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)
Except me and Garrett.
He shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The moment wasn’t meant for anyone but himself. He hadn’t been looking at me, so he didn’t know I’d seen. A second later he had a smile so wide plastered on his face, I thought maybe I’d imagined him being upset.
Then he turned my way, stared at me, and winked. “What you looking at, handsome?”
I rolled my eyes. He was just the same ole Garrett as always. “Aw, you have a crush on me, don’t you? I’m a little old for you anyway.”
“Plus, you don’t like guys.” Aaaand, that’s what he thought. “Eh, I’m out of your league anyway.”
“You wish, Little Man.”
“Not so little.” He nodded toward his dick.
“That’s not what I heard.”
An expression I couldn’t read flared in his eyes, but then Houston stuck his head around the corner. “You guys coming or what?”
“You’re such a dork,” Garrett told him, stepping away from me.
“I get it from you.” Houston grabbed Garrett, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into a headlock, the two of them wrestling around before heading into the kitchen. I grinned, watching them go, wishing Garrett had had time to offer me a comeback.
GARRETT
I was starting to wish I’d just stayed back in Silver Ridge for the draft announcement. I could’ve hung out at the frat house with my friends, or we could’ve gone to a bar or, hell, I could’ve accepted the football commissioner’s offer to be flown to New York—which I’d not told anyone about. Any of those options would’ve been better than weathering the weird tension that kept popping up intermittently like a sudden rain shower on what should technically be one of the happiest days of my life.
The even stranger thing was, I wasn’t the only source. The main one, sure; I had four years of all-out, ball-busting effort on the line. But Mom, Dad, and Houston seemed in on it too. In fact, the only one not contributing was Ramsey, though I could tell he was aware of it.
Wishing I’d stayed in Silver Ridge made me feel like an ungrateful little shit when my family had done nothing but be supportive, so I resolved to fight through it. The past year had been rough, due to Houston’s injury. Maybe everyone would settle down once we all knew where I’d be going.
“Let go, jerk.” I wrestled free of Houston’s headlock as he cackled, then claimed my usual chair at the dining table as Mom set serving dishes of meatloaf, vegetables, and mashed potatoes on the table—all my faves.
Sneaking a sidelong glance at Ramsey as he unfolded his napkin and laid it over his lap, I offered him a sweet smile. “Sure you want to roll the dice like that? Maybe you should just go ahead and tuck it in your collar like a bib.” The last time I’d seen him had been over Christmas break, during a New Year’s Eve party at Houston’s loft. Ramsey had been wearing a white button-down, and even though he’d looked fine as hell in it, with the sleeves rolled up and a flash of skin where he’d left the topmost button undone, by now he should’ve known better than to wear white anywhere in the vicinity of football players, alcohol, and ribs.
“That wasn’t my fault. It was Jace’s clumsy ass. At least I wasn’t walking around the whole night with my fly down.”
Houston snorted softly. Mom ducked her head and smiled. Dad cracked a beer, while I wished I’d grabbed one for myself too.
“Pfft. I’m calling bullshit. What boxers was I wearing, then?”
Ramsey smirked. “Those stupid candy-cane ones.”
Shit. I was pretty sure I had been wearing those boxers. I’d had them forever and always broke them out around the holidays, along with a couple of other festive pairs, because why the fuck not celebrate the season, even below the belt? I’d also been hammered at that party, meaning there was a high likelihood that might’ve happened.
“Aw, he’s blushing.” Houston chuckled. “Well done.” He and Ramsey high-fived over the table, and I didn’t even care that it was at my expense because it was better than thinking about the draft. Like Houston had ever so astutely—and annoyingly—pointed out earlier, the Rush needed a new wide receiver, and if they decided to focus on their offense, there was no way I wasn’t in the running. I was gunning for San Fran, though. Or even Philly. Anywhere, really, besides the Rush. Not that I planned to tell anyone that either.
“Anything happen with that offer from ASU?” Dad asked Houston, and the humor evaporated from Houston’s face faster than water in the desert.
“What offer?” I asked, and Houston glanced at me with a dismissive shrug.
“ASU reached out about a possible assistant-coach position a while back. It wasn’t a big deal, and I’m not taking it.” He aimed the last part at Dad. “I’m all set here for now. PT is here, my friends are here, my life is here.”