Page 40 of The Play

If he had to see her perky, smug face one more week, overreacting about things that weren’t really any of her concern, he was going to lose it.

She would absolutely believe the crush he couldn’t help having on Deacon Harris was her and the NFL’s business.

Of course, was it even a crush anymore? Grant was beginning to think it had to be love.

Because that was what happened when you had a crush at thirty-three. It wasn’t a crush at all. It was head-over-heels, wildly-in-love.

Maybe that was why he’d thrown all caution to the wind and after detailing exactly why he couldn’t be with Deacon, now or ever, had kissed him anyway.

And then couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Except I know how much you want to tell her to fuck off.” Darcy grinned, opening her own hard cider, clinking her bottle against his. “Cheers to another week down.”

“Thanks.”

“You know,” Darcy said, curling her feet underneath her, “I really thought this whole NFL thing was going to be a drag, but I’m feeling it. It’s fun.”

“Don’t say it’s because you can ogle lots of hot, nearly naked men at the height of their physical prowess,” Grant said.

He didn’t need any more reminders of what a prime specimen Deacon was.

“Oh, but it is. There’s that, of course, but it’s more than that, too. It’s fun to watch us win. Terrible to lose, of course.”

“Of course,” Grant replied dryly. That was what he’d told her they were in for, all season. What the NFL had promised him. Losing.

“I know you said we’d lose, a lot, but isn’t it fun to be wrong?” Darcy sounded absolutely delighted.

When it came down to it, Grant was equally delighted. It was fun to destroy everyone’s expectations. He’d been doing it his whole career and yet it never got old.

“So,” Darcy continued, “are you going to tell me what happened with Deacon?”

Ugh. Just when he’d been sure he’d distracted her enough.

He should know better. This was Darcy.

“No,” Grant said testily.

“Something, or else you wouldn’t be so grumpy.” Darcy took a long sip of her cider. Tilted her head. “But not sex, or else you wouldn’t feel about to vibrate off the couch with all this tension. So he kissed you. Finally.”

“Actually, I kissed him,” Grant admitted.

Darcy looked even more pleased. “Did you really? Well, I didn’t think you had the balls, but kudos. Was it awesome? Did the stars light up? Did you hear wedding bells clanging? Did you promise to love and cherish each other forever?”

Grant shot her a look. “I need to give you more work to do if you have the time for your imagination to be this active.”

“Oh come on, this is exciting. You pining after Deacon has been one of the most entertaining parts of this whole Condors experiment. I thought you were asexual or aromantic, you dated so infrequently. But apparently, you were just waiting for the right man. For him. God, it’s so romantic.” Darcy fell back in a dramatic swoon.

“Are you done?” Grant asked, really hoping she was.

“Yes, yes, sorry. Tell me about it. What happened?” Darcy looked at him expectantly. Like whatever he said was going to be a swoon-worthy, sweet story. A sexy story, even. A story to tell his children later. A story to recite at their theoretical wedding.

“Uh, well, you know I went to the Pirate’s Booty ’cause Carter invited me. I wasn’t going to go, but it made sense, so I went.”

“And because you wanted to see Deacon,” Darcy interrupted.

“Okay, okay, yes, maybe a little,” Grant conceded. “So, I was there, and Deacon was there, of course, and he was dancing with Nate.”

Darcy looked surprised. “He was dancing dancing with Nate?”

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