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Not to whine about the shitty night, but to hear her voice and know something’s going right. We’ve been together for nearly two months already, but I swear it feels like years. We talk forever. Laugh together like I’ve never laughed with anyone else. And having this girl in my bed… Damn, I don’t ever want her to leave.
Tall order as we’re both busy as hell, so for now I’ll take what I can get. And with this being day one of another back-to-back, I can’t get tonight. Hell, I probably won’t even be able to talk to her until after we land in Philly. My girl’s playing her own game right now and going out with the guys—yeah, she’s the only chick on the team—after. So the chances of hearing her husky voice telling me about her day and whatever stupid shit her brothers got up to fall somewhere between slim and nil.
I climb aboard, passing Baxter at the front of the plane talking with one of the guys from medical. Vassar’s got an open seat beside him but before I get there my phone lights up with a call.
I’ve got about a second of thinking it’s my girl before my brother’s mug pops on the screen and I duck into an open row instead of heading back.
Patrick doesn’t call to shoot the shit. He calls when he wants something. I’m not in the mood, but then I never really am. Hell, we live in the same city and barely see each other once a year, if that.
Steeling my gut, I connect the call. “Hey, man, what’s up?”
“Rough game tonight, brotha. You were robbed. How’s Baxter’s arm after that hit?”
Not awesome actually, but no way I’m trusting him with that kind of information unless I’m cool with finding my team’s business leaked to whatever gossip outlet is willing to leave my brother a few bills flusher. “Fine. He’s great.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Silence seeps in, and I tip my head into the rest and pinch my nose. I hate this bullshit. He calls. Probably after money or a favor or something I shouldn’t give him but four out of five times will… and then he makes me pull it out of him.
But if I come right out and ask what he’s after, he’ll play all injured party and it’ll take twice as long to figure it out.
“Pat, I’m on the plane. You need something else?”
“Damn, man. Get over yourself. Was just watching your fucking game thinking it had been a while and I wanted to see how things were.”
Shit.
I don’t need the guilt trip. I know this guy. But he’s my brother and even though he’s kind of a selfish prick with a sense of entitlement like I’ve never seen before… I need to treat him like one.
“Sorry, man. Still sore over the game is all. How you been?”
And here’s the thing about Pat. I might not love the feeling of getting worked by him, but when he’s just being him… the guy’s got charisma coming out of his ass. Next thing, he’s telling me about a couple of the guys he hangs with and how he was dating some model who used to date some other celebrity I don’t care about. But he’s got me laughing at his stories and shaking my head at his jacked-up antics, and it’s exactly what I need. “Man, I hate to say it, but I’m gonna have to go here pretty soon.”
“No problem. But real quick, I know you weren’t sold on the original proposal I sent you before. But a lot’s happened since we talked, and—”
“Pat,” I cut him off, frustrated that we’re circling back to this, “I’m sorry. It’s not a sound investment. My guy does this for a living and he said no way.”
There’s a beat of silence when I think this is where we’re going to leave it, and I feel like shit, because for a few minutes it was actually good to talk to him.
“Hey, man, forget I brought it up, okay? Tell me something about you. What’re you up to these days aside from staying off social?”
Of course he’d notice. And I’m relieved not to leave things on a sour note. God only knows how long it would be before I got a chance to talk to him again if he took it personally.
“Met a girl, actually. She’s pretty private and it’s still sort of new, so we’re laying low for now.”
“You? No way.”
I laugh. “It’s true, man. One look and I knew.”
“Knew what, you wanted a piece of that ass?”
My fists clench, but I keep it level. “Knew she wasthe one.”
He groans, muttering my name. “Please don’t tell me you already put a ring on that.”
“Not yet.” But only because I don’t want to freak her out. She hasn’t even let me meet her family yet. “Let’s put it this way. I might have known from the start, but it took George a little longer to come around.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, “What’s her name?”
