Page 92 of Hot Receiver

Bryce Maxwell, as in the star quarterback for Oakland.

“He had a hell of a game tonight,” I say, taking a sip of my beer.

“Yeah. He’s worth every penny they pay him,” Lucas grins and gives Jase a little nudge. “Don’t be salty. We beat them last season to make the playoffs.”

“True,” Jase mutters. “Still should’ve been us.”

I smirk. “Don’t let Gabe hear you say that.”

On cue, Gabe Kelly and his boyfriend Vince Castro walk over to our group. Vince is a retired superstar who was sportscasting the game for ESPN, and I’m sure they’re both here to drown their sorrows along with the rest of us.

“Wipe that look off your face, Maxwell,” Gabe says in a threatening voice. “Oakland is a great team, and they beat us by one.One.Be proud of that. And lucky for you, Bryce isn’t a gloater.”

Jase lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah, yeah.” His eyes skate over to me. “Maybe if we hadn’t dealt with a change of ownership in the beginning of a critical season.”

But when he waggles his eyebrows, I know we’re cool.

Besides, they’re in much better hands now. Joint owners who are excited to run the team, who have ideas about future strategy, who have no emotional ties to any of the players. I feel really good about what’s on the horizon for the Crusaders.

And for me and Matt.

Brixton Scott, the lead singer for XYZ band, walks up to Jase and claps him on the back. “Good effort today, bro. Too bad you had a load in your pants and couldn’t get out of your own way.”

“Fuck off,” Jase says. “Or I’ll shove that mic so far up your ass, it’ll sit inside your mouth.”

“Maybe I’d like that.” Brixton chuckles and takes a swig of his beer.

“You’re fucking sick, man.” Jase rolls his eyes.

“Where’s B-Man? He ever gonna show up tonight?” Brixton asks.

“I’m sure he’s celebrating with the team,” Jase says in a glum voice. He hunches over the table, and Matt’s eyebrows knit together as he gets pulled deeper into Jase’s black cloud.

“You guys are acting like someone died. It’s the end of a season, not a funeral.” I rub my hand up and down Matt’s back. His muscles tense under my fingertips, and the urge to pull him close and tear off his shirt grabs hold.

“Think about Travers,” Gabe says. “He’ll never have another one of these pity parties since he was kicked out of the league and is facing charges of assault. Life could always be worse.”

Brixton nods toward the spot where his bandmate Lane Maxwell is standing with Anna. Since she’s back in California, she decided to make the trip up to Oakland for the game today. It may be weird, but we make a good threesome.

Not inthatway, though.

I’m not a good sharer.

I nudge Matt out of his funk and point my beer bottle in their direction and get the first hint of a smile from him. “Lane’s a good guy, yeah?” he asks Jase.

“The best,” Jase says. He throws a look at Brixton. “I don’t know how the fuck he got stuck playing with this asshole though.”

“Aww, you love me, J. Admit it.” Brixton flashes a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, I love you just like I love jock itch,” Jase mumbles, taking another long gulp of his beer.

Just then, a loud cheer goes up through the crowd.

“Here comes the king,” Brixton says as Bryce Maxwell walks over to us. He towers over most of the people around us. “All fucking hail.”

Bryce winks at him and gives him a bro hug.

I figure Jase will have a few snarky words for him, but he actually smiles. A real one. A proud one. And he captures Bryce in a bear hug.

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