Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(8)

But they did worry about him. That much was clear.

“San Francisco needs a strong wide receiver,” I told them. “They have a fairly high pick too. They might want to build their defense, but their offense has been pretty lacking the past two years, so if their main priority is the O, I can see them grabbing Garrett.”

“I’d love to go to San Fran. It’s a fun city, and I think me and Travers could rip shit up together,” Garrett said, mentioning their quarterback.

“Who cares if it’s a fun city?” Houston asked.

“Me. I mean, a boring city isn’t going to make me turn someone down. I’ll go wherever I can play football, but there’s nothing wrong with hoping for certain places over others.”

“Just make sure football is your first priority,” Connie said.

“When has football not been my first priority?” Garrett’s brows pinched together, the frustration evident on his face. The thick tension in the air wasn’t typical of their family, so I was surprised by it today. The draft was stressful, though. This was the beginning of Garrett’s career. When you combined that with Houston’s injury making him lose his, it made sense.

“Is everyone going to ignore the fact that we need a wide receiver?” Houston asked, and the room went quiet. I was pretty sure everyone did plan on ignoring that fact, because who wanted to think about the Rush replacing Houston with his little brother?

“Let’s eat. I think we should eat,” Connie said, breaking the silence.

“I’ve been craving your cooking ever since Houston invited me over,” I told her.

That was that, and the Rush conversation was dropped when everyone headed toward the kitchen.

Except me and Garrett.

He shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The moment wasn’t meant for anyone but himself. He hadn’t been looking at me, so he didn’t know I’d seen. A second later he had a smile so wide plastered on his face, I thought maybe I’d imagined him being upset.

Then he turned my way, stared at me, and winked. “What you looking at, handsome?”

I rolled my eyes. He was just the same ole Garrett as always. “Aw, you have a crush on me, don’t you? I’m a little old for you anyway.”

“Plus, you don’t like guys.” Aaaand, that’s what he thought. “Eh, I’m out of your league anyway.”

“You wish, Little Man.”

“Not so little.” He nodded toward his dick.

“That’s not what I heard.”

An expression I couldn’t read flared in his eyes, but then Houston stuck his head around the corner. “You guys coming or what?”

“You’re such a dork,” Garrett told him, stepping away from me.

“I get it from you.” Houston grabbed Garrett, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into a headlock, the two of them wrestling around before heading into the kitchen. I grinned, watching them go, wishing Garrett had had time to offer me a comeback.





GARRETT





I was starting to wish I’d just stayed back in Silver Ridge for the draft announcement. I could’ve hung out at the frat house with my friends, or we could’ve gone to a bar or, hell, I could’ve accepted the football commissioner’s offer to be flown to New York—which I’d not told anyone about. Any of those options would’ve been better than weathering the weird tension that kept popping up intermittently like a sudden rain shower on what should technically be one of the happiest days of my life.

The even stranger thing was, I wasn’t the only source. The main one, sure; I had four years of all-out, ball-busting effort on the line. But Mom, Dad, and Houston seemed in on it too. In fact, the only one not contributing was Ramsey, though I could tell he was aware of it.

Wishing I’d stayed in Silver Ridge made me feel like an ungrateful little shit when my family had done nothing but be supportive, so I resolved to fight through it. The past year had been rough, due to Houston’s injury. Maybe everyone would settle down once we all knew where I’d be going.

“Let go, jerk.” I wrestled free of Houston’s headlock as he cackled, then claimed my usual chair at the dining table as Mom set serving dishes of meatloaf, vegetables, and mashed potatoes on the table—all my faves.

Sneaking a sidelong glance at Ramsey as he unfolded his napkin and laid it over his lap, I offered him a sweet smile. “Sure you want to roll the dice like that? Maybe you should just go ahead and tuck it in your collar like a bib.” The last time I’d seen him had been over Christmas break, during a New Year’s Eve party at Houston’s loft. Ramsey had been wearing a white button-down, and even though he’d looked fine as hell in it, with the sleeves rolled up and a flash of skin where he’d left the topmost button undone, by now he should’ve known better than to wear white anywhere in the vicinity of football players, alcohol, and ribs.

“That wasn’t my fault. It was Jace’s clumsy ass. At least I wasn’t walking around the whole night with my fly down.”

Houston snorted softly. Mom ducked her head and smiled. Dad cracked a beer, while I wished I’d grabbed one for myself too.

“Pfft. I’m calling bullshit. What boxers was I wearing, then?”

Ramsey smirked. “Those stupid candy-cane ones.”