Quarterback Sneak (Red Zone Rivals #3)(16)

I’d heard it from plenty of players and staff alike around the locker room, how Holden Moore was sharp, focused, and serious. And on the field, I saw it for myself.

But off the field? I’d only witnessed him being an insufferably jolly idiot intent on getting under my skin.

I would never admit it to him or anyone else, but I wished for that version of him now.

Maybe it was because I’d been assigned to him. Maybe I felt a bit of ownership over his recovery, over his emotions, too.

Or maybe I was just tired of sitting in a silent car with a mopey quarterback.

“You have a lot of friends.”

I inwardly cringed at the stupid statement, but it was the first thing that had come to mind.

Holden subtly shifted his chin toward me but kept his eyes on the buildings as we passed them. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I considered. “Not bad. Just… interesting. At least, to me.”

“You don’t have a lot of friends?”

“I’m not sure I have even one.”

Holden turned to look at me then, and it was me who kept my eyes on the road this time. I thought he was going to press, ask me why or suggest that he was sure I had at least one friend.

Instead, he watched me for a pause before looking out the window again.

“It’s going to be okay, you know,” I offered after a moment.

No response.

“I know you probably can’t imagine your life without football, but you won’t be off the field long. And the team will still need you.” I paused, leaning over a bit before adding. “Cap.”

I was aiming for a smile, but Holden only swallowed and let out a long, slow exhale like that breath was the only thing keeping him from breaking down.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. This was not going well.

Then, I shifted in my seat, holding the steering wheel with my opposite hand. “Ah, it’s not football that has you so upset, is it?”

Holden frowned, turning to look at me.

I held up my right hand and wiggled my fingers. “It’s that you won’t have use of your hand for a while. Your…” I let my eyes trail down to rest between his thighs before arching a brow and meeting his gaze again. “Good hand.”

He frowned at first, confused, but when I waggled my brows, his shot into his hairline before a bark of a laugh left his chest.

“Are you making a joke about me masturbating?”

I shrugged, noncommittal as I turned back toward the road. “Just saying. I can understand that disappointment.”

Something of a breath of a laugh left him then, and he shook his head, angling himself toward me. “Wow, so all I had to do to get you to talk to me was get injured, huh?”

“Or maybe all you had to do was stop stalking me,” I argued. “It’s been nice to be in the training room without you pestering me. And to practice pole without you gawking from your driveway.”

“I’ve been busy with school and ball,” he said, and his smile dropped with that last part. But then he added, “And be honest — you loved having the audience.”

I snorted. “You would think that.”

“Just saying. You still haven’t installed those curtains.”

“Ah, so you are still stalking me.”

Holden just smirked, and then his phone was ringing. He glanced at the screen before angling himself toward the window again and answering.

Two deep, worried voices filled the car then.

“What the hell happened?!”

“Are you still at the hospital?”

“He’s clearly in the car, Kevin.”

“Well, I wasn’t looking at the background, Nate! And I’m a little too concerned to be accurate right now.”

“What was the diagnosis?”

“Don’t say diagnosis. You make it sound so serious!”

This went on for a solid minute, each one talking over the other as they peppered Holden with questions about what had happened and whether or not he was alright. I glanced at the screen, finding two middle-aged men with concerned expressions. One was tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair that gave off major hot dad vibes.

The other was a bit leaner, with dark hair and green eyes that looked just like Holden’s. He had the same sharp jaw, too, and the hollowed-out cheekbones that could have given him a career in modeling.

“I’m okay,” Holden finally said when the men took a breath. “Minor tear. They’ve already got a rehab plan outlined for me.”

The men released a synchronized breath of relief. “Oh, thank God. We were worried sick. Do you need to stay here for a while?” one of them asked.

“We can make up the guest room,” the other offered.

But Holden waved them off. “I’ll be good at the Pit.”

I snickered when they both wrinkled their noses, and one said, “Ugh, that is such a disgusting name for a place of residence.”

“Who’s that driving you?” the other one asked.

Holden glanced over his shoulder at me. “Julep Lee. She’s a new part of the training staff.”

The men went so silent that I glanced over, and when I did, I found them with gaping mouths and wide eyes as they elbowed each other and gave Holden some sort of look that I imagined he was supposed to interpret.