Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps 1)

“Yeah, Rams. You should get laid tonight. I plan to.” Garrett grinned. Leave it to the little bastard to playfully start shit up. Sex was one hundred percent in my plans for the evening, though it would be him I had my dick inside of, not anyone else.

“Don’t get started. We don’t wanna hear about how you take it up the ass,” Nance sneered, making my blood run hot and spots dance around in my vision.

“Keep talking about my sex life, and I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re jealous. You want a turn on my dick?” Garrett replied, way more coolly than I felt. The muscles in my arms twitched, my hands automatically balling into fists. I’d never liked Nance, but I’d never had the all-consuming need to beat the shit out of him until Garrett got drafted.

“Don’t even fucking joke like that. I’m not a fa—”

Before Nance could get the word out, I’d leaped over the bench and slammed him against the locker, my forearm across his throat. “You finish that sentence, and we’re gonna have a real problem, you and me. You don’t want to have a problem with me, Nance.” Years after Anson Hawkins and Darren Edwards came out, and the league was still dealing with pieces of shit like Nance. I hated homophobia, hated that he brought this shit out in me. Fighting in the locker room felt like something my dad would do, but at least I had a good reason.

“Rams,” Tuck said, warning in his voice. I could feel the hot stare of every guy on the team. Nance was breathing heavily, hand on my arm, but he couldn’t pull me off. “Rams,” Tuck said again. I knew without looking that Garrett would be fucking pissed. It was why he hadn’t said anything, but I was tired of Nance’s bullshit.

“Jesus, taking this babysitting gig for Houston’s brother a little too seriously, aren’t you?” He had no way of knowing that Houston had really asked me that at some point. He was talking shit and I knew it, but his words would be like a dagger to Garrett’s heart.

“Nah, just don’t like you. Never have. Keep your mouth shut.”

“Warner! What the hell are you doing?” Coach interrupted.

My eyes fell closed, and I whispered a quiet, “Fuck,” before letting go of Nance. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because it looked to me like you had your hands on one of your teammates. That shit doesn’t fly here.”

But Nance could be a homophobic asshole? “Then he needs to learn to watch his mouth.”

“What did he say?” Coach asked, but I didn’t repeat it. G wouldn’t want his shit out there like that. He was way better at this than me.

Tucker sighed. “He was about to call McRae the F word.”

My gaze snagged on Garrett, who scorched my skin with the anger in his gaze. Yep, I was fucked. I didn’t think the but-I’m-the-captain line was going to help me this time.

“You’re both fined twenty thousand dollars.” Coach looked at Nance. “We’re a team, and I expect you to act like it. Keep your opinions to yourself.” Then to me. “You don’t put your hands on my players. If anyone has a problem with that, come and see me. You’re lucky we’re going into our bye week, or I would have benched both your asses, record be damned.” Coach’s gaze shot toward Garrett, then back to me and Nance.

I shoved away from him, my gut tight, my pulse banging against my skin.

Nance was the first one to barrel his way out of the locker room.

“Christ, Ramsey. He’s a fucking dickhead, but you can’t let him get to you like that.”

I gave Tucker an up-nod before looking over just as Garrett slammed his locker, jerked his bag onto his shoulder, and stormed out. “G, wait up.” I grabbed my duffel and bumped fists with Tucker. “Catcha later, man.”

Garrett was halfway down the hallway when I caught up with him. “Garrett,” I said, but he ignored me and kept going. Neither of us spoke as we went past security, one of the guards opening the door. When we stepped out into the bright sunlight, I tried again. “Garrett.”

“Fuck you, Ramsey. I already told you I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.” He jerked out of my hold, Nikes beating against the pavement of the team parking lot.

“I’m the cap—”

“We both know that’s not what that was. It’s because we’re…whatever the hell we are.”

Shit. He was right, and we both knew it. I followed him to his car. “It was like…ten percent because I’m captain,” I said, hoping to get a smile out of him.

He shook his head, tossed his bag in, said softly, “Just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean you get to do that. I don’t need a knight in shining armor. Every time you come to my defense, all it does is make me look weak in his eyes. And I get it—homophobia is bigger than me. This is your battle too. But when it’s in response to what he says to me, that just makes it seem like I need you to fix it for me.”