Page 17 of Fashionista's Playbook

“That’s why you moon after your new assistant all the time? She ain’t even all that, Bro. She’s—”

I cut him off with a hard glare. “An employee of mine and if for no other reason deserves more respect than whatever is about to come out of your mouth.”

A brittle tension swelled across the table. Vin settled back in his chair, reached for the menu, and ignored my irritation. He knew when he’d pushed too far.

“But ya know, blowing off some steam would be good for you. Let loose, party a little.”

“I’m fine.” I spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’ll do some scouting for you this weekend, line someone up for you.”

At one point in our lives, Vin had had aspirations and ambition. Where’d they go?

When his beer arrived, Vin ordered a meal and glanced over at me. “You eating?”

“Not hungry.” I grunted and took a sip of water. “Any luck finding a job?”

He hadn’t looked. I knew that. He spent almost every night at the club.

“Nah, ain’t nothing my style around here. I had some cool shit lined up back east before we moved.”

I’d played a season in Boston, but nothing had come of it. Nothing had come of his job hunt there, either.

My irritation swelled. The waitress must have sensed it, because she scurried off when she delivered his food a few minutes later.

“You got something to say?” Vin took a huge bite of his gourmet burger.

“When were you gonna tell me the cops showed up at my house?”

He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and grinned with a snort. “Shit, just your white bread neighbors complaining about the music by the pool.”

“Yeah well, I took some heat over it with Yates.”

Vin dropped the burger and laughed without humor and gave a slow, side to side shake of his head. “I told you playing for these fools was a bad idea. They just want to control you.”

When I just levelled a look at him, he sighed. “Come on, Bro. It’s no big deal.” He spoke around another bite, before downing half his glass in one long swig.

He was my brother, I loved him, and had never been able to stay mad at him long. It was just music. Nothing damaged, nothing missing. I wouldn’t have noticed, had that damn podcast not said anything. “That shit can’t happen anymore.”

He sighed and motioned to the waitress with his now empty beer glass. “I got it. I’ll keep it more intimate next time.”

“Moriah’s going to housesit while I’m out of town.”

That shut him up. My brother blinked, immediately taking a drink from his fresh beer.

“She’smoovingup.” He stretched the word out into a cow sound, then laughed.

I stood so fast the chair rattled behind me. I caught it before it fell and tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table. “Fuck off, Vin.”

For the first time in my life, I walked out on my big brother.

****

Denver’s defensive backfield was solid—the caliber of athletes that stifled the passing game just by showing up. Which meant our offense would be dependent on the run game. I’d do a lot of up-front blocking.

And I couldn’t wait. Being physical, throwing an opponent to the field, and making lanes for the running backs was just what I needed after dealing with my brother. Burn off some stress, figure shit out, find the peace that only football had ever given me.

“Yo, Madera.” The smooth, familiar voice broke into my thoughts. “You look ready to put your hands on somebody this weekend.”

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