Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86614 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Ramsey shrugged. “I can’t help it that I’m such a badass QB.”
“Yeah, but whose ass did they zoom in on?” I smirked and handed his phone back, then grabbed the tongs and threw some chicken on the grill.
“Because my hand is on it.”
Laughter bubbled out of me, and I didn’t bother to jab back because I loved how, over the past months, he’d gotten more relaxed about us being out together. We’d never made a formal announcement, but we’d been papped hot and heavy in a club one night, and the reporters had come running. The Rush’s PR team had issued a statement of support, and the initial frenzy had died down after a couple of weeks. I imagined there’d be more to come once the season officially started, but I didn’t think it would be anything we couldn’t handle together.
Inside the house, I could hear some of the other guys arriving. Tucker’s booming voice, Houston’s laugh, Ellis bitching about something.
Ramsey nudged me as I closed the top on the grill. “What was the meat joke you were gonna make? I’ll listen to it.” He looked pointedly at the kielbasas. “It was gonna be a sausage joke, wasn’t it?”
“I’ll never tell.” I motioned with my tongs at the tray. “But I’d definitely prefer my sausage stuffing your mouth than lying sideways on a plate.”
He squeezed my side and brushed a quick kiss along my jaw. “I’ll get to that later, promise. C’mon.”
We headed inside and greeted everyone. After showing them around, we ended up back on the deck. I’d had a projector installed on the covered portion, and we hung out and ate and watched an NFL preseason special.
“Goddamn Whitt,” Tucker groaned as the LA cornerback’s face flashed on the screen. He had a nice smile, I’d give him that. “I don’t get the obsession.”
Cross laughed. “You’re just saying that because he’s faster than every one of us out here.”
I swallowed a bite of burger. “He’s not faster than me.”
Houston sniffed. “He runs, like, a 50.45. You’re what, 51?”
“50.73. Kiss my ass. It’s all the muscle packed into my thighs that slows me down.”
Ramsey put his mouth close to my ear. “Could be the meat in your pants.”
I grinned, then barked out a, “Hey!” as something hit the screen in front of us and slid down, leaving an orange smear trekking down the side of Whitt’s cheek.
Tucker cackled. “I fixed him.”
“Your messy ass better wipe that down.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stood, grabbed a napkin, and loped over to the screen, cleaning it off before plopping back down. “I just think he’s overhyped, is all.”
Ellis snorted. “You mean you think you should be up there instead.”
“Centers get no love lately. And look at this smile.” Tucker flashed a gleaming grin and clucked his tongue. “Way more pleasing to TV audiences.”
“How did I never notice how cocky all you motherfuckers are?” Houston thwapped Tucker.
It was true, though.
A couple of hours and cases of beer later, everyone headed out. Ramsey and I picked up the trash, gathered dishes, and reassembled the kitchen, which looked like a barbecue-sauce-loving tornado had blown through.
“How is there sauce on top of this cabinet door?” Ramsey groaned, rolling onto his toes to swipe at the smear.
“Cross threw a chicken wing at Ellis.”
“Idiots.”
“Yep.”
We finished cleaning, got two bottles of water from the fridge, and went back to the deck, where we dropped into two loungers set alongside each other. I threw a leg over Ramsey’s thigh as I cracked open my water.
“Just can’t get enough of me, can you, G?”
“Nope.” I didn’t even try to deny it. Even months into our relationship, we still went at it every chance we got, and now that we were in the open, we’d had endless adventures and dates. All the time together that we wanted, and it still never seemed like enough. I’d never been so into someone in my life.
Ramsey dropped a hand on my thigh and stroked it idly. “Same.”
We sprawled in contented silence, listening to the buzz of crickets in the background, until Ramsey groaned and pulled out his phone. “My dad,” he said, glancing at the screen. He fired off a quick text back, then set the phone facedown on the deck. “I told him I’m busy and I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Think he wants money?”
“Who knows? Probably.” Ramsey’s relationship with his dad was a work in progress. He’d come to Ramsey’s place for dinner with us exactly once and, as Ramsey had predicted, it was awkward as hell, but we both noticed his dad was less aggressive. And Ramsey had gotten a month’s reprieve before he asked for money again. “The intervals are stretching out, at least.”
“I know he’s probably never gonna be the dad you deserve. I’m glad you have us as your…surrogate family? Something like that.” My parents had always welcomed him with open arms, but now that we were together, my mom seemed to have taken that as license to dote on him like her own son, constantly haranguing him until Houston and I would crack up and tell her to lay off. He loved it, though, found comfort in it, I could tell.