Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps #1)(9)
Shit. I was pretty sure I had been wearing those boxers. I’d had them forever and always broke them out around the holidays, along with a couple of other festive pairs, because why the fuck not celebrate the season, even below the belt? I’d also been hammered at that party, meaning there was a high likelihood that might’ve happened.
“Aw, he’s blushing.” Houston chuckled. “Well done.” He and Ramsey high-fived over the table, and I didn’t even care that it was at my expense because it was better than thinking about the draft. Like Houston had ever so astutely—and annoyingly—pointed out earlier, the Rush needed a new wide receiver, and if they decided to focus on their offense, there was no way I wasn’t in the running. I was gunning for San Fran, though. Or even Philly. Anywhere, really, besides the Rush. Not that I planned to tell anyone that either.
“Anything happen with that offer from ASU?” Dad asked Houston, and the humor evaporated from Houston’s face faster than water in the desert.
“What offer?” I asked, and Houston glanced at me with a dismissive shrug.
“ASU reached out about a possible assistant-coach position a while back. It wasn’t a big deal, and I’m not taking it.” He aimed the last part at Dad. “I’m all set here for now. PT is here, my friends are here, my life is here.”
The fucker hadn’t even told me, and it was a big deal. ASU had a great team, and Houston was more than capable of coaching. I narrowed my eyes, ready to ask him what the hell he was thinking, when I caught Ramsey give a single, sharp shake of his head in my direction.
I swallowed back my protests as Dad sighed.
“There will be lots of other opportunities,” Mom said cheerily. “I’m sure some will be local, if that’s what you want.”
“What I want…” Houston exhaled an exasperated chuckle. “What I want is to hang out and celebrate with G. Let’s keep the focus on someone who’s actually still doing shit with their life.”
Definitely should’ve stayed in Silver Ridge. Houston’s comment solidified like cement in my chest, hard and heavy, and it wasn’t anything that should’ve made me feel guilty—Houston didn’t mean it that way, and I knew better—but it did.
After dinner, Dad, Houston, and Ramsey dropped their plates at the sink and headed into the living room. A second later, the blare of the TV filtered into the kitchen, and shortly after that, I heard the front door opening and closing as other folks arrived. My parents had invited a couple of their friends, my aunt Shereen, and some of my high school buds.
Mom tried to take my plate from my hands as I scraped it into the sink, stalling. “Let me do that so you can get out there. You’re the man of the evening.”
“I can do it. It takes two seconds,” I insisted. As soon as I went in there, I’d be pelted with questions about what team I was gunning for.
“I know you can.” She tugged harder. “But I’m doing it tonight. Shoo!”
The moment I let go of the plate, she set it down to one side of the sink and put her arms around me. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you hardly ate. I know you’re nervous.” In the living room, the noise increased as the TV volume and chatter of folks competed.
“As hell, yeah.”
“You’ve worked hard. You deserve this. Wherever you end up, you’ll make the best of it. And I know you’re thinking about Houston, but…” She tilted my chin in her direction, her warm brown eyes insistent on mine. “Look at me. He’s happy for you too. We’re all happy for you.”
“I know, Mom.” I kissed the top of her head, wishing the twinge in my gut would go away, wishing Houston’s career hadn’t tanked right before mine was set to take off.
“Both my sons and—” Her breath hitched, and she waved a hand. “Okay, get out of here so I can finish this before everything starts.”
I took a deep breath, stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, where I was immediately assaulted with back claps, well wishes, and hugs. And questions, of course, which I answered vaguely. Even my hermit-ass uncle Mick on my dad’s side had driven in from his cave in Durango.
Houston’s voice rose above the noise. “Everyone quiet! It’s starting.” He waved me closer, and I perched on the arm of the couch near him as Mom came in from the kitchen and did the same on the arm of Dad’s recliner.
The room got quiet as the commissioner came on, made his opening announcements, and then the first pick was announced. Unsurprisingly, quarterback Colton Smith was going to Houston. That’d been the talk for months. He walked onstage to accept, and after that, a couple more picks were called out, the buzzing anticipation in my stomach growing with every passing minute.
Mom reached over and squeezed my knee as I jiggled it. I decided this process sucked. Why didn’t they let players know beforehand, for fuck’s sake? I couldn’t even imagine how guys further down the list felt. The waiting blew, and I was crazy impatient in the first place.
After the seventh pick was announced, my phone rang. I gripped it tight as I put it to my ear.
“McRae, this is Coach Ray Baker.” All the air in my lungs compressed into a tiny ball. “I’ve got our GM on the line too. What do you think about playing for the Denver Rush this year?”