Page 6 of Make the Play

“Fuck off. She’s my sister,” Landry grumbles.

I watch Sloane for her reaction, and she doesn’t give one. Landry’s words don’t seem to faze her at all.

“No, that one”—Baker points across the fire at me—“is your sister.”

“Beckett!” Landry calls out. “You better not be putting the moves on my little sister.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Knox says, sliding his hand a little further up my thigh. “Not unless she asks me to,” he whispers, just for me.

I shiver again at his words, which causes him to wrap his arms around me, holding me tightly. “You need me to go get you a blanket or a hoodie?” he asks.

“I’m all set,” I assure him. This time, I turn to look at him, and I see what appears to be concern in his eyes. The fire dances within them, and I wish more than anything that tonight could be our normal. That I was his, and he was mine. Fantasy is not turning into reality, but I’ll get to have the memories of this night. I’ll always be able to remember what it felt like to sit in his lap with his arms wrapped around me.

I was with Conner for six months, and he never made me feel anything remotely close to what I’m feeling for Knox in this moment.

I’ll take what I can get.

“Here we go,” Sloane says, as she holds up her phone so we can hear the song. Normally, we use one phone hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker and pass it around, but tonight, it looks like we’re mixing things up a bit.

As soon as the first note hits, I know the song and blurt out the answer, “‘Every Breath You Take.’”

“And the artist?” Sloane asks.

“The Police.” The answer rolls off my tongue.

“Damn, we knew we couldn’t win against baby Reynolds,” Reid whines. “I forgot how good she is at this.” He pouts.

“Come on now, Reid,” I tease. “You’re not going to let little ole me take you down, are you?” The last time we played this game together, it was the summer before I went off to college, but I won then, too.

“You’re the best damn tight end in the league,” Baker tells him. “You’re a fucking Rampage. We got this.” He holds his fist out to Reid, and they bump knuckles.

“Your turn, Corie,” Sloane tells me.

I try to sit up to get my phone, and one appears in front of me. Knox types in his code, not worried that I can see what it is, and hands me the phone. “Use mine.”

I tap the music app and scroll until I find what I’m looking for. I hit Play, and immediately, Foster is standing and yelling his answer. Well, singing it is more like it. “‘I Wanna Sex You Up,’” he sings as he thrusts his hips, making us all laugh.

“And the artist?” I ask him.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“You’re on the clock,” I tell him.

“Can I phone a friend or something?” he asks.

Landry’s body shakes as he laughs. “Dude, we’re your friends, and we’re right here.”

“Fine, I’m tagging in a friend.” He looks at Knox and points his index finger at him. “Beckett, help your boy out.”

“Sorry, bro, can’t do it. I can see the screen.” He gives me a gentle squeeze, almost as if he’s trying to tell me he’s got my back.

“Ugh, Sloane?”

“Color Me Badd, baby!” she cheers, wiggling on Landry’s lap.

“Bony ass,” he reminds her.

“I got it.” Reid bends and lifts her into his arms and takes his seat, with Sloane on his lap. “Teammates,” he tells her, holding up his hand for a high-five.

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