Houston stood. “Ha-ha. I’m always sarcastic. Pay attention, and you might learn something.”
I was grateful as hell to have been traded to the Rush my rookie season and become friends with him. Houston and I hit it off right away. Growing up, I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a brother, if for no other reason than to help shoulder some of Dad’s drama, but nope, all that motherfucker’s shit had been heaped on me. It was better that way, I guessed. I wouldn’t wish growing up with Mike Ramsey on my worst enemy. Maybe that was being a little dramatic, but it was true.
“So, are we going to talk about the fact that your little brother has entered the draft and will live out the life you thought was yours?”
Luckily, Houston barked out a laugh like I hoped he would. He wouldn’t want to be coddled. “You forgot to add that I’m happy for him, while also being jealous as fuck and scared out of my goddamned mind. He’s not like you and me. He’s not careful. He doesn’t think shit through. He’s balls-to-the-wall in everything he does, and I don’t want it to get him in trouble.”
I understood what he meant. I’d seen it in Garrett’s eyes that night at the party when he’d walked around Ty’s “shrine.” Garrett wanted that. He’d do anything to be the best. While I admired that, I knew that the league would knock him down a few pegs, and he needed it too. It wasn’t all a good time. The NFL was hard as shit, and not everyone could deal with it. My father hadn’t been able to.
“It doesn’t matter how careful you are. This is football, man. You did everything right and—”
“I still ended up with a fucked-up leg?” He chuckled humorlessly.
“Not the words I would have used, but they work.”
“That’s what makes it even worse with Baby G.”
I laughed. “That’s maybe the best nickname I’ve ever heard for him. Did you just come up with it? I haven’t heard you use it before. I might have to steal it.” I liked getting under Garrett’s skin. The problem was, he liked getting under mine too, and he was good as hell at it. I hadn’t figured out what to make of him yet, even after four years. He rattled me, and I didn’t rattle easily. There was something strangely compelling about him, and I wanted to figure him out even though I didn’t typically care to do the same with others. I sure as shit would never tell him that, though.
“He’ll kill both you and me.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be a good way to go, knowing we tortured him until the end.” We shared another laugh before Houston sobered.
“I don’t want him to get himself in trouble.”
And we all knew trouble was easy to find—money, power, sex, people praising the shit out of you. It went to people’s heads. It had happened before, and it would happen again. My chest tightened with that thought, but I shoved it away. “He’ll be all right,” I said because that’s just what you did. I wasn’t sure Garrett was any more of a loose cannon than a lot of guys that made it to the league. We were football players. Being a bit wild often came with big dreams and bigger egos. But I thought the hunger for greatness burned a little brighter in Baby G—fuck, I was so calling him that.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just all up in my head.” Houston nudged me. “Also, Mom wants you to come over for the draft. She said family, and for the last few years, that includes your dumb ass.”
I grinned, not just because of what he’d said about family, but because being there would give me a chance to bust Garrett’s balls. After my two favorite F’s—fucking and football—there was almost nothing I liked more.
“Bet. I don’t have anything else going on tonight.”
“What about Alyssa?” Houston asked.
“Oh fuck. Don’t remind me. I need to stay away from women whose names start with A. They always end up going a little crazy on me.”
Ashley had been first. I’d thought she was great—sexy as fuck, loved football, and was a good time, but she’d literally stalked my ass. When I’d stayed at her place one night, I’d gotten something from the fridge, and when I closed it, an envelope had slid off from on top of it. Photos of me fell out—leaving the stadium, getting home, out to lunch with Houston, of me asleep in my goddamned bed. Yes, I’d known she was there when those were taken, but who in the hell took pictures of someone when they were sleeping?
Alyssa was my second A, and while she hadn’t been as bad as Ashley, we’d only been fucking for a month when she asked me to marry her, ring and all. It was ballsy as hell, and I wasn’t the kind of guy to balk at a woman doing her thing like that, but I sure as shit wasn’t ready to get put on lockdown by someone I’d only chilled with a handful of times. It had become a bit of a joke. I hadn’t had the same issue with other women I’d dated, just the two A’s.