I grimaced. “Sorry. Hanging out with Danny tends to bring out my inner little brother. Would you be more comfortable with me calling you asshole?”
“Nah. I kind of like the doofus bit. You know me and my retro slang.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Hey, are you two finished making out over there? Can we get back to playing this game, or do you need to cuddle for a few more minutes?” Danny stood a couple of yards away, hands on his hips.
“Shut up.” I straightened. “We were figuring out what we were going to order for dinner tonight when you pussies buy us our meals. You know ... after you lose.”
“Yeah, keep talking big, little brother. Let’s do this.”
We lined up on either side of the ball. Danny was in the front with his hand on the football, while Corey danced behind him. I wasn’t sure if his fancy footwork was designed to fake me out or to help him keep warm. We’d had a brief tease of spring, when the temperatures had gone up, but today it was pretty fucking cold. I could see my breath as I panted, waiting for Danny to hike the ball. Tate was directly in front of him, doing his best intimidation imitation, but since my old college buddy was just about as threatening as a baby kitten, I was surprised my brother wasn’t cracking up.
“Hut, hut, HUT!”
Danny snapped the ball into Corey’s waiting hands, and then as I’d predicted, he took off down the field, deftly sidestepping Tate who lunged toward Corey. I left those two behind and gave chase to my brother, who was quickly heading to the makeshift end zone. He crossed the imaginary line we’d created between two practice cones and stutter-walked backward, his eyes fastened up field where Corey was still trying to shake free of Tate. Corey managed to get loose long enough to send a pass spiraling toward us. I made a running leap, attempting to deflect the ball before Danny could get his fingers on it.
“No fucking way, cubby!” He slammed his body into mine, knocking me clear just as the ball fell into his arms. I hit the ground hard with anommph.
“Fuck!” I pushed myself up on my elbows just in time to watch my brother execute a spin as part of his traditional touchdown dance. “You are such a douche, Danny.”
“I believe you mispronounced that word, cubby. I think what you’re trying to say iswinner.”
Corey and Tate trotted toward us, both of them still breathing hard. “Good game, Taylor. Nice try. But clearly you’re not up to going against the mad skills your big brother and I possess.” Corey held out a fist for Danny to pound.
“I can’t wait to post everywhere about how I beat not one, but two professional football players.” Danny grinned at me as I got slowly to my feet. “Get ready for some serious jeering, bro.”
“Uh, let’s remember you did have some help.” Corey cocked his head. “And I think this goes to show that experience trumps youth every time.”
“I think it also means that youth is about to buy experience some beers.” Danny wrapped his arm around my shoulders, squeezed and then forced me down enough that he could knuckle my head.
“Knock it off.” I pushed his hand away. “Asshole.”
“Awwww, don’t be like that, cubby. Remember what Dad always said. How you win is just as important as how you lose. Oh, wait ... you lost. But I’d think you’re pretty good at that.”
“Fuck off, Danny.” I didn’t say it with any real heat. I was used to being the youngest brother, picked on by both Simon and Danny and yet at the same time, confident that they’d turn right around and defend me against anyone who might mess with me.
“Let’s grab those beers. Ellie’s expecting to meet all of us for dinner at six-thirty, and I for one am not going to be late. I value my life too much.”
“So you’re heading back to Philly, huh?” I took a gulp of my beer and turned toward Tate. “Are you worried about playing for the hometown fans?”
“Nah, not much.” He grinned at me, same old laid-back guy I’d known since right after high school graduation. “They say I’m going to see some playing time, and that’s an improvement after riding the bench in New York for a year.”
“That had to be tough.” Corey winced. “All the work, none of the glory.”
“It wasn’t my favorite season ever,” Tate agreed. “Plus, since I’m still living with my grandfather, I was commuting two hours some days and shelling out for a hotel when I had to be up there early in the morning or for a longer time period.”
“How is your grandpa?” I’d met the elder Durham several times while Tate and I were in college and when we hung out in New Jersey, as well. He was a sharp old guy who’d raised his grandson the old-fashioned way, with strong morals and a sturdy character. I’d often compared Tate and Matt; both had been abandoned by their parents at a young age, both raised by grandparents, yet they’d each turned out to be very different men.
“He’s just as ornery as ever, but you know, he’s getting older. He had some kind of issue with his heart—the doctors called it a cardiac incident—last year, and I feel better staying close. He gets a little pissy when he thinks I’m fussing over him, but I think he secretly likes it.”
“You single, Durham?” Corey sliced him a look, and I smirked, knowing what was coming next.
“I am. For now, at least.” Tate shrugged. “I’m not a play-the-field guy. Guess I’m waiting for the right one.”
“And you haven’t found her yet?” Corey raised one eyebrow.
Tate didn’t answer right away, and I narrowed my eyes. As long as I’d known him, he’d been careful in his dealings with females. He flirted a little, but with care. He’d never led on a girl or even messed around with the ones who were only interested in chasing football tail. But now I saw something new in his expression.
