Page 38 of The Play

But somehow, a taste had only whetted Grant’s appetite.

He needed to get out of here before the slippery slope led him to do it again. And again. And again.

Grant laughed, short and unamused. “Not likely,” he said.

Deacon smiled, too. “No,” he said.

But there was an acceptance in his eyes now. Like he knew, just like Grant did, that this kiss, in this mostly clean bar bathroom, was the only time they’d ever get what they really wanted.

Only a fraction, but it was going to have to be enough.

Part of Grant wanted to scream in protest, but before he could say anything else, the door opened behind them and Riley walked in.

He stopped short in his tracks.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

Everything was not okay, but Grant nodded anyway.

“Sure,” Deacon said. But Riley must’ve seen the truth in his eyes, because he put a hand on Deacon’s shoulder, just a brief touch, but it meant so much more than that, Grant was sure, as Deacon walked by him to get out.

When the door swung shut behind him, Grant felt awkward. Exposed.

Sure, Riley hadn’t caught them kissing, but he had to know they had been, only a moment earlier.

“I appreciate you signing me and then extending me,” Riley said conversationally, heading to the row of urinals, apparently feeling no qualms whatsoever about whipping his dick out in front of the owner of his football team. “But if you break his heart, I’ll kill you.”

Grant’s jaw dropped.

“I don’t—it’s not—no,” he said emphatically. Awkwardly. God, why would the earth not rise up and swallow him whole?

Riley shot him a look as he finished and zipped up. Meandered over to the sink to wash his hands, like this was a routine, everyday conversation.

“You could, you know,” Riley said softly. But the look in his eyes as he glanced over at Grant was full of heat and steel.

A reminder that Riley was not as sweet and kind as he initially seemed. That he was a Flynn, too. That he’d been forced to work twice as hard as his brother, a fact that before this moment, Grant had actually liked him for, because it made him such a damn good quarterback.

“I—”

But Riley didn’t let him get the rest of the sentence out, even if Grant had a fucking clue what he was trying to say.

“You could, and you won’t,” Riley said, patted him on the shoulder, just as he had Deacon, and exited the bathroom.

Grant stared at the utilitarian tile wall, unseeing, as he tried to process what the fuck had just happened.

He knew Riley meant well. But here was the thing Riley didn’t understand at all: if, somehow, he broke Deacon’s heart, he was surely going to break his own, too.

Chapter 6

Grant lay back on the couch in his penthouse apartment, barely glancing up at the enormous television in front of him as the broadcast switched from the Piranhas game to a preview of the halftime show.

He had a ton of work to get through today. Normally on a Sunday, he was either in his suite at the Condors’ stadium or he was on the road, in another team’s stadium, watching his team play. But this week, they’d already played early, on Thursday, so he’d decided to stay home, not take off his sweatpants, curl up on the couch, and get some work done.

Darcy would be over in a few, and she’d said she was bringing beer and wings. They’d make a long afternoon of it, working through Darcy’s latest To Do list.

For right now, though, Grant was glancing through his various email folders at the new messages that had come in overnight, and trying, desperately, not to think about the kiss.

The kiss he shouldn’t have shared with Deacon.

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