He didn’t.
3
RAMSEY
I groaned when my cell rang. I worried it was someone I wouldn’t want to talk to. Scratch that. When it came to the phone, there was no one I wanted to talk to. In a world of texting, I didn’t get why anyone called unless it had to do with business.
Ignoring it, I continued grabbing clothes from my dresser. I was leaving in the morning for training camp, where I’d spend two weeks participating in constant practice and fitness testing, where rookies always ended up running so hard, they puked. Not me, because fuck that noise. I was too old for that shit. I knew how to prepare to make sure it didn’t happen. But for the rookies, it was a whole world away from college ball, and this would be their first introduction to that. Some might get cut from the team before it was over.
That immediately made me think of Garrett. “You’re hot. Ridiculously hot.” It wasn’t the first time those words had played through my head since he’d spoken them two weeks before. I’d heard them before, so there was no reason for me to be obsessed with the tone of Garrett’s voice when they’d slipped past his lips, or the way his eyes firmly held on to mine, like he couldn’t look away even if he’d tried.
And that was maybe one of the dumbest things I’d ever thought.
Of course, he’d been drunk as fuck. He never would have told me in the first place if he hadn’t emptied the bar of beer. But there was no doubt I’d liked hearing it, my dick perking up and taking notice because Garrett McRae was ridiculously fucking hot too.
I liked knowing he thought that about me. I’d liked hearing it even more.
My phone rang again. “Jesus.” I tossed a few Rush T-shirts onto the bed, peeked at my cell, and answered. “Text. It’s called texting,” I told Houston while trying to pretend I hadn’t been thinking about his brother and how adorable he’d been laid out flat on my bed before I’d forced him to the guest room. The fucker hadn’t even been embarrassed about it the next day.
“I usually do. But I just had lunch with Garrett and wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Shoot.” I sat on the edge of the bed. I’d only seen Garrett a couple of times since the draft and our night out. Before things were confirmed, I’d been a little nervous because his contract negotiations had taken longer than usual. I thought maybe he’d changed his mind, and I cared a whole lot more than I should. While partly it was because I didn’t want a guy on the team who didn’t want to be there, I understood where he was coming from. Hell, I still couldn’t believe I’d mentioned my dad that day. My first year in the league, every interview brought him up—they’d wanted to lay all his fuckups on the table, comparing me to him every step of the way, even though I didn’t make any of the dumb mistakes he did. No drugs, no ego too big for the locker room, no missed practices, no drama. Things had chilled out since, and I didn’t go around bringing him up, but hell, the last thing a guy should feel was disappointed on the night he got drafted to the NFL.
“You know how I’m worried something will go wrong?” Houston said. “That he’ll get himself in trouble?”
“Wait. You are?” I teased.
“Somehow you’re under the impression you’re funny.”
A soft chuckle rolled off my tongue. “I’m giving you shit. Yes, I’m aware.” And while how drunk he’d gotten the night we went out wasn’t a huge deal, it was another tally mark on the column that said Houston was right and Garrett needed to be careful.
“I was feeling some kind of somethin’ about him going to the Rush, but you know, it’s perfect because you’re there, and I was thinking you could keep an eye on him.”
Well, shit. I hadn’t expected that and wasn’t sure what I thought about it. “Garrett doesn’t strike me as someone who would be okay with that.”
“He wouldn’t know. I’m not telling you to go on some top-secret mission here. Just watch out for him, keep him in line, make sure that big-ass ego of his doesn’t get him in trouble.”
“This sounds like the beginning of every rom-com I’ve never been forced to watch.”
“You love that shit.”
“Shh. You said you wouldn’t tell anyone.” Who could you share your secrets with if not your best friend?
“So I should cancel the skywriter I booked?”
I sighed. “Let’s get back to my deep dark secrets later. What are you getting me into here, Houston? I’m the quarterback. It’s my job to watch out for everyone on the team.”
“I know. I’m not asking you to bend the rules for him. I have too much respect for both of you to do that. Just don’t let him be his own worst enemy.” When I didn’t reply, he added, “And you don’t have to worry about the rom-com thing. He’s my brother; that would just be weird. Plus, his name doesn’t start with the letter A.”