Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(42)

So I punched a fist into the bench instead.

The ball hadn’t been tucked close enough to my chest. That was Football 101. I’d practically given Whitt an engraved invitation to knock it out of my hand. And he’d done so easily.

It was a rookie move. A total fucking rookie move, and I’d made it. I still couldn’t believe it.

Coach let me have it in the post-game recap. I wasn’t expecting any less. And I wasn’t the only one—we’d fucked up other key moments and were staring down some brutal practice sessions in the next few weeks, no doubt—but I might as well have been the sole reason for our loss the way heat crawled up the back of my neck, spread over my cheeks, and decided to camp there the entire time he spoke.

I managed to hold my composure for the reporters who stuck their mics in my face once they were allowed into the locker room, even when the inevitable references to my brother came up. I rubbed at the tightness along my jaw in relief as they moved on to Dominguez, questioning him about sacking LA’s QB. It was one of the few good highlights from our game. And there was Ramsey, of course. They loved talking to Ramsey. I watched him as he spoke, the perfect white flash of his grin, how his expression sobered, became more serious, an occasional nod. The ultimate pro. No doubt he was being grilled about the rookie’s fumble. When his gaze moved in my direction, I looked quickly away, finished getting undressed, and headed for the showers.

He caught up with me as I dressed. “You okay?”

“Peachy keen.”

He gave me one of those appraising looks that felt like it left score marks on my bones. In the right setting I loved them. In this one I didn’t. After a beat, he shrugged. “All right. I’m not gonna blow sunshine up your ass right now. You hanging with the fam tonight, or you want to come over for a while?”

God, I dreaded going out to the players’ parking lot where my family was sure to be waiting. “Nah, I think I’m gonna crash after I talk to them. I’m beat.” And humiliated and hating the taste of the ground I’d crash-landed into after flying high for weeks.

Ramsey studied me a moment longer. “All right. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I almost changed it in that second just because he fucking read me so well, pushed at the right times, left me alone when he sensed I needed it, and I appreciated it more than he’d ever know. But when he turned away, I let him go, finished stuffing my gear in my bag, and headed to the parking lot.

Houston was the first to wrap me in a big bear hug. “I know you’re being hard on yourself right now. Don’t.”

I grunted, fully embracing my sour attitude. “Did any reporters find you?”

“Sure did.”

“Ugh.” I groaned again. “Did they ask what it was like to watch your brother crash and burn?”

Houston chuckled lightly and ruffled my hair before I could duck away. “Not in those exact words. I asked if any of them had seen you absolutely killing it in the Pittsburgh game. Then told them to piss off. Politely, of course.”

I grumbled some more, even if Houston’s nonchalance about the loss and his defending me did make me feel a tiny bit better. Like, an ounce better. Or if there was something smaller than an ounce, that.

Mom and Dad were next. Mom, full of optimism and opinions as usual, chattered about how fast I’d looked on the field, and how “distastefully unsportsmanlike” some of the behavior from the other team had been on the final touchdown, until I started cracking up.

“Mom, the guy just fist-bumped a teammate. He wasn’t out there doing the chicken dance.”

“He was practically taunting you all.”

That was totally not the case, but her vehemence made me smile. And then Dad chimed in.

“They’ll get theirs. They think they’re hot shit with that Whitt asshole. Pfft. Just wait.”

Mom patted my arm. “You want to come home for the night?”

“Jesus. And what, you’ll put a Band-Aid on my booboo, then tuck me in bed?” I teased, but wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed it. “Nah, I’m good. I’m gonna crash early.”

Houston lingered when they left. “I honestly expected a win. I’m supposed to meet up with friends—see? Social life.” He gave me a pointed look. “How about you come with us for a while? Grab a beer? Or more than one?”

I shook my head. “Not in the mood. It’s cool. You go. Have fun.”

“You sure? I can cancel. Actually…” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m gonna cancel. We can hang and watch reruns of that dumbass show you and Ramsey love.” A funny expression crossed his face, but it vanished quickly. We mostly avoided the subject of me and Ramsey, and I sure as shit wasn’t inclined to change that now.

I reached out and shoved him. “Don’t cancel. Go. I mean it. I’ll be pissed otherwise.” He tucked the phone away, and I cocked my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “So are these real friends or imaginary ones?”

He snorted lightly. “There’s the asshole I know and love. Here I was worried you were gonna go home and curl in a ball on the couch.”

“Nope. I’m solid. Promise.” I was, mostly, and hey, if I curled into a ball on the couch, it wasn’t like anyone was gonna be there to see it.

After a quick hug, we separated to head to our respective cars.