Page 17 of Glitched Play

"It is for you."

Greyson exhales heavily. It’s definitely something. I lean back in my chair. "Paulina?"

I’ve seen this look on my dad’s face when things feel just out of his control.

When Greyson’s face twists, I know I figured out the problem.

"She's eighteen," he says like I didn’t know or wouldn’t remember. My family doesn’t get that I remember everything.

"Correct."

"Trevor broke up with her," he says. And the way he says it, I can’t tell whether he’s relieved or devastated.

"Statistically inevitable."

"I hate statistics."

"You liked them when they said you were the GOAT of quarterbacks,” I say matter-of-factly.

He nods. "True. I hate statistics that aren’t set in stone by events. I liked her better when she wanted to be with us all the time. I hate that she’s grown up and hurting.”

Why is he telling me this?

"You want her to be twelve again?” I ask.

His eyes narrow, but then his eyes soften around the edges. “Twelve,” he says, swallowing a chuckle. “She put ketchup in my coffee."

"It was an experiment.”

"She was attempting murder.”

I tap my finger on the desk and look just past him. "Results were inconclusive."

Greyson laughs despite himself.

Mission accomplished. Most people need emotional support. Happy I could provide a distraction. Apparently that's close enough.

His shoulders relax. "You're impossible."

"Yet you keep coming back."

"Yep, I can’t get enough of my baby brother.”

Before I can retaliate, the office door opens.

Dara steps inside carrying her tablet. "Your ten o'clock arrived."

I glance at the clock. Seven minutes early and I immediately like her more than the candidate from Friday.

"Oh no,” Greyson says, expelling a breath.

"What?"

"You did the eyebrow thing."

"I don't have a thing."

"You absolutely have a thing."