field for Cross, who Coach had called this play for. He was covered, and so were Nance and Garrett. Just before I settled on a short play to at least gain a couple of yards, Garrett broke free of Whitt. I swear a fucking trail of fire shot out from his heels, he was running so fast, zipping around players so perfectly that part of me just wanted to sit back and watch him shine. He was so fucking beautiful when he played that I knew beyond doubt this was where Garrett belonged—on the field.
I cocked my arm back and threw a pass for him. It was as if the ball was as magnetized by him as I was, like it couldn’t stay away and fell right into his arms. Garrett caught the pigskin and kept going, sidestepping two guys, shooting around another, and heading right for the end zone. The crowd went quiet, knowing what I did—that Garrett was about to make his first touchdown in his first playoff game in the NFL, putting us up by twenty points and likely adding a nail in LA’s playoff hopes.