Ryder snorted. “Dude, you threw four touchdowns today at practice.”
I shrugged. “It only matters what we do on game day. You guys know that.”
They both exchanged a look, which wasn’t a good sign for me.
Jax cleared his throat. “We already told the rest of the team you’re coming.”
I blinked. “Why did you tell them that?”
He shrugged. “So, you would go.”
Ryder lowered his voice. “No one is asking you to get wild and start stripping down to your undies. Just come out with your teammates for one drink.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Fine.”
Jax blinked. “Did you just agree to it?”
“Don’t make me change my mind,” I warned.
Ryder slapped me on the shoulder. “Say no more. Let’s go.”
I waved them off. “I need to shower first. You guys go ahead. I’ll meet you there.”
They looked like they didn’t believe me, so I held my fingers up. “Scout’s honor.”
They both disappeared, and I headed toward the showers. Maybe a basket of wings and a cold beer would do me some good. It didn’t sound terrible, and it beat staying in, because that seemed to be all I did lately.
I rubbed my shoulder and pulled out my phone. It was filled with notifications I had no desire to click on. Yeah, maybe getting out for an hour or two wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
The Blarney Stonewas already packed by the time we walked in. The music was loud, the lights were low, and most of the people looked like they’d been here for a while. It was a typical Wednesday night in Harbor Bay. Of course, every TV screen behind the bar was tuned to some sports network or playing a clip from the earlier press conference.
Fucking fantastic.
A few guys were already seated at a high-top in the designated area just for us. It was our team spot, where we were supposed to be left alone by the public. There were two securityguards in charge of keeping the fans away, but it looked like a few jersey-chasers had slipped in.
“Look who actually showed up,” Jax shouted over the music. A few heads swung our way, while others acted indifferent.
Ryder leaned back in his seat. “Well, I’ll be damned. I thought you were going to ghost us.”
“You both guilted me into coming,” I grumbled while sliding onto an empty barstool.
Jax held a glass up. “I prefer the word persuaded.”
I shook my head, trying not to smile. Surprisingly, the stool was comfortable, and the music was loud enough to make me feel relaxed.
Jax handed me a beer. “They are playing our press conference on TV. You’re famous, dude.”
“I saw,” I said, bringing my Corona to my lips.
“The clip is everywhere,” Ryder added. “The internet is having a field day. They are calling it the Boston Massacre, Part Two.”
“Great,” I muttered. It always amazed me that I could spend thirty minutes on the field for every game, but the media liked to focus on a two second soundbite.
Jax raised an eyebrow, with a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. “I was sensing a little sexual tension between the two of you.”
I scowled. “Don’t start. I’m warning you.”
It was a press conference. That’s all it was. But judging by their reaction, I probably should have kept my responses shorter and given them less to talk about.
