Worked-ish.
But we still had our friendship, even if now it sometimes felt like something was missing. Besides the obvious, it was the quieter moments too. The intimate ones where we collapsed in a sweaty heap together, the laughter or talking that followed while our fingers traced idle paths over each other’s bodies. We didn’t hang out together as much either, and I missed that too. Missed working out with him, our banter in the locker room after practices, our in-depth recaps of the games and, hell, talking about life in general.
We just needed to get to off-season. Pressure would ease for a while, and I could reassess. We both could.
The one thing that didn’t change was the action on the field. We both threw ourselves into finishing the season strong, and no one, not even Coach, seemed to notice anything different. I had hits and misses, Ramsey too, but no more or less than before. Despite the mix of emotions I had about him, when I stepped on the field, I let it all go and focused on the game, just as I’d always tried to do. And when I’d catch Ramsey’s eye, see the familiar determination in there I’d come to associate with him being in the zone, I knew he was doing the same.
Our last game of the season was against Minnesota, and we came out with a thirteen-point lead, but I’d taken a beating, as usual. One of their linebackers had slammed into me hard and taken me down just before I got into the end zone in the fourth quarter. My shoulder had hit the ground so hard, I was sure it’d made a crater in the turf. It hadn’t, but the pain had radiated outward and settled into my upper back by the time we got back to the hotel that night.
To soothe it, I’d taken an extra-long shower after bailing early on the bar I’d gone to with the guys. When I came out of the bathroom, Ramsey was propped up in bed, arms folded over his bare chest, staring at the TV.
“Surprised you’re back already,” Ramsey said.
“I’m toast. I dunno, I wasn’t feeling it, and our flight’s early tomorrow anyway.”
“How’s the shoulder?”
“I had an extra gin and tonic. That helped.”
Ramsey’s lips curled. “Ahh, the miraculous anti-inflammatory properties of booze.”
I dropped onto the end of my bed and grabbed the Tiger Balm from the nightstand, scooping out a big dollop and smearing it over the meat of my shoulder before working backward.
After a minute, Ramsey extended his hand. “Gimme that. It’s like watching a toddler trying to figure out coordination.”
“Really? I seemed to do all right with those two passes earlier. You know, the ones that helped clinch the game.” But I handed him the balm and slid over onto the edge of his bed.
We hadn’t touched in weeks. Back claps, sure, the usual teammate stuff, but he hadn’t even smacked my ass the way we all sometimes did, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t craving his touch in any form.
But fuck, I’d underestimated just how goddamn good his firm caress would feel. I bit back a moan and shifted, loosening the towel at my waist as he smoothed a hand along my shoulder.
Ramsey’s fingers stilled. “Garrett?”
“Yes, I’m popping a boner. Don’t flatter yourself, though. I haven’t seen any action besides my own hand since you. Nance could probably spit in my face, and I’d get hard.” Okay, exaggeration, but whatever.
“Are you into that?” Ramsey sounded amused.
“I could be.” We were skirting dangerous territory, so I was glad when Ramsey mock-shuddered.
“Nance. Gross.” He resumed rubbing the balm into my muscles.
“Exactly.”
“So you really haven’t hooked up with anyone else?”
I didn’t dare look over my shoulder to see if his gaze was displaying anything more than mild curiosity, because if I saw any hint of a territorial spark in them, I didn’t know if I had the self-restraint not to pounce him. It hadn’t been my strong suit in the past.
“Nope. Focused on ball.” That, and I honestly hadn’t been able to muster up any interest in someone else, not even the hot hockey player who’d punched his number in my phone a couple of weeks prior when Cross and I were out. I’d eyed the number when I got home that night for a few minutes, debating, before deleting it from my phone. “You?” Why? Why did I ask that? What if he said yes?
“Nope. Same. And…” Ramsey paused, then laughed softly as he backtracked. “Same. No time.”
“What were you about to say?”
“Nothing.” Ramsey’s hands stilled again, and I wiggled my shoulders to show he should please resume. I didn’t care if he’d already coated me with the stuff, and I guess he didn’t either, because he scooped out another dollop of cream and kept going. “I was just going to say that Alyssa texted me out of the blue last week. She wants to get back together.”