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He cocked a brow as if to tell me to simmer down, but I couldn’t. Everything just felt perfect tonight, which I really needed because it helped me keep my mind off other shit—and by other shit, I of course meant Houston.
Ugh. I fucking missed him so much, and that wasn’t a good sign. Not at all.
“I’m tellin’ you, I’ve got it tonight. They can’t touch me. You get the ball in my hands, Ramsey, and I’m scoring.”
He gave me a simple nod before calling a play. He was putting his trust in me, and I damn sure didn’t plan to fuck it up. The camaraderie between us meant something to me. I’d made a whole lot of mistakes in my career, but I was doing my best not to let that happen again. Things felt too good here…too right. Except Houston lives in—shut the fuck up, brain! Jesus, I’d been talking to myself too much lately. The plan was still the same with H. At the end of the season, we’d break up, and that was that.
We got into position on the field. I was jittery, like I was amped up on too much adrenaline.
“White eighty! White eighty!” Ramsey called out the Rush cadence before Tucker snapped the ball. I took off running like someone lit my fuse, and I couldn’t help but ignite.
Indiana was all over me, but that didn’t fucking matter. Not tonight. I didn’t know why in the hell I needed to win this game so badly, but I did. I weaved my way through the defenders, pushed hard, blowing past them, my body telling me no one could stop me. I broke free, turned back just as the ball flew toward me. The perfect pass fell into my arms, and I ran, then dove for the end zone. I didn’t know how many players fell on top of me, but it didn’t matter. I burst out from under them, shaking my hips, the same dance Houston and I used to do in college but one I hadn’t done since then.
Cross, Ellis, and Garrett all clapped me on the shoulders, pushing me and talking shit. We didn’t keep it going long enough to get us into trouble.
The Rush made the extra point. We stopped Indy on their next play. In the fourth, Garrett crossed over into the end zone, and I swore, I felt like I was flying.
“You guys were on fire out there this afternoon,” one of the reporters asked in the press conference after the game.
“We were really feeling it. Indiana played a good game, but things were just clicking for us tonight. I can’t lie and say it wasn’t fun.” I waggled my brows, and they laughed. That totally wasn’t what I was supposed to say in this situation, but it was the fucking truth, and I liked toeing the line.
“You’re playing some of the best football of your career. You and Garrett McRae are like a dream together.” Yeah, we were, which was both cool and strange. It was supposed to be me and Houston out there together. Back then, we’d both known it wouldn’t happen, but that was still the dream—playing together. “Do you think it helps that you know each other off the field? Considering you’re dating his brother and all.”
“Sure doesn’t hurt.” I shrugged.
“You know everyone is waiting for you guys to play LA, right? Not only was that the team the Rush were playing when Garrett got hurt last season, but now Houston is their WR coach, and you’re on the Rush…”
My skin tightened with his statement. It was fucking stupid. Not that it wasn’t something everyone was thinking, but couldn’t we focus on Indiana? “We’re taking it one game at a time. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
“Are you and Houston still together?” another reporter asked.
“Yep. I get that it’s kinda unfair to the rest of you…denying you a chance with me, but Houston’s my guy.” I winked.
“I didn’t…that’s not what…I’m married,” he replied, and I stood. That was about enough of this shit.
“Have a good night, everyone.” I walked out of the room, checking the time to see when I could call Houston. LA had a game tonight, too, but it was in San Francisco, and with the time difference, it wouldn’t be over yet. He’d been coaching really good football so far, which didn’t surprise me. Houston was good at anything he set his mind to.
We got cleaned up and headed back to the hotel.
“Cocky much?” Garrett asked me on the way. “I heard what you said to Smith.”
“That’s his name? He’s an idiot,” I replied. “And I just speak the truth.”
“Always busting someone’s balls,” Coach Baker said with a grin, and I breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful I wasn’t going to get shit about it.
