He rolled his melted-chocolate eyes that matched his hair. He appeared to have put on a few pounds of muscle since I’d seen him last. He was tall and broad, with a runner’s body that was big enough to knock the shit out of other players when needed. He looked like the boy next door, almost innocent, though I knew that wasn’t the case. But his features were soft, and he had thick, dark lashes and a Captain America grin…
“That’s Mr. Little Man, a.k.a. future Super Bowl ring winner to you. Wait…you don’t have one of those, do you? I didn’t think so.”
I made sure his mom wasn’t within eye shot and flipped him off. “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know where you’ll land.”
“I don’t need to. I’m there, we win. We can head out back if you want some pointers.”
“Aw, so cute. Baby G thinks he’s better than me.”
I reached out to pinch his cheek, and he swatted my hand away. He turned just as Houston walked up behind him. “Goddammit, bro. Why’d you tell him that dumbass name?”
Houston shrugged. “I’m your big brother. He’s my best friend. It’s in the job description to give you shit.”
Shaking his head, Garrett walked away, and I’m not proud to admit, I watched him go. He had a great ass, tight and round—and definitely not what I should be thinking about. Even though my bisexuality was uncharted territory, if I weren’t closeted and Garrett wasn’t Houston’s sibling, I’d definitely explore every inch of his body.
“What is it about Garrett that brings out that behavior in you? You always enjoy giving people shit, but it’s even worse with him.”
“I don’t know.” But he was right. I closed the door and followed Houston inside.
“Hi, Warner! You look sleepy. Are you getting enough rest?” Ms. McRae asked. She was one of the only people in the world who actually called me Warner—well, that I allowed to call me Warner, at least. The only others paid my salary so, ya know, I let them get away with it.
She was over a foot shorter than me, with dark hair, glasses, and reminded me of all the perfect moms on TV shows I’d watched as a kid.
“Are you getting enough rest?” Garrett mocked, but I ignored him. I was the perfect angel around their mom.
“Yes, ma’am.” I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“You know you’re always welcome here. And how many times have I told you to call me Connie?” She turned to Garrett. “Stop being a butthead.”
I bit back my laugh as Houston said, “Yeah, stop being a butthead.”
“What’s everyone thinking?” their dad, Dale, interrupted as he came downstairs. He looked nervous in a way I didn’t typically see him. He was tall like Garrett and Houston, but his hair was lighter and nowadays streaked with gray.
“Dad’s freaking out,” Houston said.
“You weren’t this stressed about Houston getting drafted,” Garrett said, the words playful, but he turned in a way that caught my attention. Like maybe he didn’t want anyone to see he was upset.
“We’re not worried about you getting drafted, dear,” Connie said. “We know you’re going to a team.”
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.