Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“You can’t hide in here all the time.” I got it, but I still hated the idea of him hanging out solo week in and week out.
He snapped a sharp look at me. “I do other things. I have other friends.”
“Yeah? Like who?”
“Don’t do that pity shit. I texted Rams a while earlier to see what he was up to, but he was busy. See, social interaction attempt made. You can stop worrying now.”
The memory of Ramsey’s body against me, his mouth on mine, roiled through me with fresh heat. I studied my brother’s profile. He’d dated and hooked up, but it’d been a long time since he’d been involved seriously with anyone. Like, since before he’d gone pro. “Did you ever have a thing for Ramsey?”
“What?” He chuckled and rolled his eyes at me.
“I’m serious. Rookie year y’all were always together, so I just wondered if you had a thing for him.” I had to tread carefully since Houston didn’t know Ramsey had told me he’s bi.
“I might have had a small crush on him.” He spread his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “For five minutes, but it would have never been reciprocated. Plus, half the US does. And that was never gonna happen anyway for a shit ton of reasons. He’s so focused on not fucking up his career, he’s never gonna do anything that could potentially be slanted in a negative light or draw unwanted attention to himself.” He gave me a longer look. “Word of advice, G—”
“Oh Jesus.” I sighed and waited for the inevitable.
“Don’t even think about fishing from the team pool. That’s a shit idea. Find other ponds.”
I raised my brows. “I don’t remember saying anything about fishing from the team. I was just asking about you, asshole. Fuck off.”
He kept giving me that stern look until I finally flicked condensation from my water bottle at him and told him I was going to bed. He was right that there were plenty of other ponds to fish in. I could totally be content that I’d made Warner Ramsey’s head spin at least once. And now we could go back to our usual routine.
Except, it didn’t exactly work out that way.
9
RAMSEY
Kissing your best friend’s brother and NFL teammate is a great idea…said no one ever. I didn’t usually lose my head like that. I was good at determining how much damage something could do before making the decision whether to go ahead or bail on the plan. Life would be boring without a little bit of fun, so it wasn’t like I always toed the line. I was just smart about when I chose to cross it, and I hadn’t made that decision with Garrett. It had just happened because I wanted him so fucking much.
Twice. It had just happened twice. First when I bit him, then when I kissed him.
I was so fucked.
The rest of preseason we steered clear of each other. Yeah, we were together at practice and games. We talked shit and gave each other hell because we wouldn’t be Garrett and Ramsey if we didn’t, but there was no more touching, no more dumbass ideas about going out together, or playing wingman, or how about I shove you against the wall and stick my tongue down your throat?
We were good boys, but I was pretty sure neither of us wanted to be. The heat in his gaze damn near scorched me every day. The evidence of the desire in my stare showed in the flush of his cheeks and the inferno in his eyes. We tried to ignore it, like we were right now, him on his hotel bed, me on mine, while we went over our playbook after just finishing hours of game film. I’d just put my heating pad away after trying to soothe sore muscles.
We could work out the Houston part a whole lot easier than we could the teammate part. The NFL had worked hard since Anson Hawkins, a former tight end for the Atlanta Lightning, had come out. He’d been the first in the league, followed by his teammate Darren Edwards, but…they hadn’t been fucking each other. Therein lay the problem. Players screwing other men behind closed doors in their own homes was one thing. Players fucking each other was a hard limit I was fairly certain the NFL would safe-word out of before the fun even started.
And even if they were okay with it, I didn’t want to be their poster boy. All I wanted was to play ball.
Well, and fuck Garrett McRae. There was still that.
Our first game of the regular season was in Pittsburgh. We’d lost once during preseason, which was one too many for my liking. It was all part of the game and blah, blah, blah, but I fucking hated to lose. Most of the guys who really gave a shit did.