Page 101 of Beyond the Stroke

“Eli, I need to talk to you,” she says.

Eli sighs like he’s been avoiding Vivi and he just got caught. “It doesn’t matter what the payout is, the answer is no.”

“Seriously?" Vivi turns to gape at me. “Will you talk some sense into him?”

I shrug, because there’s nothing I can do.

I get that Eli wants to keep a low profile, but it’s not like we’re celebrities that can’t walk down the street without getting mobbed. And while it’s important to do the research and be selective about our brand endorsement deals to understand who we are aligning ourselves with, Eli hasn’t done a campaign in years. We call him the endorsement snob.

“First off, it’s annoying that you’re shooing me away like a car salesman even though you don’t know what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Eli nods apologetically. “I’m sorry, Vivian.”

“Apology accepted. Now if you had checked your emails, you’d have seen I was trying to tell you that you’ve been namedAll SportsSexiest Athlete of the Year.” Vivi claps then wraps her arms around Eli in a celebratory hug. “Congratulations.”

Eli stands stock still, simply patting Vivi on the back during her moment of celebration.

“Why aren’t we celebrating?” she asks, clearly annoyed with our lack of enthusiasm.

I clear my throat. “All Sportsis the magazine that you know who works for.”

Vivi’s eyes widen when she understands what I’m telling her. Eli’s ex, Blair, is a Brand Partnerships Manager atAll Sports. His nomination likely had nothing to do with her because she’s responsible for securing advertisers and sponsorship deals, but that doesn’t matter.

Vivi sighs. “You have to say yes, or I’ll cry. I’ve always wanted one of my clients to be picked.”

“Hey, what about me?” I ask, rubbing my chest while attempting to sound hurt.

“You got the title six years ago. I wasn’t the PR manager then.”

Eli groans. “I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, Viv. Bonfire at my house tonight. Tell everyone.”

“Did I hear someone say bonfire?” a voice calls out.

I turn to find Whitney darting toward us.

She’s weighed down by a large backpack, its weight swinging wildly with every hurried step she takes, but that doesn’t stop her from launching herself at me.

“Hurricane Whit…incoming!” she calls out.

Catching her midair, her impact is solid, but I hold my ground. I squeeze her tight. Feeling the solid strength she’s built over the last four years, a flash of pride hits me. My little sister isn’t so little anymore.

Vivi laughs at the sight of us.

“It’s good to have you home,” I say, as Whitney finally drops to her feet.

“Thanks! It feels good to be here.”

She shoves a strand of hair out of her face and smiles up at me with the same stubborn sparkle she’s had since she was five years old and convinced me she could swim out to the sand bar without floaties.

“You look good,” I add, studying her. “Not too worn out from the season.”

“Give her a week with our training program,” Charlie teases.

Logan, who just exited the locker room, catches the scene and jogs over, grinning.

Behind him, Connor walks by, his eyes on the group. No, not the group, on Whitney. Protectiveness surges through my veins and every brotherly instinct I have kicks to life like a starting gun. Connor’s got a reputation for being a loner in the pool,but from what I’ve heard, it’s the opposite where women are concerned.

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