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“Damn, I didn’t know it was possible to have so many Eeyores in one place,” I said as we approached the table, trying to lighten the mood.
“I can’t believe our season is over. We got so close last season, same this year, but we just couldn’t make the damn cut,” Garrett grumbled, then knocked back half of his beer in one go.
Ramsey slid an arm around his shoulder and met my eyes with a subtle shake of his head. I knew the loss was hard on all the guys, but Garrett especially. All he’d ever wanted, besides Ramsey, was to make it to the Super Bowl. He’d just lost another chance. It didn’t help, either, that Garrett’s injury last year had come at the hands of the Royals.
“Next year is a fresh start,” I said. “The Rush is solid now.”
Garrett waved me off and drew in a deep breath. “Never mind me. I should be congratulating you. Y’all played an incredible game, man.” He flashed me a smile that, though tinged with wistfulness, was genuine. “I knew you’d be great with the Royals. They’re definitely gonna want you for longer than a year if they’re smart.”
I squinted at him. “This is way too much praise. How many have you had?”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Enough to know when I’m being a mopey ass.”
An hour later, we’d rehashed both the Royals’ and Rush’s offense and defense to death. Tucker was swaying, looking at his phone frequently, probably trying to find his next hookup, and Garrett had mellowed and appeared to have mostly shaken off the loss. I nudged Cullen to see if he wanted to head back to the apartment so we could turn each other inside out when a voice boomed from behind us.
“Damn, look at the Rush licking their wounds. You’re the most morose-looking motherfuckers I’ve seen in a while, and that’s saying something. Especially you.” Whitt canted his head at Tucker, singling him out in particular.
Tucker responded with a shrug and a middle finger, but Garrett straightened up in his seat, narrowing his eyes at Whitt. “Why are you such an arrogant prick? Does that come with being a trust fund baby, or are you trying to make up for some other deficiency?” G let his gaze drop pointedly to Whitt’s crotch with a smirk. Guess I’d been wrong about Garrett mellowing out.
“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”
“Watch it,” Ramsey warned in a low, deep voice and pushed out of his chair at the same time I did.
Garrett chuckled ominously as I swiveled around, putting myself between Whitt and the other guys. Next to me, Cullen’s fists were tight at his side. If someone threw a punch, we were definitely getting kicked out of this place, and considering we were in LA, it would be on TMZ within a half hour, with Cullen right in the middle. I wasn’t about to let that kind of drama happen when he had such a good thing going with the Rush. “You come over here just to harass the guys?” I shook my head. “Bad form.”
Whitt arched a brow. “Maybe I just came by to say hello to my favorite rivals. Buy them a drink as a token of a game well played.”
Cullen snorted. “Fat fucking chance unless you’ve had a lobotomy in the last couple of months. Since when have you ever been gracious?”
A shadow flickered in Whitt’s eyes, but before he could say anything back, Tucker clapped a big hand on his shoulder. “You need to go.”
“Or what?” Whitt said, glancing from the hand on his shoulder to meet Tucker’s eyes.
“Or you’re going to regret it like nothing else in your life, I promise you that.”
I steeled my shoulders, preparing to break up the impending fight. Neither Tucker nor Whitt had ever been ones to back down in their life.
But Whitt didn’t swing. Instead, he gave Tucker an appraising once-over, then did that funny head tilt thing again. “You’re telling me to leave?”
“I am,” Tucker said coolly, clearly not as drunk as I’d thought he was. “Right fucking now.”
Whitt had a steady eye on Tucker, but his posture remained relaxed as he scraped his teeth over his lower lip like he was trying to decide how serious Tucker was. Tucker could be intimidating as fuck. Then again, Whitt was similarly capable.
Two seconds passed in silence, then three before Whitt relented, putting up his hands and taking a step backward. He plastered on a winsome smile. “Better luck next time, gents. Sorry about that pass, Garrett. You’ll get it next time, I’m sure,” he said, then flashed a peace sign and turned, making for the door.
“Garrett,” Ramsey growled low, keeping him in check with a firm grip on his shoulders as Garrett tried to lunge forward.
“Fuck that guy,” Garrett growled right back. In his defense, Whitt had taken him down hard in the third quarter, and G could hold a grudge.
