Page 136 of Fair Catch

Thank God for small mercies.

“Okay, well now that I don’t have to worry about contamination,” I tell him, taking a swig of the sports drink.

Holden rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now get going and kick some ass, will ya? Make those stats your bitch. We’ll see you after.”

I nod in agreement before heading back to where I was stretching, only to make it five feet before Holden calls out to me again.

“Oh, and Kase?”

When I turn to look at him, cocking my head in questioning, he nods toward the drinks he’d just given to me.

“You should know, only one of those is from Nix.”

Thirty-Six

Kason

April

Every year on the last weekend of April, the football team throws a Leighton Draft Day party to celebrate anyone who declared themselves eligible. A good chunk of the team shows up to whatever locale is hosting said festivities in support for the guys who are waiting to hear if they are destined to enter the National Football League.

Basically, it’s an excuse for three entire days of fucking insanity and partying, but regardless, I’ve attended them every year myself, knowing one day, I’d want all mine to do the same for me.

And boy, they didn’t disappoint.

When I got home from class this afternoon, the house was already filled to the brim with people, all waiting to see if the commissioner will call my name later this evening. Both the TV in the rec room downstairs and the one in the living room are casting the event, and someone—I’m betting Holden or Phoenix—got me a cake with my face on it for the occasion.

Because this year, I’m the only one from Leighton who declared for the draft.

Yesterday was a bust, seeing as they only announce the first round, but I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d be going that early. Today is reserved for rounds two and three, though, and I’m feeling equally giddy and nervous.

“Regretting not declaring?” I ask Holden, who has been nursing the same beer for what might be a record amount of time.

Holden shrugs. “My love for football isn’t strong enough to carry me through to the pros. I’d have fun for a while, sure, but I know damn well I wouldn’t be happy long term.”

“You say that now, but I’m willing to bet you’ll be singing a different tune come fall when you aren’t suiting up and taking the field for the first time in your life.”

His brow arches. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

Snorting, I shake my head. “Absolutely not. I’m not about kicking a man while he’s down.” When he frowns, not following my train of thought, I smirk. “What? You think Phoe didn’t tell me all about the little bet you lost about Theo—”

“Shut up, shut up! Oklahoma City is about to pick!” Noah shouts, waving at everyone in the room to stop talking. “I can’t fucking hear over all you hooligans.”

“You’re not the one whoneedsto hear,” Luca, who is lounging on the other side of the sectional, points out.

Thank the dear Lord someone had enough sense to separate the two of them, though it would probably be better if one of them was upstairs. Putting as much space as physically possible between the two of them is for the welfare of humanity.

And yet the two of them somehow managed to end up in the same city again next year.

“With the 61st pick in this year’s NFL Draft, the Oklahoma City Twisters select…Marcus Desmond. Tight End, Auburn.”

Holden’s eyes flash to me immediately. “Hey, that’s the first tight end all night, so things are about to get moving now.”

I know he’s right. Marcus Desmond, the senior tight end from Auburn who was just selected, absolutely annihilated the competition at the combine, myself included. And logically, with my stats coming in right behind his for almost every drill, I should be the one to go next.

Fingers fucking crossed.

But rather than keep the optimism alive, I mutter, “I’m gonna grab a drink.”

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