Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(28)

With one more swipe of my tongue, I let his lip go.

His hold on me tightened, enough to leave bruises now, and damned if I didn’t want the evidence of this moment on my skin for later.

Our gazes locked. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was bad, so goddamned bad. I had no business wanting Houston’s little brother…my fucking teammate.

Hoooooonk!

The long blow of the horn snapped us out of whatever lust-trance we’d been in. We jerked away from each other like a bolt of lightning struck between us. Jesus, I’d almost kissed Garrett…I’d bitten his fucking lip on the street, where anyone could have seen us. What had gotten into me? I’d lost my head. I couldn’t imagine the mess that could have gotten us in. Two NFL teammates caught kissing? It would be a media circus, something I wanted nothing to do with. I wanted to be known for how well I played football, not for weekly stories about how I fucked up, even if it was different from the mistakes my dad had made.

Garrett spoke first. “We should, um…go inside.”

Or we could go back to my place and finish what we started… “Yeah, we should.”

The entrance to Fusion was on the other side of the building. We headed that way silently, not looking at each other, hell, nearly five feet of space between us.

“I got it,” I managed to say to Garrett while I handed money to the bouncer to get in.

He must have still been in shock about whatever we’d done outside because he didn’t argue.

Bass made my chest vibrate when we went inside. The music was loud, some fucking pop song, but I didn’t know the artist. Garrett went straight for the bar, and I was right along with him. I needed a fucking drink. Stat.

We were lucky enough to grab two open seats there. “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“Whiskey, please,” Garrett said.

“Make that a double for me,” I added.

Garrett signaled for the same, then absently reached up and touched his lip where I’d bitten him. I must have done it harder than I’d thought because it was slightly swollen.

Would you like me to kiss it better?

The second the bartender finished pouring, we downed them in long gulps until the glasses were empty, and Garrett said, “Another.”

I held out mine as well.

Garrett paid for the drinks, and I let him. The bartender went to help someone else, leaving us nursing the brown liquid that burned when I swallowed.

“Let’s see what we have.” Garrett pulled out his phone, wasting no time.

“G.”

“Shit. We scored. There are lots of options here, especially for a Monday night.”

“G,” I said again.

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m sorry…for biting your lip.” We stared at each other again, his eyes matching the whiskey, gazes holding before laughter fell from both of us. It was the most ridiculous thing. Had I really just apologized for biting him?

My stomach muscles hurt, I laughed so hard. Luckily, he found it just as funny. When we finally settled down, he said, “It’s all good. I’m hard to resist.”

“I still have a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Fuck you.” He took a drink. “Now shut up and let’s find you some dick.”

We looked at his phone together, and damn, there were a lot of men here looking to get laid.

He clicked on the first profile.

“Nah, not him,” I replied.

Garrett chose another. “Fuck, he’s hot.”

“He says he’s a top only. I’m not looking to get dicked down my first time out.”

He cocked a brow. “But that’s a possibility for you?”

I winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He went to the next, then the next, but every one he chose, I found something wrong with them. “Jesus, Rams, you’re trying to suck some cock, not marry someone.”

“I’m picky, what can I say?”

“Stalkers only need apply?” he teased, referring to my ex.

Actually, my dick was currently on the Garrett-McRae-only train, and I needed to find a way to get off it. “Pick another one,” I said, just as someone slipped onto the open stool beside me.

He had blond hair, wide blue eyes, and dark lashes. His mouth was fucking hot, all plump lips, which then made me think of Garrett’s bruised lip from my teeth.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, giving me an appraising look, so I knew just what he was looking for, which apparently was me. This wasn’t a bro thing; this was an I-want-to-fuck thing. Garrett had been right about the anchor-stare method because Blondy used it on me.

A hand came down on my shoulder, squeezing, before Garrett slid out of the seat. Where the fuck was he going?

“Umm…yeah. That’d be cool.” That’d be cool? I sounded like an eighteen-year-old virgin.

Blondie signaled for the bartender and ordered two more whiskeys.

“I’m Bailey.”

“Warner,” I replied. Even the media called me Ramsey, so it felt safer to use my first name.

“Nice to meet you, Warner. I haven’t seen you around before. I definitely would have noticed.”

I shrugged. The guy was fucking hot, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t happening. It felt like too much of a risk. When I came out, I wanted it to be on my terms, and how the hell did I know if this guy realized who I was? Or what if he did later, and all of a sudden the league would be talking about me getting blown in a bathroom stall by some dude? Even though there were a few out guys in the league, it was still always something that was discussed in a way it wasn’t with het couples or hookups.