Playbook (The Holland Brothers 2)

I drop down to the ground, heart pounding and out of breath.

“What are you doing, rookie?” My teammate, Cody St. James, peers down at me with an amused expression on his face.

He’s sweating and panting a little, but otherwise he looks like he could run all day long. I have no idea how he’s standing.

“Just catching my breath,” I wheeze out. My throat burns from sucking in hot air.

Laughing, he holds out a hand. “Never let them see you down.”

He tips his head to the rest of our position group finishing up running cone drills. We’re all teammates, but each other’s competition too.

It takes all my might to get to my feet. I’ve been pushing harder than I even knew was possible since joining the Mavericks.

Once I’m upright, Cody grins. “Nice job, Six. You’re looking good out there.”

His words spark a jolt of pride through me. “Thanks.”

“Now smile pretty, your favorite reporter is here.” He claps me on the shoulder, almost sending me back to the ground.

I glance to where the crowd of media is gathered. And sure enough, Billy Boone is glaring at me from the fifty-yard line.

Two more teammates, Tripp and Merrick, jog up to us as we’re slowly making our way off the field.

“Looks like you’re still on Boone’s shit list, rookie,” Tripp says, grinning. “Seen his girlfriend lately?”

“It was his fiancée.” Merrick cocks a brow as his mouth pulls into a smirk at my expense.

“Absolutely not. And I didn’t know that she was in a relationship,” I say for what is probably the hundredth time. If I had, I wouldn’t have slept with her. I might not have vetted my hookup well enough, but I’m not out trying to be that guy.

“Well, whatever. He’s still pissed,” Tripp mutters as we get closer. “If I were you, I’d avoid him. Make a beeline for the locker room before he can pull you into another interview.”

Probably not a terrible idea. The last time I talked with him, he spent twenty minutes going on and on about all the mistakes I made in my first pre-season game without asking me a single question. By the time he was done, I was half-convinced the Mavericks should cut me.

The guy is an asshole with a grudge, but he knows his football.

“I can’t keep avoiding him all season,” I tell them. Also, I really don’t want to have an enemy so soon into my professional football career. Especially not one that gets paid to write articles about me.

“It’s your funeral,” Merrick calls after me as I veer off to approach Billy.

The stone-faced reporter’s brows rise as he notices me coming toward him. He can’t be more than a handful of years older than me, but he has this air of pretentious sophistication about him. He’s always carrying around a legal pad and scribbling on it. Scribbles that are probably outlining my mistakes.

I force my smile a little bigger. I’m borderline beaming at the guy, hoping it deflects him from any thoughts of me and his ex naked. We’re never going to be friends, but maybe we can put this whole thing behind us.

“Hey, Billy,” I say with a friendliness that he does not reciprocate in his expression.

He crosses his arms over his chest, still clutching that notepad.

“Six?” My name comes out of his mouth more question than greeting.

“How are we looking?” I ask.

He hesitates like he’s deciding if he’s going to humor me before he says, “Cody looks sharp, as always, defense is tight, and your fellow Valley U teammate, Archer Holland, is one to watch if he can keep his injuries from sidelining him.”

A spark of pride lights up inside of me for Archer. I play it cool, though, because if this guy knew he was more than just a fellow teammate, that he’s the best friend I’ve ever had and is by my definition a brother, he might let that cloud his judgment of his performance too. I can handle his hate, but I won’t stand for anyone taking shots at Archer.

Actually, come to think of it, I’m surprised ole Billy Boone doesn’t already know. Maybe he isn’t as good of a reporter as he thinks.

“I agree,” I say instead. And I hope what he hears is, See? We have common ground.

“I know what you’re doing.” His lips press into a thin line.

“Making small talk?” And hoping he stops thinking of me as the guy who slept with his ex and goes back to thinking of me as just another football player that he doesn’t want to destroy with words.

“You want to talk?”

It feels like a trap, but I nod.

“Fine, let’s talk about how you’re sleeping your way around town and making a mockery of the team.”

A strangled sound works its way up my throat. “I didn’t know, man.”

“You rookie players are all the same. You think the rules don’t apply to you now that you have a little bit of money and women are throwing themselves at you.”

“So you agree that she threw herself at me?”

His face reddens. Oops. Not the right thing to say, apparently.

“I know the rules apply to me.” I don’t even know what rules we’re talking about. A gentleman’s code? Whoops. On him for assuming I was a gentleman, then.

“Word of advice, focus more on football than getting laid. Or don’t, it’ll be fun to watch your demise.”

“You mean write about it?” I ask. He’s already written a few things calling my skills and longevity into question.

“I’d rather cover high school football than write another word about you—good or bad.” With that he stalks off.

I blow out a breath, then laugh. “So that’s a no to grabbing drinks later?” I yell after him.

He flips me off without looking back.

“Why would you try to talk to him?” Archer asks as we sit at our new favorite lunch spot, downing our one cheat meal of the week: burgers and fries.

I swallow down a large bite and shake my head. It isn’t very loud in the restaurant, but I still want to make sure he can easily read my lips. Archer has a profound hearing loss. If it’s too loud or there are a lot of people, I sign for him or lean in closer too. “I really thought we could put it behind us. Does he really want to be with somebody that’s screwing other guys behind his back?”

Arch shrugs his shoulders.

“He should be thanking me.”

At that comment, my buddy throws his head back. He covers his mouth with his forearm as he tries to chew his food while he laughs at me.

By the time he calms down enough to speak, I’m smiling just from watching him cackle at me.

“Fine,” I say. “I get why he’s pissed, but I’m not a bad guy.”

Archer’s expression softens. “Of course you’re not. You’re just a good guy with terrible taste in women.”

I nod and consider his words. “She was pretty hot though.”

He shakes his head at me and drops the last of his burger onto the plate. “That’s your problem.”

“My problem is that I like good-looking women?”

“No, it’s that it’s your only criteria.”

“That’s not true,” I say automatically.

“There was the girl you brought home from the grocery store. She stayed for two days and you had to basically kick her out to get her to leave. The realtor you slept with during our tour of the apartment.” He grimaces.

“I didn’t expect her to drop to her knees either, but I wasn’t about to stop her.” Who turns down a Tuesday afternoon blow job? No one.

“And then the bartender who, if I remember correctly, stole all our toilet paper on her way out.”

“Okay. I get your point.”

“Are you sure? Because I could keep going.”

“Don’t come at me like you haven’t been doing your share of hooking up since we moved up here.” Archer and I were drafted by the Mavericks and moved the hour north from Valley to Lake City after graduation. It’s been chaotic and amazing, and yes, I’ve enjoyed the newfound attention that’s come from being a professional football player. But so has he.

“The difference is my hookups aren’t making headlines.”

“Only because I accidentally hooked up with Boone’s fiancée. Something she should have mentioned.” I feel like everyone keeps forgetting that point.

“Or maybe you should have thought to ask.”

He’s not wrong, but we didn’t do a lot of talking.

“Well, whatever the reason, you need to be careful. Coach did not look happy today when he talked to Boone after you.” Archer grimaces.

“It’ll be fine,” I insist. “You worry too much. You’re turning into Hendrick.”

Archer scoffs at the mention of his oldest brother. “I am not. Take it back.”

“I wonder what they’re up to.” The hardest part of moving up here has been leaving the Holland family. Archer and his three brothers are the only family I’ve ever known. I miss them. We talk weekly, but everyone has their own thing going on.

Hendrick got married this summer, and he and his wife Jane are enjoying the newlywed life, Knox is in the middle of the motocross season, and Flynn is enjoying the summer before he goes off to college.

“I talked to Knox this morning. He and Flynn are leaving tomorrow for Houston.”

“Really? Already?” Damn, it seems like just yesterday summer started, and now the youngest Holland brother is going off to college.

“They’re gonna make a week-long road trip of it. They’re stopping at White Sands National Park, then spending a couple of days in Austin before they head to Houston.”

I nod thoughtfully. I know it’s dumb, but I feel a small pang of disappointment that I’m finding out via Archer and didn’t hear from either Knox or Flynn. It isn’t that I think it was intentional, but it’s moments like this that remind me I’m not really one of them, even if they feel like brothers.

“Knox said to tell you not to get kicked off the team for being an idiot.”

“He would know,” I chirp back. Knox is the surliest of the brothers and last year he got into it with a teammate and got booted from his motocross team. “At least if I get kicked off, it’ll be for something a lot more fun.”

“Oh great,” Archer says, chewing. “That’s really reassuring, man.”