Page 130 of The Play

“Actually, I’ve created a hell of a lot of trouble,” Deacon said wryly.

“We have, more like,” Grant agreed. He leaned back against the seat. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“You think it’s time to go public,” Deacon said.

“I must be losing my touch.” Grant scrubbed a hand across his jaw.

“Just to me.” Deacon squeezed his hand. “And I’m not just anybody.”

“I think I’d already decided, before Josh Allen threw that pass,” Grant said, with a reluctant sigh. “It’s the right thing to do. And I’m not ashamed. Terrified, maybe, but not ashamed. If you’re still up for it, then yes, I think we should do it. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Well, hold onto me, ’cause I’m gonna make sure we get through this. Alive and together.” Deacon knew he couldn’t make guarantees, but he could make promises.

And he was promising that he wasn’t going to leave. Wasn’t going to flinch, even if things got ugly. Okay, uglier.

“You’re kind of a badass, you know?” Grant said lightly, but there was a certainty glowing in his green eyes that Deacon loved to see.

“I’d say I’m your knight in shining armor, but I’m not good or noble, like Jem.”

“No, no, you’re not. But I like you just the way you are. I’m not wildly in love with Jem.” Grant paused, as Deacon’s thumb pressed insistently into his palm. “How is he, by the way?”

“Happy. In love. Learning he doesn’t want to leave that town he grew up in again.” Deacon sighed. “And you know, I’m happy for him. But also it kinda sucks.”

“That he’s happy and in love?”

“That he’s got his place. I still don’t know what I’m doing next year.”

“I’m assuming various people in the Condors organization have made you offers,” Grant said.

Deacon nodded. Coach Rufus, in particular, really wanted to hire him to coach the defensive ends. He was practically doing it now. And it would mean he’d not have to leave and that he would be somewhat removed from Grant’s direct authority.

He didn’t give a shit about that, but he assumed the NFL would.

“Well, how’s this for an offer,” Grant continued. “Work for me.”

Deacon knew he should be used to the twisty, clever way Grant’s mind worked by now—and he thought he had gotten a handle on it, at least—but this was the last offer he’d expected Grant to make. He’d assumed Grant would want that separation, too—or at least require it, if he wanted to stay with the Condors organization.

But apparently not.

“Guess I’m not losing my touch after all.” Grant grinned.

“Work for you? But—”

“I know. Seems like the worst kind of idea. Maybe it is. I know I told you that you were a great coach, earlier this season. You are. But I also think you’re the best judge of talent and skill I’ve seen. I’m okay, but you’re better. More than that, you can look at a guy, talk to him, and know if he’ll be suited to the NFL. Not everyone with talent and skill is, but you can tell.”

“You want me to be a scout.”

“My scout.”

Deacon couldn’t help but love the proprietary way Grant said it. The look he gave him that was practically a caress.

Maybe some other man might be embarrassed or ashamed of being Grant’s man.

Not Deacon.

Grant Green was hot as hell. A respected, successful businessman. And brilliant, with a mind that never quit. He could have anybody he wanted, and who he wanted was Deacon.

So if he wanted to brand Deacon with his initials, Deacon would gladly kneel at his feet.

---