Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(39)

“Anything else I need to know?” Allen asked. It wasn’t a pointed question. Allen always asked that when we got off the phone. He was a pretty hands-on agent.

The vitamin water motto popped into my head, and I figured now was as good a time as any to test the waters. Not that I was ready to tell Allen, but I could at least get a feel for what he thought of my situation. “I have a hypothetical question for you.”

“Shoot,” he replied simply.

“What would you say if you found out one of your clients was hooking up with one of his teammates?”

The line went quiet. I could hear Allen breathing, so I knew he was still there, but other than that, the silence stretched between us. Shit. Fuck. This had been a mistake. Now I was going to find out my agent was a homophobe, and he would basically know I was bi because why else would I be asking?

“I’d tell them to be careful. That I’d have their back, of course, but I can’t promise the league would feel the same. It’s one thing to be queer, but fucking a teammate adds a new set of problems.”

Shit. I knew he would say that. He was right, but I’d hoped his answer would be different.

“It also depends on who it is. If it’s someone like you, for example, I’d tell him it would likely bring the kind of attention I know he doesn’t want. It would be a big deal, even if the league supported it. They would get asked about it, commentators would talk about it, comment sections on social media posts would be…not so pleasant.”

I dropped my head back. Allen wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. “Thanks, Allen. I was just curious. Asking for a friend, ya know?”

“Of course.”

We chatted for a few minutes, and before we hung up, Allen said, “Be careful, Ramsey? But whatever happens, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” I hung up feeling a little shitty but also not surprised. Go big, or don’t go at all. I kept the honesty train going by shooting off a text to Houston, telling him I was cleaning up and then heading over to his place. I had a few free hours before the team was meeting to go over more film.

I jacked off in the shower to the memory of Garrett’s dick on my tongue and his hands fisted in my hair. I mean, it was sex. It had nothing to do with the fact that it was him. Orgasms were one of my favorite things, so it would make sense I would relive moments with the only person I was currently blowing my load with.

When I climbed out, there were two texts, one from Houston telling me he’d be there and the second from Garrett.

Garrett: I’m meeting Cross before we head to the practice facility. Good luck with Houston.

Ramsey: Think I’ll need it?

Garrett: Nah. I’m irresistible. It can’t be helped. He’ll get it.





I rolled my eyes, but damned if I didn’t also have a stupid smile on my face, one I had embarrassingly too much when it came to Garrett McRae.





“The team’s playing good football—oh fuck, I should have caught that.”

“Even my avatar is better than you,” I teased. Though I was only up by one touchdown, and it was almost the end of the fourth. There was nothing like a good game of Madden among friends.

“Real life, you can suck my cock. I always kick your ass, and today won’t be any different.”

I can’t suck you because I’m blowing your brother. Houston hadn’t been serious, but my brain kept trying to kick my ass into telling him.

“Interception, baby!” Houston shoved to his feet.

“Fuck.” I stood too, pushing buttons like crazy, trying to catch up with Houston’s player, but he made it to the end zone and did a stupid fucking dance.

“You’re getting a little rusty, Rams.”

“You’re getting a little rusty, Rams,” I mocked because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

He made the extra point next. I tossed the remote to the couch because both of us knew time would run out before I could make it downfield.

“Just don’t play like that on Sunday. It’s going to be your first real test of the season—even more than Tennessee. LA is on fire. They have the most sacks in the league right now. Plus, Whitt is fucking fast. Garrett and Nance will both struggle to get away from him.”

Blah, blah, blah. I hated LA. They’d been our rival for years now, and more often than not, got the upper hand. I was really fucking tired of all the hoopla between LA and Denver every year. And Houston wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. It was just making me second-guess whether it was a good time to tell him about me and Garrett. But man, I felt like shit keeping it from him. Houston was my boy, and he trusted me. I didn’t want to feel like I was lying to him. “I think G’ll be good. He needs to be tested. He’s stronger than we thought, up here.” I tapped my temple. The corners of Houston’s lips curled down slightly. I was pretty sure I’d fucked up somehow, cluing him in that we were a little closer than he thought, so I added, “Also, Nance is pissing me off.”

Houston turned off the game and sat back down. “I worried about that—him having trouble with Garrett. Nance doesn’t like it when someone is better than him, especially a rookie. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s homophobic.”

“Yeah, he’s been giving Garrett a hard time. Nothing too bad. He’s handling it.”