“And I’m no Jared Clark,” Colin says in a self-deprecating tone. “So don’t put me in the same category as him just because we play the same position.”
Yep. Definitely read between the lines.
“I would never.” And it’s the honest truth. In the nine months I’ve known him, he’s proven himself to be nothing but a team player.
“You still love the game, don’t you? Even if the jersey isn’tthe one you pictured yourself wearing?” Jaden looks like if I said no, it would crush him.
“Football always has been, and always will be, the most important thing to me,” I reassure him.
Noah puts his hand on my shoulder. “I think you need a clean slate. Wipe all your past hesitations away and just let whatever happens happen.” I think Noah does this shit on purpose. There’s something about him that makes you want to spill your guts when he’s around.
“With Nash and with us,” Mack adds.
I just nod because my eyes are a little prickly, and I do not want any of these guys to see me like that, even if we did just become real friends. In the way that things always go when you’re a group of dudes, the conversation is over without another word, and we all go back to watching ourselves lift in the mirror as we count our reps.
Chapter Twenty-Four
WYATT
MARCH
“What is that?” Nash asks me as we meet at the front door to get picked up by Chrissy and Colin.
“It’s…my hat?” I put my hand on the offending object. “What’s wrong with this hat?” I’ve had it since college. It fits perfectly, and it’s soft in the worn kind of way.
“It’s so ugly. You’re supposed to dress nice for this.” She picks up a tiny purse and puts tiny things in it.
I look down at my button-up shirt and the shiny new boots she took me to get earlier this week. “I am dressed nicely.” She looks up from stuffing her minuscule purse and gives me a once over that I’m sure is meant to be discerning, but all I can feel is the weight of her gaze. I feel like a male peacock, like I should start an interpretive dance just to earn the privilege of being seen with her tonight.
She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll pick you one out when we get there.” She nods as if she’s agreeing with onlyherself because I haven’t said anything. “Then your outfit will be complete.”
The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo is two weeks of carnival rides, food, and concerts, all headlined by a rodeo with huge cash prizes that’s held at the end of March every year. I remember when the lineup was announced in January, and it was the talk of the locker room. Everyone critiquing the big names headlining the nightly shows, who they were disappointed wasn’t coming, and who they wanted to see. It’s prefaced by a cook-off you can’t buy tickets to—you have to know someone. There’s also a wine competition, a livestock auction, and lots of scholarship opportunities for rising students interested in this industry.
I’ve been to my fair share of rodeos in small towns scattered throughout Wisconsin, but I’ve never seen anything on this grand a scale. Did I mention it’s at the Houston Hurricanes’ stadium? And it’s standing room only every night for two weeks straight.
We park in a secret parking garage on the backside of the stadium that Chrissy knows about and walk in through the back gate of the compound. Nash and I are dressed up, but it’s got nothing on Chrissy. She’s covered head to toe in denim and rhinestones. Beside her, Colin looks like a depressed cowboy in black jeans, black button down, black hat, and black boots.
I don’t even recognize the stadium. Normally, the whole place is empty when I arrive for a game and is empty when I leave. Today it’s absolutely swarming with people. There are people dressed up like us, but others walk around in t-shirts, regular jeans, and Vans, holding some sort of fried food on a stick. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, like a party where the whole city’s been invited to come as they are and enjoy good food and entertainment.
I’m too busy taking in the sheer amount of people swarming around us. There must be a hundred-thousand people here. I’ve never seen the Hurricanes grounds like this. It’s been completely transformed. There’s a carnival complete with a Ferris wheel in the parking lot. The convention center is within walking distance of the stadium and full of booths selling belt buckles and a bunch of other stuff.
“Where to first?” Chrissy asks. We all look at each other waiting for someone to make a suggestion.
Mouthwatering scents waft from a long row of food stands all lined up side by side under a tent. My stomach rumbles. “How about food first?”
“No carnival rides?” Chrissy asks.
“I’m not about to lose my head on one of those traveling metal contraptions,” says Nash with a laugh.
“Food it is.” We all head in the direction of the white tops between the stadium and the convention center.
Nash bumps me as we walk, “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking BBQ baked potato.” I point to a stand claiming to have award-winning pulled pork. “And we share a funnel cake.”
“I meant about this being your first event of our deal.”
“These are just my friends, though.” I think I’m going to lay it on extra thick. The guys are in the know, so they won’t think twice when I go overboard with flirting. They’ll probably be pleased, actually.