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I washed up, put some underwear on, turned the lights out, and then climbed under the blanket. Houston answered right away when I called him.
“You in bed?” he asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Yep. I’m tired.”
“I can let you go,” I told him, even though I didn’t want to.
“Nah, not yet. You played a good game tonight. You were killin’ it. You fit in with the Rush.”
Yeah, yeah I did. I hadn’t fit in with a team like this since college with him. “You ain’t so bad yourself. I kept sneaking a peek at my phone after the game to watch. I saw some highlights after, and they were raving about you.” Houston yawned, and then I did, too. “You bring my photo with you?” I asked. “I bet it’s lying on the pillow beside you.”
“How’d you guess?” he joked back.
“I’m happy for you, Houston. I think this is gonna be good for you.” If coaching in the NFL was gonna make him happy, that’s what I wanted.
“You’re calling me Houston again. After we broke up, you always call me McRae.”
Fuck. He was right. “I should hit the sack. We fly out early tomorrow.”
“Okay… Night, Cullen.”
“Night, Houston.”
I ended the call but couldn’t fall asleep, Houston McRae on my damn mind.
18
HOUSTON
I had never been the recipient of so many dick pics in my life until Cullen. It was my fault. I’d sent off the one that had started it all in a moment of mildly tipsy horniness after watching highlights from the Rush’s Indiana game. Cullen had been playing with the kind of passion I remembered from Southern U, and it took me right back to the days of playing alongside him, sneaking glances over at him, the deep glow of pride in my core when he nailed a tricky pass. Not to mention how his physique had made my mouth water, how when he’d take off his helmet on the sidelines and shake out his hair, I’d often wanted to grab him by the strands of it and pull his mouth to mine, kiss that cocky smirk right off his face there on the field. But I hadn’t dared. We’d kept to the shadows, exchanging furtive looks and covert smiles. Part of me ached that we’d never play like that together again, that we couldn’t have had this whole sham of a relationship on the field together earlier, in the public eye like I’d been too afraid to do.
But then again, if I were still playing, we definitely wouldn’t be where we were now. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad.
I leaned up against one of the lockers while the Royals dressed for our game against the Rush and snuck another glance at the pic Cullen had just sent, clearly from a bathroom stall in the visiting team’s lockers. We were an hour from game time, and the man had somehow found a second to ensure I’d be shifting uncomfortably in my pants. Bastard.
Me: Aren’t you supposed to be focused on the W?
Cullen: I am. Can’t you tell? That’s alllllll of me. Very focused. Standing at full attention. Where’s yours?
I huffed out a quiet laugh. The guy was ridiculous. And he’d sucked me into his game, too. The dick pic floodgates had been opened. Last week, he’d followed up mine with one of him at full mast, lying on my couch. I’d returned fire with a shower shot, and it’d continued from there, by turns outlandish and serious but always somehow sexy as hell. But there was no time for me to send him one back now, and I typed back as much and received a frowning face in return.
Cullen: You owe me one after we beat your ass.
Me: Fair. But don’t be blaming your imminent loss on being distracted trying to send a dick pic to me.
Cullen: Way too much ego for that.
“Let’s go!” Coach shouted, and I started to tuck my phone away before pausing and firing off one last message.
Me: Kick ass today. Even if it means we lose. We won’t go down easy, though.
Cullen: Funny, you go down easy enough.
Goddamn him. As I walked out onto the field, it felt strange knowing he was yards away from me and yet I’d probably only see him in this capacity, not face-to-face. The Rush’s schedule was tight, and they were set to fly back to Denver right after the game. It was yet another reminder of why long-distance shit was a bad idea in general. As both teams trotted onto the field, I lasered in on Cullen, gave myself a few seconds to eye him from afar, the subtle acknowledgment of a head nod when he looked my way, then turned all my attention to my team. We had a game to play, after all.
I was dripping sweat, tense and buzzing with energy as I paced the sidelines and watched the tight back-and-forth between the Rush and the Royals. It was a highly anticipated match-up, and we’d been neck and neck from the get-go. The fourth quarter was no different. We’d been forced to kick a field goal after an eight-yard loss on the third down, cutting the Rush’s lead to three with two minutes left in the game.
