Page 41 of Game Changer

“I bet he’s never forgotten yours, Scout.”

Her eyes light up as a smile slides over her lips. “I bet you’re right. I’m pretty unforgettable, and something tells me the woman you can’t stop thinking about is pretty unforgettable, too.”

She’s right about that.

23

William

Sleep eluded me last night,so I did what I always do when I toss and turn for more than an hour. I got out of bed around three a.m., dressed, and hit the ground running.

I wasn’t wearing a suit and sitting in my office in the dead of night plotting my next move with any of my current clients.

Instead, I put on my running gear, which consists of shorts, a T-shirt Bauer left behind when he crashed at my penthouse one night, and the same sneakers I’ve worn during my workouts for years.

True to the saying, New York never sleeps, but its natural roar quiets when darkness falls over the city. The incessant sound of drivers battling each other with their car or truck horns lessens. The pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk thins enough that I can run without fear of mowing someone down, although I still always call out a warning that I’m approaching from behind.

I ran my usual route until I needed a break and ducked into a bodega that is open all hours and owned by a friend. He graciously added a bottle of water to my tab. I promised I’d be back later today to clear that, and then I was on my way again.

Now, as the sun begins its rise over Manhattan, I’m sitting on a bench in Central Park watching three pigeons dance around a dusting of breadcrumbs left by a guy who must have a supply in his jacket pocket because he scattered another handful less than ten feet away which attracted yet another trio of birds toward their morning meal.

“What the fuck are you doing out here at this hour, William?”

I chuckle even before I look to my left and find my brother standing a few feet away. I can’t say I’m surprised. We used to run this route together every morning until my demanding work schedule ended that.

It’s obvious he’s been running, too, but he didn’t bother with a shirt, and his phone is strapped to his bicep.

When Bauer designed his first tattoo when he was fourteen, he asked me to forge the parental consent form. I would have done it, but by the time I met up with him to scribble my dad’s name on the form, my brother was already sporting the ink on his bicep. I asked how he got it done without a signature, but he just shrugged, laughed, and wore long sleeves for months.

“I’m doing the same thing you are,” I nod toward my attire. “I was smart enough to leave my phone at home.”

“That’s why you ignored the two texts I sent you this morning.” He taps his phone. “You need to be reachable. What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?” I question back, not bothering to mention that leaving my phone on my nightstand was an oversight. I meant to bring it, but my mind was focused on one thing when I set out on my run, and the phone wasn’t it.

Opal was it.

“Scout seemed to think it was.” He motions for me to slide to the left so he can sit beside me.

I do just that, scooting over to give him the room he needs on the bench. “What’s that about Scout?”

He glances toward the pigeons before he drags a hand through his hair. “She called me last night and said you’re all torn up about a woman. She wanted me to fill in the blanks for her.”

I chuckle. “Did you consider that our dear little sister might have blown things out of proportion?”

“Scout?” He cocks one eyebrow. “Blow things out of proportion? It’s hard to imagine her doing that.”

We laugh in unison because Scout cares to the point of injecting herself into every problem she thinks exists, whether one does or not.

“Is the reason you’re out here at this hour because you’re thinking about a woman?” His voice softens. “I haven’t been able to convince you to run with me before work for months.”

He’s being gracious since it’s more like years.

I glance at him. “I’m thinking about a woman.”

“It’s serious?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “I just met her, but…”

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