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)
His jaw tightened in a way I’d never seen in response to something I’d said to him. Clearly, he didn’t like it. “I don’t need another brother.”
“I thought we bonded during the draft? And the night you spent at my house?”
“If we had, you’d know that the last thing I want is for you to treat me like Houston does.”
Ah, hell. This was going to be a disaster. “Fine. Imightlikeyoualittle,” I rushed out.
Now he grinned that cocky, mischievous smile I’d gotten so used to. “Oh shit. Warner Ramsey is obsessed with me. I can’t take my brother’s best friend.”
“I said I like you a little. And would you look at that, I don’t anymore.”
“Liar.” He winked.
“Come on, Little Man. Let’s go inside.”
He hefted his bag up on his shoulder and followed me. I led him to the conference room where we were meeting. Most of the team was already there. Coach Baker was standing in front, talking to a couple of guys on the team and our defensive coach, Todd.
“Look! It’s one of the rookies!” Simmons, our starting cornerback, shouted.
“Been excited to meet me? I can give you an autograph if you want.” Garrett’s delivery was smooth as honey, like the whole thing had been planned out. A few guys laughed.
“He’s a cocky one,” Jarrick jumped in. “I could tell at the bar the other night.”
“Shouldn’t we get going before it’s time for McRae’s nap? Did he already get his bottle?” Nichols, another teammate, teased. Joking around with rookies was normal, but clearly it was going to happen more with Garrett because of Houston.
“I feel like you guys sat around figuring out how to greet me. I know it’s exciting having me on the roster, but I’m no better than the rest of you…okay, maybe a little better than the rest of you.”
“Ooooh! Rookie McRae got jokes!” I wasn’t sure who’d said that because everyone was laughing or talking shit. I clapped Garrett on the shoulder, not surprised he was already fitting in well.
“All right, all right. That’s enough, guys. It’s time to get to work,” Coach Baker said, and everyone got serious fast.
We took our seats for our first team meeting of the season. Cross—Garrett’s buddy—landed in the seat on the other side of him. We went over what we wanted for the year—a fucking Super Bowl ring—and then did a couple of exercises aimed at getting to know each other. Coach Baker had been with the Rush the past two seasons. He came with four rings under his belt, and while not all coaches stressed the teammates-are-family thing, Coach Baker was big on building strong bonds within the group and how that translated to the W on the field.
We went over some film from last season before starting an afternoon workout.
When we made it outside, we separated for offensive exercises. While the defense did their d-line exercises, I kept my eye on Garrett between my five-step drop drills.
We ended practice with gassers. By the time we’d run the full length of the field four times in a row, two newbies had thrown up and everyone looked dead on their feet. I conditioned all year, but I worried my legs might give out on me anyway. Sweat dripped from my lashes. Still, I looked at Garrett and winked. He rolled his eyes but gave me a small smirk before bending over, hands on his knees and taking a few breaths.
“Bring it in!” Coach Baker yelled. Garrett pushed up and stood, jogging directly over. He was as sweaty as the rest of us, his face pink, and my brain went directly to where it shouldn’t. Did his cheeks flush like that when he came?
Chill the fuck out. Get it together.
The motherfucker had me talking to myself. What the hell was it about Garrett?
As soon as the whole team was there, Coach said, “We’re doubling up, two in a room, because you’re all gonna become besties over the season.” A few of us laughed as Coach started calling out names. I heard a few guys grumbling in the background, bitching about bunking with someone else and being too old for this.
I glanced over at Garrett, who had his arms crossed but wasn’t complaining. “Good boy,” I whispered playfully.
“Fuck off.”
“Ramsey and McRae,” Coach called out. Welp, that made my job easier, at least during training camp. He couldn’t get into too much trouble if he was rooming with me. “Now, anyone who wants to whine or who has a problem with how I do things is welcome to sit out the season or find another team. I run this ship, and we do things my way. Come see me if you have an issue and want to ride the bench.” With that, he walked away.
“He’s no joke, is he?” Garrett asked.
“Nah, but he knows his shit. He’s good. He’s our best shot at going all the way.” I nodded toward the building. “Let’s go.”