Page 19 of The Play

And yep, she was right again, his first inclination had been to put Landry on the tickets.

“All true,” Grant said.

“Any changes?”

Grant considered the design for another thirty seconds. Didn’t let himself think about the alternate timeline in which Deacon had been the choice. Darcy was right, Landry was an attractive man. Grant could acknowledge that. But it was hard to see Landry when Deacon was right there.

“No changes,” Grant said. “And please tell him he knocked it out of the park.” He never wanted to be stingy on praise.

“Sure thing,” Darcy acknowledged, fingers racing along the keyboard. “Next thing.”

Deacon was tired as hell.

It had been such a long day—two practices, one in the morning and another in the steamy heat of the afternoon, and even though he made sure to keep in shape during the offseason, it was never the same as stepping onto the practice field again.

But to get in game shape, all this was necessary, because that was another level entirely.

He climbed the last stair to the roof, huffed out a breath, shook his hair, and walked across the deck towards his favorite seat in the whole facility—the platform right above the highest set of suites. He’d taken to coming here in the last few years, to gain perspective when it had felt like there was none. When the negativity enveloping the organization had threatened to overwhelm him.

But he wasn’t going to be alone, because in his regular spot, where he always liked to sit, right by the last of the upright metal supports, was a back Deacon would’ve recognized anywhere.

What was Grant doing up here?

He stopped in his tracks, but the noise before he did must’ve tipped Grant off, because he turned his head, his gaze meeting Deacon’s.

Deacon was unpleasantly aware that he hadn’t showered after afternoon practice. That he’d tugged his practice jersey off the rest of the way and that his back still felt uncomfortably damp, a line of sweat leading right down his spine into his shorts.

Grant froze, too, like a deer in the headlights.

Was it because he was half-naked?

Or because he was probably the last person Grant had expected to see up here?

“Don’t tell me you’ve been coming up here,” Deacon said in the friendliest voice he could muster. He wasn’t unhappy Grant was here. Not exactly.

In fact, there was a part of him that was very happy he was here.

Down, boy.

“Yeah,” Grant said, rubbing his neck, looking as awkward and uncomfortable as Deacon felt. Like he’d been caught out.

He looked more like the statistics tutor right now than the in-control CEO he’d become, the confident, suave businessman Deacon had met this year.

“Do you mind sharing?” Deacon asked, even as he regretted the words that came out of his mouth.

There was no denying it. He’d come up here partly because the whole day, during both practices, his neck had prickled so many times, far too aware of how Grant’s office overlooked the practice field.

Had he been watching?

Deacon couldn’t say for sure, but just the thought aroused him, heating his blood, until he hadn’t been able to stand it.

So he’d come here, to the one place he knew Grant wouldn’t be.

And here he was.

“No, no, not at all.” Grant gazed up at him as Deacon walked over, taking a seat a good distance away from him.

It was self-preservation as much as the fact that he hadn’t showered that kept him apart.

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