Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(23)

Garrett didn’t hesitate to nod his agreement.

We broke, everyone heading for their spots on the field. I’d taken a hard hit the last quarter and my side hurt, but I ignored it. The aches and pains never went away; we just learned to live with them on and off the field. “White 80! White 80. Set hut!”

Tucker snapped the ball, and I caught it, keeping my feet moving as I looked toward Nance, and then my eyes sought out Garrett, who wasn’t open. It would be smart to hand off to Ward again, let him push his way through the D, but I really fucking wanted Garrett to have this.

My gaze darted to Nance again, who was covered, before darting back to Garrett. I watched as he faked right, then went left, not completely breaking away from his coverage but giving me what I hoped was enough space. I launched the football in front of him, just where I thought it could meet Garrett’s outstretched arms when he ran. He caught it, pulled it close, and took off, dodging defenders before getting all the way down to the three-yard line.

“Fuck yes!” I shouted, jumping up like he’d fucking scored and won the game for us. I could see the glee in Garrett’s eyes, even from a distance.

He hit his chest a few times with his fist, but didn’t celebrate yet. We were still losing.

“First fucking down, baby!” Simmons yelled.

A few of the guys pushed him, congratulating Garrett briefly in the huddle. All we needed was another dive play or a short pass to the end zone, and we’d tie the game.

After the cadence and snap, Ward was where he needed to be to barrel his way through the defense, but by chance, I saw Garrett zigzag in the end zone—open, totally fucking open. I pulled my arm back, the ball flying toward him. He jumped up and caught it, just as a defender clipped him.

Garrett flipped and landed on his back. “Oh fuck,” I whispered, my heart dropping to my feet, but then he leaped up, dancing. Both relief and pride flooded my chest. He threw the ball to the ground, dropped his head back, and screamed. I swear I felt his fucking happiness, the whole stadium vibrating with energy, all coming from him.

There was a defensive penalty on the play, which we denied, before our kicker came out and nailed the extra point. We were in the lead.

We ran off the field for our D to take over. I was proud of Garrett, but it was too early to celebrate. We had to stop them or get the ball back because time was running out.

Garrett stood next to me, his arm touching mine, my heart thudding as we watched Vegas try to work their way down the field. As soon as they were in field goal range, I worried we were fucked. I held my breath as their kicker ran out. Garrett reached out, hand on my bicep, squeezing, his nerves making his nails bite into my arm, and… “Hell yes!” Wide. The field goal he had no business missing was fucking wide!

Garrett jumped at me, the crazy motherfucker wrapping his legs around my waist, arms around my shoulders. I stumbled backward, almost falling on my ass, but managed to stay on my feet and hold him. He smelled like sweat, his body solid and so fucking hot against me.

As quickly as it happened, Garrett let go, everyone running over to celebrate with us.

We’d done it. We’d won our first preseason game, and I was pretty sure Garrett was flying. Damn, did I like to see him soar.





6





GARRETT





I’d thought the high of kicking ass at the Gator Bowl senior year of college was intense, but taking Vegas in our first preseason game blew it away. And it wasn’t even a “real” game. Vegas was a strong team, though, so scoring that touchdown as a rookie had been validating, especially on the tail end of a brutal training camp.

My mood had soared in the clouds alongside our plane as we flew back to Denver, so of course, when a bunch of the team decided to go out and party, I wasn’t gonna miss a chance to keep riding that high.

And also get laid. I deserved it, after all.

“Damn, the pickings are pretty slim tonight.” Cross wrinkled his nose and polished off the rest of his vodka and soda.

“Since when are you so picky? Last time we were out, you hooked up with a woman who sounded like she’d swallowed a murder of crows.” Seriously, I’d never heard someone with such a screechy voice, and I had a high tolerance for annoying people, obviously, since I myself was often one of them.

“The curves offset the voice.” Cross waggled his brows.

I was unconvinced. “I hope you fucked in a soundproof room. I’d feel bad for any neighbors who had to hear all that squawking.”

“Ca-cawwww.” He grinned and flipped me off, then lifted his glass to signal for another as a waitress passed by, before rising. “I’ve gotta take a piss.”

As he walked away, I scanned the crowd from where I sat on one of the club’s low leather couches, the table in front of us littered with half-filled glasses next to a bottle of Grey Goose in a silver bucket. The Imperial Room had hooked the team up in their VIP area, which overlooked a packed, neon-lit dance floor, and came complete with its own private bar, bottle service, and dedicated staff—all the shit I’d always looked forward to and now planned to enjoy to the fullest.

Unlike Cross, I had no problem finding late-night potential, since men were on the agenda too. I’d been keeping track of a dark-haired guy who rocked the hell out of the business-exec look in a suit that fit like it’d been custom-tailored. He sat in a little enclave of chairs and tables with a bunch of other men dressed similarly. We’d caught eyes a couple of times, and did so again just then. He gave me an inviting twist of a smile, and I gave him the same back before continuing my visual recon. There was still a lot of night left, and it’d take a really promising lay to make me dip early, but if Business Executive was still around later, well…