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)
Sure, a lot of the guys did shit like that, but rookies needed to be more careful than the rest of us.
Garrett needed to be more careful. He had a lot to prove.
I let my eyes drift ahead a few seats on the plane, seeing him sitting with Cross. They were talking softly, and my nosy ass suddenly wished I’d sat behind him so I could hear.
We were on our way to Vegas for our first preseason game. When I wasn’t thinking about what if, I was wondering how nervous G was about his first game in the NFL.
“Yo. What are your thoughts on Baby McRae?” Tucker nudged me from his window seat. Malik Tucker was our starting center. Since we lost Houston, Tucker was my closest friend on the team. We played as a unit, him snapping the ball to me on every play, so we had to have trust between us. Even if that wasn’t the case, I’d like Tucker. He was good people, a big guy—two hundred ninety pounds, six feet four inches of heart.
“If he hears you call him that, he’s gonna kick your ass.”
“He can try,” Tucker replied. “He’s good. Cocky but good.”
“Yeah, he is.” My gaze drifted back to Garrett as he laughed at something Cross said.
“He’s different from Houston. Not as serious.”
“He wants it just as much, though.” My defense of Garrett rolled right off my tongue, without any direction from my brain. Little shit had gotten all up in my head.
Tucker frowned, probably due to the accidental sharpness that had no business being in my tone. “Did I say he didn’t?”
Fuck. What in the hell was wrong with me? “Sorry. I just have shit on my mind.” That was true enough. I currently had two texts from my dad asking me to call him. I hadn’t and didn’t plan on it, but Mike Ramsey trying to get ahold of me was never a good thing. He screwed with my concentration, and I hated it. I’d spent the past four years—more, if I was being honest—making sure I did everything in my power to be nothing like him, but it still messed with my confidence. Part of me still thought that if I didn’t keep my head in the game, I’d throw it all away just like he had.
But ignoring him also came with a set of problems because fuck, he hated that shit. Feeling rejected often led to him making even more random appearances in my life.
“No big, Cap. We all know you’re a grumpy fucker sometimes.” I’d been voted into the position after training camp for the second year in a row.
I gave my friend the finger. He offered back a cocky grin before popping his earbuds in. I pulled out my playbook and studied it. We were getting the fucking W. I’d make sure of it.
We’d flown in the day before the game so we could get settled and spend the afternoon in one of the conference rooms at the hotel, going over game film.
I sat with Tucker, Garrett with Cross, while Coach hammered home vital plays and what we had to do to beat Vegas. My attention drifted to Garrett more than it should, but every time it did, he was in the zone. No jokes, no cockiness, just studying Rush football, his eyes glazed over with that hunger that burned so damn intensely in him.
We ate low-fat, high-protein meals to keep our bodies fueled. Tonight it was grilled chicken breast, brown rice and grilled zucchini, and broccoli. After we ate, everyone headed for their rooms. Assignments had stayed the same so far, which mean Garrett and I would be crashing together again.
He was more subdued than usual. And I’d noticed he hadn’t flashed his cock at me again now that he knew I was bi. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. He came out of the shower in his boxer-briefs, his bulge prominent, and goddamn, did he have a nice ass.
“You’re up.”
Yes, yes I am, I almost teased. I adjusted myself, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Luckily, there was still hot water left for me. I rubbed one out in the shower. Everyone had their own routine, and part of mine was an orgasm the night before a game.
Garrett had his nose in the playbook when I got out. He sat on the bed, back against the headboard, legs out in front of him. “You guys are a strong running team—which is obviously good for me—but I’m scared as shit I’m gonna get out there and forget the plays.”
I lingered beside his bed for a moment, then realized I looked like a fucking creeper and sat beside him. “We are.”
“Huh?”
“You said you guys, but you’re part of the team, so we are a strong running team.”
“Guess I’m still getting used to it,” Garrett admitted, quiet vulnerability in his voice, which surprised me. He didn’t often show this side.