The whole country—maybe the whole world—had a crush on the Dupree men. Older women always crushed on Ford, or Liam’s dad, Holden. Girls my age shamelessly stanned the younger generation.
Cash walked behind Liam, his brown curly hair tousled like he’d just come from the shower, also shirtless.
Laney let out a low growl of satisfaction. She tapped the reel to pause it and raised her hands to the ceiling. “Double hallelujah.”
I fell against her, laughing.
She pressed play again.
Liam pulled a T-shirt over his head. Laney looked at me mournfully and groaned. I groaned too, for moral support.
Once Liam’s head popped through the top of the shirt, he tossed his chin up at the camera. “Tell ‘em how many points you scored tonight, Griff.”
Finally.
“Six,” Griffin said, voice deep. I didn’t know if they had some kind of agreement, but Griffin was always the cameraman, ‘interviewing’ his cousins and, frustratingly, never showing his face.
One word. That’s all he’d said, but my stomach went… effervescent. Like I’d chugged something ultra-carbonated.
Liam shoved his bangs back and pursed his lips, likecome on now. “Stop being so humble.” He talked directly to the viewer, “Griffin’s our kicker.” He reached for the phone as if he were going to take it and start filming Griffin. “Hand it over.”
“Yes,” I urged. “Do it.”
Laney shook with laughter.
“Get. Back,” Griffin commanded. His hand flashed into frame and slapped Liam’s away.
“We have a hand!” I screamed.
“Meh,” Laney said. “I give that hand a solid 7.5.”
A 7.5? It hadn’t been in the frame long enough to really judge, but it looked pretty perfect to me.
“Fine.” Liam folded his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. “Six might not sound like a lot, but Griff’s the reason we won tonight. Clinched it for us in the last two minutes with a sick field goal.”
I had an overwhelming need to see him in his football uniform. Or jeans. A potato sack. I wasn’t picky. I just needed visual confirmation that my gut wasn’t lying and he was, in fact, hot.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Griffin said with an easy laugh. His laugh was even better than his voice, which was really saying something.
Now wearing a T-shirt, Cash pushed his face into frame, right next to Liam’s. “That’s right.”
“Boo!” Laney yelled. “Take the shirt back off!”
“You don’t mess with the House of Dupree!” Cash hooted, pounding his chest. “Highland left with their tails tucked between their legs, all because my man, Griff, got the job done.” Then he was gone again.
“Come back.” Laney shook with fake sobs.
“Don’t have to be a Dupree to do big things,” Griffin said, unfortunately still off camera. “All right. All right. We need to wrap it up. Liam, do you have anything you want to say? You know, for posterity’s sake. Maybe an inspirational quote for when you’re inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame, and they play this video at the award ceremony?”
Could they make an app of just his voice? I didn’t care what he read—Jane Austen, the Constitution, a cereal box. I’d be the first subscriber.
Liam looked right at the camera again. “Remember what Ben Franklin said: if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.”
“Actually,” Griffin amended with a chuckle. “I believe it’s ‘If you fail to plan, you’re planningto fail.’”
Liam threw his hands up. “Well, we can’t use it for the Hall of Fame now!” He whipped a towel at Griffin. “Just… have a plan, p-people!” he sputtered.
Griffin’s laugh was the last thing we heard before the reel ended.
