Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(47)

“You never knew her.”

He dropped his forehead between my shoulder blades and whispered, “But I know you,” before his arms dropped away. He closed and locked the door. “Come on, Rams. Let’s go back to bed. Maybe in the morning, I’ll let you fuck me again.”

“Who said I want to?” I teased, but we both knew I did.

Garrett took my hand, and I followed him up.





14





GARRETT





Waking up next to Ramsey was strange…in that it didn’t feel all that strange. It felt nice. Weak predawn light streamed through the skylight as I burrowed into covers that smelled like him. The sleepy warmth of his body heat surrounded me as he turned toward me and cracked one eye open.

“You’re still here.”

For a split second, I panicked it was about to get awkward. Instinctively, I started to roll upright, defaulting to my usual script. When someone stayed over or vice versa, morning was usually met by sliding out of bed and dragging clothes on. Conversation was exchanged about hooking up again soon—which sometimes happened and sometimes didn’t—followed by getting the hell out.

“That’s a joke, dumbass.” Ramsey planted a palm in my chest and pushed me back into the mattress as he rolled toward me, his body half smothering mine. His erection pressed against my outer thigh.

“Damn, I think I’ve created a monster.” But did I reach beneath the covers and stroke it lightly? Yes, I did.

“Something like that.”

Before I could toss out another quip, his mouth covered my nipple, his teeth clamped down, and we were off to the races again.

Forty-five minutes later, we lay sprawled on our backs, catching our breath. I turned my head, glanced at the clock on the bedside table, and groaned. “Shit, we’ve got thirty minutes before weight-training, and I already need a nap.” When Ramsey chuckled, I elbowed him. “Don’t say a goddamn thing about Baby G needing a nap,” I warned him.

He rolled his lips inward and shook his head. “Not what I was about to say. I was about to say I need coffee.”

“Fucking liar.”

He shrugged with a grin and rolled upright. “I’ll make us some. You need to borrow clothes or anything?”

“Nah, I’ve got it.” There was no way I could get home and back to practice on time. Fortunately, I had a change of clothes in the car.

I followed Ramsey to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching him fiddle with his fancy Nespresso, and once again, I was struck by how not awkward it felt.

Ramsey glanced over his shoulder. “When’s the last time you did this?”

“Stand in someone else’s kitchen while they made coffee? A long time. You?”

“Alyssa, I think.” He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

“What?”

He mashed a button on the machine, then twisted around to face me, palms braced on the counter. Jesus, he looked good in the morning. Sweats hanging low on his hips, the dark stubble peppering his jaw. No wonder Ashley or Alyssa or whoever the fuck it was had sneaked pictures of him. “I dunno… Sometimes when I think back on relationships…hookups…whatever, there are a lot of them that in retrospect feel like distractions more than me actually being into the person.”

“I don’t know if I’m following.”

“The game and everything around it…it takes a lot out of you, you know? And the average person has no clue what it’s really like. A lot of them just see the big player, the glamour, the money. Not the bruises, the injuries, the stress. I guess that’s plenty of other jobs. Feels different sometimes, though. Know what I mean?”

I nodded. Maybe I hadn’t had the long-term pro experience he had yet, but even in college I’d dated people who’d been disappointed or frustrated once they realized exactly how much of my life was devoted to moving a pigskin down a field.

“That’s part of the reason this setup works.” Ramsey gestured between us. “You get it.”

Oh, I got it. Maybe it was too easy, but I was trying not to question it and keep the faith that I could fuck Warner Ramsey out of my system before he got tired of me and moved on to the bi big leagues.





“Pretty sure I don’t even need to ask where you were last night,” Houston said as I walked in after practice. He was in exercise clothes, one leg hiked up on the back of the couch. He switched to stretch the other one as I shut the door behind me.

“Probably not.” I dropped my bag by the door, walked into the open kitchen, and grabbed a water from the fridge. I had enough time for a snack and a shower before the team’s hospital visit. “Hey, you know about Ramsey’s dad, right?”

“That he’s an asshole? Yeah, everyone knows that.”

“No, I mean that he bugs the fuck out of Rams, shows up randomly?”

“What? Really?”

“He showed up last night, wanting money.”

Houston groaned.

“Yep.” I was silent, then shook my head, thinking back on it. “It pisses me off that Ramsey has to deal with that all the time.”

“Same, but you can’t fix that shit. You know that.” Houston gave me a long look. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing with this whole hooking-up-with-Ramsey thing, because…” He blew out a breath. “Fuck, part of me knows it’s none of my business, but the other part hates the idea that one of you might hurt the other. How the hell am I gonna know whose ass to kick?”