Page 156 of The Play

Grant raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

“Would the NFL lose their fucking minds if you kissed me?”

“I think that ship has already sailed. But honestly, I don’t really care what they think anymore.”

“Not after you removed the pebble that was stuck in your shoe,” Deacon drawled. Grant had told him all about how he’d resolved the Cheryl situation, and he’d listened, enthralled and impressed at how goddamn brilliant his lover was.

“Yep,” Grant said. And then, before either of them could overthink it, he leaned in. Brushed a quick kiss across Deacon’s mouth. Before he pulled back, he murmured, “Good luck,” and then he was gone.

“Goddamn. Here I thought I did the most to piss the NFL off,” a man drawled.

Deacon turned and Coach Dawson was standing there, smirking.

“Coach,” Deacon said, nodding respectfully because Asa Dawson wasn’t just one of the most successful collegiate coaches of all time, he’d already begun to make his mark in the pros.

“Sorry to hear you’re hanging up your cleats,” Coach said.

“It’s time,” Deacon said. Because while he respected the hell out of Coach Dawson, he wasn’t interested in going into a long list of reasons why he knew he was done.

“Understood. If you ever want a job . . .” Coach grinned. “Just come see me.”

Deacon’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack. You’d make a fine coach. Or an even better scout.”

Deacon laughed then. “You aren’t the only one who thinks that.”

“I figured I wouldn’t be. You’re sticking with the Condors, then? I guess I can’t be surprised.” Coach smiled. “Keepin’ it in the family, and all.”

He’d been ninety-nine percent sure he’d be taking Grant’s job offer before this moment, but Coach Dawson paying him the ultimate compliment of thinking he was good, too, convinced him.

Deacon hadn’t really believed Grant was offering him the job because he loved him. Still, there’d been that little niggling voice in the back of his mind, but now he wouldn’t wonder. He’d know that while Grant’s love and affection and loyalty to him were all unconditional, they weren’t why Grant wanted to hire him.

“Yeah I am. But thanks. That means a lot.”

Coach eyed him. “Worried you were just getting hired for your pretty face, Harris?”

“Not really, but it’s nice to hear that I’m not, anyway,” Deacon said with a bark of laughter.

“Tell your Grant that any of us with half a brain molecule knew he’d never stoop to gambling or foolin’ around with that asshole, Rex.”

“I don’t think many people believed him,” Deacon said. In fact, Rex had already seemingly crawled back into the hole he’d come from. Continuing to make implausible and baseless accusations was a surefire way to get anyone who mattered to ignore him.

For a moment, there, Deacon had wanted to take his revenge on Rex, Cheryl-style. But when he’d mentioned it to Grant, he’d just shaken his head. “He’s paying the worst price he could imagine right now, which is being insignificant and unimportant. Out of the conversation,” he’d said.

And Deacon realized now that was true.

Rex wouldn’t hate anything as much as he’d hate just plain being ignored. Of course, Grant had also added that if Rex did stick his head up again and make more trouble, he would have no trouble—and would enjoy—taking his ass down once and for all. The guy was already out of the NFL due to the gambling, but now he was entirely irrelevant.

“They didn’t, but it was sure bullshit he was allowed to spout that crap,” Coach said reaching out and taking Deacon’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Good luck today, and if you ever need that job, call me up.”

“Don’t think I will, but appreciate the offer,” Deacon said.

“Shit,” Riley said flopping down on the bench. They’d had to settle for another field goal—only just keeping up with the Piranhas—instead of the touchdown Deacon knew he’d wanted to put them on top, with only a few minutes remaining in the game.

“You gotta watch out for Howard,” Beck pointed out, and Riley made a face.

He’d warned him before. In fact, he’d warned Riley several times this week alone that Howard could jump a route as easy as breathing. And he’d done that once already today, neatly picking off one of Riley’s passes to Landry.

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