The Star (Charleston Condors Book 1)

“YOU WANTED TO SEE me?” Landry asked, poking his head into Coach’s office.

Coach Kelley, the new head coach of the Charleston Condors, was only a few years older than him, which Landry couldn’t deny he’d initially stuck into the con side of why he shouldn’t sign here. How would he feel being given marching orders by someone his age? But as soon as he’d arrived for training camp, he’d discovered the pro side of the equation—that his coach was understanding and empathetic, and as a result, he actually liked his coach for basically the first time ever.

Instead of being tough and mean and committed to every rule, Coach Kelley turned out to be the opposite. He welcomed feedback—positive and negative—and seemed to approach coaching not as a dictatorship but a democracy, encouraging collaboration, and Landry thought the whole facility seemed much more relaxed than where he’d spent his whole NFL career.

He’d been unsure of making such a huge change, but in the end, considering the sweeping changes the Condors had made to the team and to their program, Landry knew he’d made the right call.

This was the right spot for him.

It would be a while before Charleston really felt like home, but he already knew it eventually would.

“Hey, Landry, I’m so glad you stopped by,” Coach Kelley said, getting up and shaking his hand after Landry approached his desk.

“You heard about Nelson yet?”

Nelson Perez was their QB1. He’d been in the NFL for a few years, bouncing around from team to team, and like nearly everyone else on the Condors’ roster, he’d come here because he wanted a real chance, a shot at changing his fortune. Craved a slice of the Condors’ redemption for himself.

But in practice yesterday, he’d come down on his leg funny, and almost immediately, it had been clear the injury was serious.

They had a backup, of course, but the backup was actually older than their coach and had mostly been there to mentor-slash-coach Nelson—not be the starter.

“Actually,” Coach Kelley said with a resigned sigh, “that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He waved at the chair in front of his desk, and Landry slumped down into it.

He’d been afraid it was bad news.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Landry asked.

An injury this early in the season—before the season had really even started, in fact—to the most important player on the team? Well, you might as well write the Condors off right now.

Not that any of the media hesitated to do that anyway. Landry hadn’t been surprised by this—rebuilding was a conservative term for what the Condors were actually doing. Landry could count on one hand the personnel who’d actually been in this building the year before.

The NFL wanted a clean break. And then Grant Green, the new owner, had come in and done some cleanup of his own.

A few people had texted him and told him he was a little nuts for choosing this path, but Landry had come here anyway because he liked a challenge. Thought what the Condors were trying to do was admirable.

His younger brother, Levi, had told him he was crazy. However, Logan, the very middle child of the Banks family, had understood. “When I went to the Piranhas, it was the same,” he’d told Landry. “And it was the right call. We’re buildin’ something special here. Maybe you’ll get a chance to do that in Charleston.”

But without a QB1, they wouldn’t be doing much building of anything at all.

“Torn ACL and MCL,” Coach said with a resigned sigh. “Nelson’s done for the year. And that sucks, it really sucks, I know, but we’re trying to find a new option…and that’s what I wanted to ask you about. You’re close with Aidan Flynn, right?”

“He’s my best friend,” Landry said cautiously. He felt a spike of…something. Terror? Excitement? An intoxicating combination of both? Because he had a feeling he knew where this was going. “We played together at Michigan.”

“So you know his younger brother.”

It had been six weeks since that night in Pittsburgh—and there was yet to be a single day where Landry didn’t think about it.

Not a single day Riley didn’t haunt his thoughts.

Landry didn’t understand what had passed between them any better now than he had then, but he did know a few things: they’d been flirting, he’d liked it, and if Aidan hadn’t shown up when he had, anything could’ve happened. And he’d have liked that, too.

“I do,” Landry said, trying way too hard to keep his voice even.

Coach stood and began to pace behind the desk, then gestured towards the big television screen that stretched across one wall of his office. Landry glanced over and nearly jolted. Because one of those plays from the Pittsburgh game was on the screen, and Riley, blown up larger than life, paused in the middle of dropping back.

“Riley Flynn has tremendous upside. We need a quarterback, and there aren’t a lot of options out there right now we can afford, but then Mr. Green suggested we look outside the norm, and Riley was the first player I thought of.”

Landry knew he wouldn’t be the final say-so on who the Condors turned to next to be their QB1. But Coach had called him in here because his knowledge of Riley was personal. They could talk to Riley in an interview room, call him in for a consult, but nobody would know him personally, and for the Condors right now, at this particular crossroads, coming off the garbage dump of their last quarterback, that mattered. Coach had called him in here to give his honest opinion of Riley Flynn.

It should’ve been incredibly clear-cut for Landry.

Before that night in Pittsburgh six weeks ago, it would have been the easiest thing in the world. He’d have said, “Riley’s great. Dedicated. He’ll work harder than anyone in the room. And Aidan’s his brother, so he knows what it means to lead a locker room.”

But the night in Pittsburgh had happened, and there was another, surprisingly loud part of Landry that wanted Riley to stay far, far away from him.

That part of him was absolutely fucking terrified that if Riley came here, if Riley was around twenty-four-seven, if Riley smiled all the time at him like he had that night, then Landry might totally lose his mind.

He felt halfway there, and that was a result of only thinking about Riley for the last six weeks.

You know what the right thing is to do, and you’re gonna do it. It isn’t Riley’s fault he’s got you all tied up. This is his chance, and you’re not going to fuck it up.

The voice inside his brain sounded suspiciously like Logan, but it didn’t matter who it sounded like because he was never going to kill Riley’s dreams just because he didn’t understand the hard-on he had for the guy.

Landry took a deep breath.

“Sir, Riley’s great. He’s dedicated. He’ll work harder than anyone in the room. And Aidan’s his brother, so he knows exactly what it means to lead the locker room.”

“You’ve seen him play?”

Landry nodded. There’d been the game in Pittsburgh, of course. Then he hadn’t been able to stop himself. At first, he’d tried to deny the desire, but finally, he’d given in and watched each and every one fighting his own growing sense of shame, as Riley led his team to a five-and-one record.

“You’re right about his upside. But we need to make sure he doesn’t have to do too much.”

Riley wasn’t reckless, exactly, but he wanted to win so badly it burned inside him like a fire, and sometimes those flames pushed him too hard. Landry knew what that felt like. Knew what that could mean. There’d been several games where Riley had tried to do too much and had made mistakes.

“Agreed,” Coach said, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ve always liked him. Didn’t mind he wasn’t the traditional quarterback.”

AKA built like his brother.

But have you seen him, really seen him? He might not be tall, but God, he’s something else.

There was that pulse of shame again.

It wasn’t because he found Riley so fucking attractive.

If he was queer, there was zero shame in that.

The shame stemmed from the worry he’d been lying to himself this whole time. Had he been secretly ashamed at the idea of liking men? Even though his brothers were two of the best people he knew, had he, deep down, judged them for their sexuality and decided that he couldn’t be like that, too?

Landry shook the thoughts clear. He couldn’t obsess about this right now.

“Is there even really a traditional quarterback anymore?” Landry questioned. “The new norm is that there isn’t a norm. Look at Lamar Jackson. Kyler Murray. Patrick Mahomes.”

“Right.” Coach seemed to be considering that. “But then there’s Malik Willis and Trey Lance. They were small, mobile quarterbacks, and they didn’t make it.”

Landry shoved the consequences of this conversation to the back of his mind. He’d deal with the fact he was likely to be playing alongside Riley later. “Riley may be smaller, but he’s got an arm like nothing I’ve ever seen and an undeniable vision of the field. Riley can do this, sir.”

Coach nodded. “I think so, too. Been watching his film for hours now, and I can’t see another better option.” He grinned. “Unless your friend Aidan wants to leave Toronto.”

Landry laughed. Aidan would never countenance being traded here to a team people only cared about because they were waiting to see the next episode in the garbage fire. Besides, Toronto would never let Aidan go.

“Doubtful,” Landry said.

“Good, ‘cause we can’t afford him anyway,” Coach joked.

That, Landry had a feeling, more than a lack of available talent at the position, was directing the Condors’ search. They were still on the hook for all of the old quarterback’s ridiculous salary, even though Tom Taylor was no longer even playing in the NFL. Landry had heard a rumor Grant Green—the new owner of the Condors—had his lawyers working on the problem, hoping to wiggle out of Taylor’s contract, but it was unlikely.

A reminder that even though the Condors were trying to move on from an owner who’d cared about winning, no matter the cost, a quarterback who’d liked to abuse women, and a defense that, rumor had it, had taken out monetary bounties on the Piranhas in their playoff game last year, they were still hamstrung by the past.

It was unfair, but that was the reality of the NFL for you.

“Just look at this,” Coach said, pressing play on the remote, and then Riley was moving across the screen, his legs evading a defender and then another, twisting his body to avoid a third tackle and then sprinting to the left, tossing a beaut of a throw across his body.

No, he wasn’t tall.

No, he wasn’t the biggest guy on the field.

But, not for the first time, Landry saw the advantage of Riley’s smaller stature. He was quick, evasive, almost impossible to bring down because he’d bulked up, working on his strength to compensate for his height, and not only could he make plays with his legs, but he could throw on a dime.

It was just as impressive of a display on the screen as it had been in person.

“I saw that play in person,” Landry said, trying to keep his voice neutral. But he heard the excitement bleed into it anyway. What would it be like having Riley as his QB?

Remember? You’re not thinking about that right now.

But once the thought had popped out of the box Landry had shoved it into, it refused to go back.

Instead, it showed him a half dozen imaginary versions of Riley—Riley smiling, Riley joking with him at practice, Riley on the sideline, Riley in the red and orange of the Condors uniform and how fucking unreal blue his eyes looked behind the visor of his helmet, Riley on the new couch in Landry’s townhouse, leaning closer as he laughed—and not for the first time Landry realized just how fucked he was.

Because he wanted it…with a fierceness that kinda took his breath away.

Not just because he thought Riley was hot, though there was no denying that either, but because Landry wanted to know him. He didn’t, not at all, but he’d seen glimpses of who Riley the man was, and just those glimpses were enough.

“He electrified the whole stadium,” Landry said. Remembering how excited he’d been watching Riley. Remembering how even Aidan had screamed for him.

“And,” Coach Kelley said, a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes, “he sure does like to throw to a tight end.”

“That’s…” Landry cleared his throat. “I don’t care about that. I care about this team and putting a winning season together, sir.”

“That right there is why we like you, Banks,” Coach said, patting him on the shoulder. “But it’s an advantage, for sure.”

“For sure,” Landry echoed.

“Well, I appreciate the time. See you at practice?”

Landry nodded and stood up. “You’ll let me know what you decide?”

Coach’s smile was wry. “Oh, I’m sure the rumor mill around here will know before even I do.”

Landry reached inside the fridge and pulled out a beer, juggling it with one hand while he answered his phone with the other.

He’d been expecting this particular call for three days now, and the longer it had gone before Aidan was blowing up his phone, the more he’d believed—relief and disappointment mingling inside him at the thought—the Condors hadn’t signed Riley after all.

But now Aidan had called.

Not texted, like he nearly always did, like he’d done a handful of times over the last few days. Actually called.

“What’s up?” Landry said, setting his phone on the counter and clicking it onto speakerphone as he dug into the drawer, looking for the bottle opener he knew was stashed in there somewhere.

He didn’t need a beer after practice, usually, but today? Oh, he needed one. Especially if Aidan was calling to tell him what he thought he was.

Yeah, what are you gonna do when Riley’s around all the time? Swap the water in your bottle for vodka?

“I got big news,” Aidan said. He sounded so excited that Landry knew what was coming.

“Yeah? You finally decide to shave off that godawful mustache?”

“I’ll have you know that’s a prime look,” Aidan said primly. “But no. Sorry to disappoint. Riley got a starting job in the NFL.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t play stupid, bro. Not with me.”

Landry tapped his fingertips against the side of the bottle. “Am I?”

“There’s only a handful of teams he could be signing with this late to be their QB1. And you know it’s the Condors because they fucking asked you what you thought of him.”

“They did.” Landry took a long drink of beer. He’d sorta hoped that Coach Kelley would keep his contribution to the process to himself, but now that Landry thought about it, really thought about, of course that wasn’t going to be the way it went down.

Not with what he’d begun to learn about how Coach Kelley ran his football team.

He’d share. He’d tell Riley just what Landry had said so he’d feel welcome. So he’d feel like someone was already on his side.

And Landry was on his side.

“You know I’m not happy about him still trying to do this, but…well, it means a whole fucking lot you spoke up for him.” Aidan was rarely serious, but he sounded pretty dang serious right now.

“What else was I supposed to say? I just told the truth. The kid’s got talent.” Landry kicked himself for calling Riley the kid. Because that sure as hell wasn’t how he was feeling about him these days.

“You vouched for him,” Aidan said, sounding final about the subject.

“Well…” Landry hesitated awkwardly. How many times had he and Aidan discussed Riley? More times than he could count. Never before had it felt like a conversation dotted with landmines, but suddenly, it was. Man, I think your brother’s hot. I’m dying a little at the thought of seeing him again. Freaking out, too. What do you think I should do about it?

Nothing, that was what Aidan would tell him to do about it.

Probably with a threat—implied or otherwise—that if he touched Riley, he’d kick his ass into next year.

Not because Riley wasn’t one hundred and ten percent capable of handling his own shit, but because Aidan would never stop seeing him as a twelve-year-old.

Even though…Landry could tell Riley was definitely not twelve anymore.

“Well, what?” Aidan demanded impatiently. “I know you did. You don’t have to pretend you didn’t.”

“I mean, he’s a Flynn, isn’t he? He’s your brother. He’s a good guy.” God, this was so awkward. Landry prayed Aidan wouldn’t hear in his voice how uncomfortable he was or, even worse, figure out why.

“Yeah, yeah, he is. Which is why I’m calling.”

Landry froze. Had Aidan already figured it out and decided to call, knowing Riley was headed to Charleston, figuring it was time to give Landry the shovel talk already?

“He’s new to the area, and he’s got to get situated and everything, and he’s gonna kill me for suggesting this, but look out for him, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Landry swallowed hard. Of course he would. He would not make it awkward by flirting anymore with Riley. If Riley flirted with him…well, that wasn’t on him.

“And I’ve got one more favor to ask,” Aidan said. “Again, you better not tell him this came from me.”

“Aidan—” Landry warned. “He’s a…well, a full-grown guy. He’s not twelve anymore.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Aidan retorted.

“Well, you don’t act like you know that.”

Aidan grunted. “What I’m trying to ask is if you wouldn’t mind if Riley stayed with you for a little bit.”

Oh, God.

How had Landry not anticipated that? He should have. He really fucking should have. But he hadn’t. He didn’t have any excuses to give, and it wasn’t like a part of him wasn’t totally fucking delighted at the possibility of Riley being right here.

Close enough to touch.

Then there was the plain and simple fact that before six weeks ago, Landry never would’ve hesitated. Probably would’ve been the first one to offer a place for Riley to stay.

“Uh, yeah, of course. Of course he’s welcome to stay with me. I’ve got a guest room.” With no bed. Oh, God, I’m gonna have to buy Riley Flynn a bed. And not fantasize about them together in it. “It’s…it’s fine.” He stuttered over how fine it was. Because it was not fine at all.

Landry scrubbed a hand across his face. How had he ended up here?

Maybe it was karma for giving Logan shit about falling for his teammate and roommate, Dylan.

Dylan, who’d believed he was straight before Logan.

The universe, Landry believed, had to be laughing at him right now.

And if—when, he mentally corrected—he told Logan, he was probably going to laugh, too.

“Great. I know he’s probably going to kill me when he finds out I asked you.” Aidan laughed a little self-consciously.

“At least you realize it,” Landry said. “I was worried you were completely unaware of what an ass you are.”

“Come on, he needs…”

“Aidan, he’s twenty-four.” He’d looked it up in a particularly weak moment. Why did it matter how old Riley was? It didn’t, but somehow seeing his age right there in black and white on his phone screen had made him seem less like a dirty old man. Not that he was going to do anything about it. He wouldn’t. “Almost twenty-five. He’s a grown person. He doesn’t need you to play big protective older brother.”

Aidan was quiet for a long time. “I know,” he finally said. “I just…this is a big deal for him. He thinks this is it. And we both know how…how these things can go.”

“We do.”

They’d both been around the NFL for long enough to witness careers begin so optimistically. They’d seen players fail spectacularly and also slowly fade into nothing, into obscurity.

The very obscurity Riley was afraid of. Had worked so hard to avoid.

It could still happen.

This chance was just that—a chance.

“Just be there for him, okay, because I can’t be, not the way he’ll need,” Aidan said.

Landry winced because that was the thing he’d hoped, more than anything, Aidan wouldn’t ask him to do. Because it meant he wouldn’t really be able to keep his distance.

There’d be no way for…well, whatever this was…to fade.

No way to get any perspective at all.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Landry said. Because what else could he say?

First off, Aidan wasn’t wrong. Second off, he wasn’t so selfish that he’d put his own freakout over Riley’s need.

He’d need someone, and it might as well be him. It should be him, Landry realized.

“I appreciate it, man. Think he’s coming in tomorrow night. Late? You can figure it out with him. You still have his number?”

Aidan had given it to him ages ago, but Landry had never used it.

Didn’t want to use it now because he didn’t really trust himself to stop at sending Riley his address and finding out what time his flight got in.

“Yeah,” Landry said.

“Good.” Aidan sounded very satisfied with himself, no doubt because he’d done exactly what he’d set out to do: arrange everything exactly the way he wanted it.

Landry was not nearly as happy about it. He knew Aidan had manipulated him, and he’d let him because pushing back would mean revealing all the shit he was agonizing over.

Was he really queer if he thought Riley Flynn was hot?

Why was he freaking out if he was?

“You’ve been weird the last few days,” Aidan continued. “Shit not going well there?”

“Shit’s going fine,” Landry said dryly. “I like Kelley. He’s…not what I expected.”

“In a good way?”

“In a good way.”

“Ah.” Aidan paused. “Well, I’m sure we’re still gonna kick your ass when you come to town.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna try,” Landry said.

In mid-September, the Condors would be traveling up to Toronto to play Aidan’s team, and they’d been talking trash about the game since Landry had signed with the Condors. But now, the game held a whole new dimension.

Because it was going to be Flynn versus Flynn.

“Something to look forward to,” Aidan said smugly.

“You gettin’ your ass handed to you? Absolutely. I think Riley’s gonna run circles around you.”

Aidan scoffed, claiming he wasn’t worried, but Landry heard the uncertainty buried very deep in his voice.

Aidan was very secure in the fact that he was the successful Flynn. The established NFL quarterback, the one with the exceptional win-loss record, the one who electrified the entire stadium when he jogged onto the field.

But Landry had a feeling Aidan knew Riley could be all that and more.

Maybe that thought didn’t keep him up at night, but Landry knew Aidan and knew it would still linger, like a bad smell.

Aidan was used to never being challenged, and there was a possibility he was going to be challenged now.

And for the first time, Landry realized he was looking forward to it—and was actually looking forward to helping Riley be that challenge.

‘Let me get this straight,” Paige said, shooting Riley with the no-nonsense look that had endeared her to him the first day they’d met. “Your brother overstepped again, for the millionth freaking time, and arranged for you to stay with his best friend, the guy you’ve only had a crush on your whole freaking adult life, and asked him to watch over you like you’re fucking twelve?”

Riley nodded wordlessly.

“Honey, you need to tell him to fuck right off,” Paige said it sympathetically, but the steel edge to her voice made it clear what she thought of the whole thing.

“Which one?”

Riley hated that Aidan had intervened, though it wasn’t exactly surprising. It also wasn’t exactly surprising that Landry had gone along with it.

“Do I have to pick one or the other?”

Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on the booth table they were sharing. They’d met up at the small bar in her neighborhood in LA, since Riley had come back to Los Angeles to his small apartment after the shorter XFL season had ended.

“Yes, you really do.”

Riley had really, really hoped he wouldn’t have to take Aidan up on his offer of a job.

The last thing he wanted was to be Aidan’s assistant and have to be present front and center to everything he’d ever wanted, that Aidan had, as easy as fucking breathing.

But then had come the Condors’ job offer, and of course, he’d jumped at it. The opportunity was prime, and he’d been ecstatic at the thought of playing for Jonathan Kelley, who was considered something of an offensive innovator. He might actually be able to utilize Riley’s particular set of skills. And, naturally, it hadn’t been exactly painful to learn he’d be playing alongside Landry.

He still didn’t know what to think of what had happened between them that night in Pittsburgh. It had seemed like maybe Landry had been attracted to him. He’d certainly not hesitated to flirt back when Riley had stupidly flirted with him. But instead of dwelling on the thoughts, Riley had resolutely tried to push them all away. Landry was straight. He’d been nothing but straight his whole life, and growing up in a family with two queer brothers meant if he’d been queer, too, surely, he’d have known it.

There was nothing to be gained but heartbreak if he started—or kept—fantasizing about a guy that was totally unavailable.

“I didn’t tell you everything,” Riley said. He hadn’t even wanted to vocalize what had happened that night. Because then he might think it was real, and it couldn’t have been.

Paige didn’t even blink. “I know.”

Riley should be used to Paige’s sixth sense about these things by now, but it still took him by surprise. “What? How did you know? I didn’t even tell you!”

Leaning back against the booth, Paige eyed him. “You said your brother and his best friend came to visit during the first game in Pittsburgh. When I showed up the next week for the second one, all you said about it was that they were there, and, I quote, Aidan wasn’t as terrible as he normally is.”

“So? He wasn’t.”

“Okay, maybe he wasn’t. But all I got about Landry was one brief sentence. No rhapsodizing about how hot he is. Not a word about how you’d love to climb him like a tree. Nothing about how kind and wonderful and amazing he is. Not a single question about how he manages to put up with Aidan.”

“I don’t do all of that every single time I talk about Landry,” Riley grumbled.

“Oh honey, you do. And it’s okay. It’s a silly crush ‘cause, I’ll admit it, he is hot. Total Thor material. But you didn’t do any of that this time, so I knew something was up. What happened? Something happened, right?”

“I realized later that we hadn’t seen each other, like in person, for a while. Years, I think? Before I went to college.”

“Ah.” Paige managed to imbue a whole lot into just that one sound.

“What?”

“So he hadn’t seen you like this. Like you are now.”

“Like I grew up, you mean?” Riley asked dryly.

“Don’t play dumb. That’s something we’ve never done, so don’t you fucking start now. Don’t let Aidan diminish that part of you, too.”

“Aidan doesn’t—”

Paige waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Aidan saved you. Aidan protected you. Aidan watched over you. When you were too young to take care of yourself. Now, he needs to cut it out.”

“Probably,” Riley said lightly when what he really meant was, Absolutely, yes. As soon as possible.

“What I mean is, maybe Landry’s not straight. Then, he saw you, all grown up, and maybe it was different. Maybe he was interested. And if he is, then living together is gonna be real fun for you. ‘Cause we both know you’re interested in him.”

“Landry’s straight.” If he said it enough times, maybe he’d really believe it.

“And if he isn’t?” Paige raised one flawlessly plucked black eyebrow. “If he is interested?”

Riley didn’t even know what to think about that.

“He did flirt with me. Well, he flirted back.”

Paige nodded. “Okay, but you could make a fence post flirt with you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be convincing me Landry’s interested in me,” Riley retorted. He picked up his drink and took a sip. Normally, he didn’t drink much during the season, but after the infuriating call with Aidan he’d just had, he’d needed something so he didn’t call his brother back and start screaming at him.

“I am, but I’m also the best devil’s advocate in the freaking universe, which is why you love me.”

“That’s only part of the reason I love you,” Riley said with a grin. He could tell she was hooked now. But this was Landry, after all. They’d been talking about him for years, now that he thought about it. The first time he’d ever gotten drunk with her, he probably told her all about his big brother’s best friend and the most unfortunate crush in the entire freaking world.

“So what else happened?”

“Well, uh, like I told you, we flirted. And then he said something like, if I’d always looked like this, his two brothers would’ve been all over him, trying to get my number. And I asked him if it was just his two brothers.”

Paige shot him one of her patented looks. “You did not.”

“I was…I don’t know, feeling reckless.” Riley shrugged. “I was riding high from the good game, and then he flirted with me.”

“Which, we already established you could do with an inanimate object.”

“And he didn’t answer the question,” Riley said in a rush before he could decide it was better not to share.

“He didn’t answer the question?”

“No, he sort of stammered some stuff, but then he leaned in, and I swear he was shaking, Paige. And then…”

“And then?” Paige asked archly.

“And then Aidan showed up.”

Paige made a frustrated noise that echoed pretty much how he’d felt at that moment. How he still felt. Had Landry been about to kiss him? He would never know.

“Your fucking brother,” she said.

“Seriously,” Riley said, finishing his drink.

Paige took a small, measured sip of her wine. “And now you’re going to live with him.”

“For a little bit. Until I find a good rental.”

“No,” Paige said steadily. “Until you’re sure you’re going to stay on the team and you can find a good rental.”

“God, you are so painfully practical.”

She tilted her wine glass at him. “Takes one to know one, honey.”

It was true. That was another reason they’d always gravitated together; they were both clear-eyed and realistic about life.

It was why they’d never dated after that one disastrous blind date. It was hard to feel romantic about someone who routinely stripped the stars from not only your eyes, but their own.

Plus, Paige was his best friend, and Riley knew plenty about people who didn’t stick, so the fact that she always would was more important than anything else.

“So what, a few months then? Maybe half a season?”

“Are you really trying to figure out how long I’m going to be staying at Landry’s house?”

Paige shot him a look. “Riley, you need to think about this. Something’s gonna happen between you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Does he or does he not have two queer brothers?”

Riley nodded.

“Then he’s not going to have the standard, oh my God, I’m attracted to a guy freak-out. I give you two weeks before you’re fucking.”

“Paige!”

“What?”

“I’m not going to have sex with him.”

Paige leaned forward with that dangerous gleam in her eye that usually meant she knew she was right and he was wrong and that time would eventually prove it. “Honey, you’ve only wanted to have sex with him since you were sixteen.”

“Yes, I know,” Riley said primly. “But I’m going there to make it. To finally be QB1 in the NFL. I can’t…I can’t let myself get distracted. Or carried away. Football, that’s what’s important.”

“Right, of course.” But she didn’t sound like she believed him, which was annoying.

Not as annoying as Aidan constantly hovering, but annoying enough.

“You don’t think football’s important?”

“No, I know it is,” Paige said. “You’ve only wanted this your whole life. You’ve done everything you possibly could to make it. Nobody else could have done more.”

“You and Aidan,” Riley grumbled, “you both say shit and I always know there’s a but on the end.”

“There is,” she said with a firm nod. “But here’s the thing. Yes, we’re both practical. For me, it’s in my blood and my bones. It’s who I am. But for you, it’s different. You still want to be silly and get carried away and to have a little romance in your life. You’re scared of it because of how you grew up, but that doesn’t mean, deep down, you don’t want it. You still crave it. And Landry Banks is all those stars, all those wishes and dreams and hopes, in one person.”

Riley stared at her from across the table. “I hate you,” he said.

“Because you know I’m right.”

“Not because you’re right. Because you think you’re always right.”

She just laughed. “Well, I guess one of us is going to be, huh? Also, if I wasn’t one hundred percent, totally, completely right, would you have noticed how much the bartender was checking you out?”

“No,” Riley said, even though he knew better.

He hadn’t even been tempted by another man—or another woman, for that matter—since that night in Pittsburgh.

Because he finally believed he might have a chance with Landry?

Riley pushed the thought aside. “Maybe I just didn’t feel like flirting tonight. I met you for a drink, not to find a hookup.”

“But hookups always find you everywhere.”

“You say that like it doesn’t happen to you.” Paige was certifiably gorgeous. They drew attention wherever they went. A lot of people believed, at least at first, that they were together. But while they were both bi, they both tended to stick to their own sex.

Paige liked to say, “Men are more trouble than they’re worth. I don’t know how you do it, honey.”

How he did it was by never really making it a relationship.

There was no time, and he rarely had the inclination.

I give you two weeks before you’re fucking.

With anyone else he was this interested in, who’d given him even a fraction of the looks Landry had that night, he’d have closed in and made sure they left together—Aidan or no Aidan.

He didn’t want Landry to be special, but maybe he was.