Page 145 of The Play

That meant the Packers had been forced to take short gains all the way down the field, which sucked up a ton of game time, and by the time they did finally get in the end zone, almost the whole fourth quarter was gone. All Riley and the offense had to do was go out, get two first downs, and then take a knee.

“Told ya,” Beck said, grinning, as they embraced on the sideline. “One more to go, old man.”

“Who you callin’ old?” Micah demanded with a teasing glint in his eye. “That old man still runs circles around you.”

Deacon had been concerned about bringing Rose here, but it was both reassuring and heartwarming that, in the end, he’d been wrong about that too. He’d been trying to protect Beck, but now, he’d lay his ego and his pride and his life on the line for both of them.

They were both his guys. And it felt damn good to know that went both ways.

“Aw, Rose, I knew you were a sweetheart under all that bluster,” Deacon said as they walked into the tunnel towards the locker room.

“You know he’d better be,” Beck said, glancing over at his husband.

“Honey, for you, anything.” Micah’s tone was full of amusement, but his eyes, as Deacon looked over at him, were dead serious.

This, more than anything, this love and loyalty these guys felt for one another, was enough for Deacon to know they’d be okay next year, and for so many years to come. Of course, he wasn’t planning on leaving them completely—they’d probably see more of him than they wanted to.

But no matter what fell out with him and Grant and job he’d offered him, Deacon had hoped they would be okay, but now he knew they would be okay.

He’d finished showering and had slipped on a pair of boxer briefs and was just about to find his jeans when Carter started cat-calling, loudly.

“Ugh,” Deacon muttered.

“I’m almost sad Carter Maxwell never hit on me,” Nate said mournfully, next to him.

“No, you’re not,” Deacon said.

A second later, he realized why Carter had made that noise in the first place. Moving through the crowd in the locker room, doling out smiles and high-fives and hugs, was Grant.

He’d felt the echo of this feeling when he’d watched Beck and Micah earlier.

But now it was here, full force, pressing into his chest, and the feeling was so enormous, so all-encompassing, Deacon could barely take a breath as Grant came to a stop in front of him.

They had not discussed how to handle themselves in front of teammates or staff. Deacon had assumed they would be taking an understated, less is more approach.

He’d also assumed he’d be taking any and all pointers from Grant and working within whatever parameters he established.

Grant raised his hand, but instead of keeping it to a friendly “good job” pat, he laid it on Deacon’s bare shoulder and then squeezed, letting his gaze leisurely peruse all of Deacon’s nakedness currently on display.

Nobody looking at the heat in Grant’s eyes, or the way Deacon was trying to keep his pulse—and his dick—under control, would think they were platonic.

“Great game,” Grant said, and did he sound breathless?

Deacon thought he did.

“Yeah,” Deacon said.

Grant’s fingertips dug into his skin, and Deacon felt branded, owned, and before this man, that was something he wouldn’t have wanted at all, ever. But instead, he relished the feeling of it. The way Grant looked at him—and the way he looked back.

Grant’s suit today was maroon, with a pale pink shirt, no tie, and he’d opened a few buttons. He looked delectable, and Deacon wanted to eat him alive.

“Hey, Deac, are you going to the victory party tonight?” Riley asked as he approached.

It was clear he hadn’t seen Grant at first, not until he stopped short.

“Oh, hi Mr. G, didn’t see you there,” Riley said awkwardly.

“Everyone saw him there, Riley,” Nate hissed next to him.

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