Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(21)

“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.

“I hear ya. You’ll adjust. And tomorrow is our night to shine, Superstar. Vegas’s defense is better at the short game than our long one. They can’t match your speed. You’ll have your way with them and—”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Garrett shouted, startling me.

“Um…making you feel better?”

“You’re jinxing my ass is what that is. I know I’m the shit, but you’re not supposed to tell me how I’ll have my way with them the night before the fucking game. Goddammit, Ramsey.”

I laughed. Hard. He shoved at me, but I could see he was also trying to bite back his smile. “Just how superstitious are you?”

“Enough that you’ll be lucky if I don’t smother you in your sleep.”

Another laugh fell out of my mouth, and he playfully pushed me again.

“You’re dead to me, Captain. I’m gonna…I don’t know, freeze your underwear or some shit.” His eyes darted down to the ones I was wearing, and I hoped like hell that didn’t get me hard. That was the last thing we needed.

“You’d like to get your hands on my drawers, wouldn’t you?”

“Eh. I mean, if I was really hard up, I guess. But I don’t think I’m as desperate as you. Out of the two of us, you’re the one who needs help getting laid.”