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“Something about creating bonds.”
That sounded like something my brother would say. As one of the team captains, it was on him to keep the guys in order, and he took his role seriously.
“There is nothing like alcohol and food to help you guys bond.”
“Don’t forget about the chicks.” His eyes widen as he realizes what he said. “Shit, that’s not… I didn’t mean Nixon…”
“Don’t sweat it.” I wave him off. “After all, my brother is one of the football players, so I’ve heard it all in the past. Besides, there is no way he’d fuck around on Yasmin.”
I’ve seen how much my brother loves his wife, including that first moment he brought her to our home. They weren’t even dating then, but I could see Yasmin as somebody he could fall for. And fall for her, he did. Hard.
Pushing the door to Moore’s open, I duck inside. Although it’s still relatively early, the place is buzzing with activity.
I look around, taking in the familiar space. The dark wooden bar spreads over the one side of the room, big TVs placed over it showing different games going on at the moment. The place is decorated with different sports memorabilia featuring Blairwood alumni.
“I don’t see any of the football players,” I comment, shifting my attention to Sullivan. “Or my friend. Wanna grab a drink while we wait?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“So, how is football going?” I tentatively ask as we make our way to the bar.
Sullivan is one of the wide receivers on the Ravens’ team. He stepped into Prescott’s place after he was injured last year. Looking back, it was probably a lot of pressure on a freshman. Sullivan is a good player, but he isn’t Prescott. He is still too green, and more importantly, he doesn’t have the same connection Nixon shares with Prescott and Hayden since the three played together from their freshman year on.
Sullivan’s smile falls, a frown appearing between his brows. “You heard my conversation earlier.” He shrugs, trying to play it off, but I hear the frustration in his voice. “Coach put me back on the bench.”
“I’m so sorry, Sullivan. You were good last season, I…”
“Just not good enough?” he chuckles humorlessly. “It’s fine. I guess it was to be expected now that Wentworth’s back on the team.”
Before I can comment, the bartender turns to us, and we place our order before resuming the conversation. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There is nothing to say.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “We all knew he’d eventually come back. We’ve gotten quite a few new additions to the team this year, and the transition hasn’t been going exactly smooth, so…”
“So, the team bonding?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Not sure it’ll help, but whatever… We’ve got to do something.”
“It’s going to be fine.” I place my hand on Sullivan’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “Every team needs some adjustment period. I’m sure you guys are going to do great. I meant what I said; you played well last season. And just because Coach didn’t put you as a starter doesn’t mean you’ll be on the bench the whole season.”
“Thanks.” If possible, his expression darkens even further. “I guess we’ll see, huh?”
“Yea—”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The hair at the back of my neck rises at the sound ofhisvoice. Low and kind of growly.
Slowly, I turn around and come face to face with no one other than Prescott Wentworth.
Next to his hulking height, Sullivan looks small in comparison. Prescott’s eyes are fixed on my hand on Sullivan’s arm, his lips pressed in a tight line.
What the hell’s his deal?
“What am I doing? What the hell areyoudoing?”
Slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet mine, those dark brown eyes glaring at me. If looks could kill…
“I didn’t ask you.” He shifts his attention to Sullivan, completely dismissing me. “Seriously, dude?”
