Rookie Move (Playing for Keeps, #1)

by Riley Hart

Warner Ramsey was the Rush’s quarterback, and an undeniably great one. Also, my brother’s best friend.

Because another undeniable thing about him was that he was even hotter in person. Tall, leanly built, with a stubbled square jaw, dark hair, and the kind of blue eyes that could pierce you even from the far end of a hallway. Which they were definitely doing now.

I’d learned two things tonight. One: these were my people. Or at least, I wanted them to be, and I was hell-bent on spending the next four years getting there. And two: I was most definitely bi.

“I just can’t figure out how one human can contain so much genetic lottery winnings. It seems like even nature would say, ‘That’s not fair. Let’s give him a weird eye or ears that stick out.’ Something. Some flaw.”

But there was no doubt I’d liked hearing it, my dick perking up and taking notice because Garrett McRae was ridiculously fucking hot too. I liked knowing he thought that about me. I’d liked hearing it even more.

“Guess you kinda feel like my little brother too.” Totally not true, though stepbrother porn was hot. I’d be down for some roleplay if he was.

We’d done it. We’d won our first preseason game, and I was pretty sure Garrett was flying. Damn, did I like to see him soar.

I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, or where I was going, or why I suddenly wanted him so much, it was hard to breathe. Yeah, I’d always been attracted to him. He amused the shit out of me. I loved how he never stopped giving me hell, but this craving for him was different. The second we were around the backside of the building, alone in an alley that, unfortunately, stank like trash, I pushed him against the wall and took his mouth with mine.

I could totally be content that I’d made Warner Ramsey’s head spin at least once. And now we could go back to our usual routine. Except, it didn’t exactly work out that way.

The way I saw it, hooking up with Ramsey, no strings, benefited us both on the field and off. Ramsey got to exercise his bi-curiousness with me, and I likewise didn’t have to hunt someone to get off with when I got tired of looking at my own hand. I could devote myself completely to football. No external distractions, no need for apps or the make-sure-the-person-isn’t-a-psycho text exchanges before hooking up. It was easy. It was efficient. It was hot as fuck.

“Wow…you’re going to marry my baby brother.” “No I’m not.” “And have his babies.” “Ha-ha.” “You’ll adopt a bunch of them, fill that big-ass house of yours, buy a minivan with stick figures on the back windshield.”

“I’m pretty sure Garrett’s wanted a minivan and ten kids with you for years.” That shouldn’t have made me smile—I didn’t even want children—but it did.