Page 11 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)
CHAPTER NINE
HARDY
There’s nothing like the rush of a close game.
Easy wins are nice every so often. We all need that boost, but nothing feels better than knowing you earned it. When the pressure is on and the team works together like a well-oiled machine to make it happen.
We’re down by two thanks to a forty-seven-fucking-yard field goal by the other team. Respect because it was a great play and a great kick, but also fuck them. They’re not winning this game. We haven’t lost one game on our turf this season, and that’s not changing today.
This is where it’s time to come in and do my fucking job. Get open. Make the catch. Move the ball up the field. And if I have the chance, take it all the way home.
We set up for one of our newer plays, and I’m ready for some action.
Unfortunately, as I take off running, the other team is down for some action too.
I’m double-teamed right away. It’s not uncommon, especially toward the end of the game.
Everyone knows Mark and I are good friends.
We have a shorthand and an intrinsic trust on the field that goes deeper than it does for most teammates. It’s what makes us shine.
But it’s hard to shine when I have two guys up my ass, doing anything they can to take me down.
Again, fuck that. It’s a good thing I’m better than them.
My skin prickles with awareness, and I know in an instant, Mark’s going to pass to me. It’s risky, because we have someone else open, but two guys are rushing him. If I can trip up the two on me, we have a chance at this thing.
The ball flies, and I balance running, avoiding being crushed into the ground, and watching the ball.
I watch as it drops down, adjusting my position on the field. I jump up for it, and while the guy just behind me jumps too, trying to knock it away from me, all he does is lose his balance as the ball soars to me.
I catch it one-handed against my shoulder, and as my feet touch the ground, I instantly swerve, dodging the tackle of the other guy, and haul ass the last eight yards or so to the end zone.
Touchdown, me.
I do my little touchdown dance—always to the sound of Me! by Taylor Swift and Brendon Urie because there’s clearly no one quite as awesome as me. As I dance, I soak in the cheers from the crowd because I earned them. That I made that catch, landed on my feet, and kept going… ooh. I’m on fire.
My teammates congratulate me because with nineteen seconds on the clock, we just won our eleventh game of the season, putting us at eleven and two so far.
The whisper of being Super Bowl contenders yet again has been dancing around us since our season got off to a solid start, but I’m doing everything I can to tune that out.
One game at a time. Thinking about anything more than that is a great way to blow our season.
We all want a shot at coming back after a bruising loss last year.
Our former starting QB was a piece of shit who sexually assaulted women and beat his wife.
Mark, Brian, and I caught him in the act of assaulting a woman shortly before the Super Bowl last year.
He and Mark ended up in a fistfight on the sidelines of the big game. The press had a field day and blamed Mark until the investigation into our former QB was made public and the truth came out. Now Mark is the golden boy again, and we’re all hungry to write a better story this year.
Even as one of the cockiest guys on the team, I’ll be the first to say we can’t make that happen if we rush or get complacent. We have to stay where we are and focus on each game as it comes.
Mark throws his arm around me and smacks me on the helmet as we get in position for the point after touchdown kick. And as the ball sails through the goalposts, the high of winning hits again.
The locker room is loud as the guys dick around and talk about the best plays of the game.
Sure, we’re all grown-ass men, but after a good game, we revert to little boys who love throwing and catching balls. And winning.
“That was one of your best plays this season,” Wendell Pierce says. He’s the old guard here and has been playing with the Bandits for their entire thirteen-year franchise history.
“Thanks, man.” We bump fists, and I silently revel in the praise. Getting it from a guy who was one of my heroes growing up always means more.
I’ve always looked up to Wendell, not only because he’s a talented Black athlete, but because he’s an all-around great person.
He and his wife have been together since they were twenty, and they have a strong marriage.
They started a foundation supporting trans kids when their daughter came out as trans.
And Wendell continues to set the example for what teamwork and sportsmanship should be.
I might be a cocky little shit sometimes, but at the end of the day, I strive to be humble and remember how lucky I am to be here—to have gratitude.
People like Wendell help ground me and remind me of that.
“That better mean you’re coming out with us tonight,” TJ says. “No better way to celebrate than with drinks and jersey chasers.”
And then there are the guys who are the complete opposite of Wendell. Not that I’m anti-partying, but TJ always manages to make it sound sleazier than it should be.
A lot of the guys say things in agreement, but I’m torn. On one hand, the person I prefer to celebrate with is Brian, and going out isn’t his jam. But Christy’s words are also dancing in the back of my mind. I’m not going to understand what my feelings are unless I challenge them and examine them.
Before I have a chance to respond, Brian slings an arm around my shoulders.
“He’s right. We’ve barely been out with the team this season. Let’s do it.”
I side-eye him. He is not a partier by nature.
Only by force. I used to drag him out all the time until one night at the bar he was twitchy and looked like he was crawling out of his skin.
I was worried there was something wrong, so I offered to leave with him, and he finally admitted that it could be a major struggle for him to be out when he was already overwhelmed or overstimulated.
Since then, I’ve made it a point to stop forcing him.
But that led to less time spent together, so I started staying in too.
I don’t know if he’s suggesting it for my sake or not, and I don’t want him to feel like he has to.
“You sure?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m sure. A night out would be good. Let’s all go celebrate the wonder that is Ryan Hardison.”
I turn that grin right back at him. “Well, when you put it like that… let’s go.”
Drinks are flowing, I’m tipsy as fuck, and I’m dancing with my boys—and a group of girls whose names I don’t know.
They’re all dressed similarly in short dresses, heavy lipstick, and high heels, and they’ve got the classic yes me, right now vibes most jersey chasers give off.
That used to be my go-to. Even Brian would hook up now and then when I first met him.
Which takes me back to Christy’s words again. Why haven’t I hooked up? Why hasn’t he? At least, I don’t think he has.
Maybe we’re both leaning too hard into the comfort of our friendship and not getting what we actually need.
And maybe I’m not wasting any more thoughts on that tonight. Tonight is about letting loose, having fun, and saying fuck everything else.
I wrap my arm around one girl’s waist and grind against her.
A moment later, a drink is shoved in my hand, and my gaze flicks up to Brian, who takes up the place on the other side of the girl, grinding against her from the front.
My eyes hang on Brian’s for a beat too long. There’s too much intensity there. It’s hard to breathe. I quickly drop my gaze, but then my naughty eyes are on his lips.
I should be imagining kissing the girl who’s grinding her ass against me right now, but all I can see is Brian. All I can do is wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
And now my cock is hard.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The girl spins around and throws her arms around my shoulders. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Hell yeah,” I answer, forcing my voice to stay even.
“I can tell.”
I’m not sure how I actually feel, but part of the point of coming out tonight was to hook up again. To figure out if Brian is part of the reason I haven’t—if it’s real feelings or the lines of our friendship getting fuzzy.
From behind the girl, Brian takes a step back, nods to me, and walks away. Because why would he be anything but supportive of me hooking up? It doesn’t matter that I’m questioning everything about our friendship if all he sees is friendship between us.
But Christy was right. I can’t worry about his feelings until I figure out my own. Which has been harder than I thought it would be now that we’re living together.
Whose brilliant idea was that?
Oh, yeah. Mine. Well, I never said I wasn’t a dumbass.
Don’t get me wrong. That penthouse is fantastic. But one of us could’ve rented it. I’m sure there were other non-penthouse apartments in that building. We had options. But I had to suggest it. Had to push. Because I want Brian close to me. Even if it might kill me in the long run.
“Want to head back to one of the private rooms?” the girl I’m dancing with asks.
Not really. But I need to confront this.
This is my chance to find out what happens if I try to hook up with someone else.
Maybe if I get some of the sexual tension out of my body, I’ll stop feeling things for Brian.
That makes sense, right? It’s been too long since I’ve been intimate with someone else, so I’m transferring that intimacy to Brian because he’s my best friend and the closest person to me—figuratively and literally.
That’s what it could be. Or it could be actual feelings.
Time to find out.
I grab the girl’s hand. “Let’s go…”
“Amber.”
“Amber. Let’s have some fun.”
Time to nut up—and, well, hopefully nut.
It’s been way too long since I fucked something besides a toy or my hand.
This’ll be good for me.