Evan glanced over at Carson as he spoke to Lennox. “How’s it going with St. James?”
Glancing over at my sexy roommate, I rolled my eyes. “He’s driving me crazy. But I can handle it.”
“Yeah? How so?”
Turning my back to Carson, I smiled up at Evan. “I just wanna ruffle his neatly preened feathers, ya know? Get him to loosen up.”
Evan grinned conspiratorially. “How can I help? Screwing with him is one of my favorite things to do.”
My eyes widened, making Evan laugh. “Not like that,” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I have a boyfriend, andCarson and I have always joked around. But at the end of the day, we’re good friends. He’s a nice guy, but I won’t pass up an opportunity to work him up.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find Carson frowning at us. Turning back to Evan, I patted his hand on my shoulder. “I think I’m gonna screw up just to make him blow his stack.”
Evan grinned. “I’m in. If you really want to get under his skin, mess up an easy one. Tackle me before I catch the ball.”
I held up my hand for a high five before grabbing a ball off the ground. I wrapped my fingers around the laces and launched it at Carson. He reached up when he saw it coming and batted it down, making us all laugh.
“Let’s go, times a wasting,” I called to them.
Lennox jogged over to pick up the ball as Evan walked toward him.
Carson was scowling at me when I jogged up. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath.
I grinned and bumped his shoulder. “You love my asshole.”
Carson shoved me away, making me cackle. “Not anymore.”
“Liar.”
When we lined up on the line of scrimmage, Carson barked over at me. “Remember, no hands after five yards until he catches the ball. After that, it’s a penalty.”
I rolled my eyes at Evan, who smirked back.
Carson lined up at center and snapped the ball to Lennox. When Evan took off, he pushed me away, knocking me off balance, then sped down the field. Right before he caught the ball, I tackled him to the ground, just like he’d said. The ball bounced away, leaving me to jump up and scurry after it. Grabbing it up, I took off toward Lennox and Carson.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Carson yelled, running after me. “You can’t do that! The play’s dead.”
“Wanna bet!” I yelled as I ran around him.
I slowed down, giving him time to tackle me. Our bodies crashed to the ground, reminding me of his weight on me. While I loved the contact, he did not.
“You can’t do that!” he yelled.
His gaze was feral as he bore into my eyes, then down at my mouth. I wanted to reach up and slam my mouth on his. He was magnificent when he was angry, and I wanted all that pent-up rage turned toward me.
Lifting himself up, Carson got to his feet and stomped around. “I know all the rules,” he mocked in a terrible Australian accent. “You just want to fuck this all up. Flannery was right.”
Anger burned through me at his accusatory words. I got to my feet and faced him, nose to nose, hands on hips, and spitting mad.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I growled.
Carson’s eyes darted back and forth between mine. “If you know the goddamn rules, why would you do that back there? The receiver can’t be tackled before he has the ball. That’s a fucking pass interference penalty that could cost us a touchdown.”
“I know that! I’m not drongo!”
Carson narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“I’m not stupid, Carson. I know that was the play that would draw a penalty.”
