Page 25 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Something like that.” I snorted a chuckle; never would I have imagined this big jock would get into a silly television show. And yet, here we were.

“Who made this shit up? It’s so bad…it’s good.” He reached over and nudged me with the back of his hand. “Hey personal assistant, add a regular night to catch up on this in my schedule. That way we can be ready when the new season starts.”

And just like that, I had a standing date with Travis Madera.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Travis

The swish of the basketball sinking through the net brought the same adrenaline rush that the sound of crunching shoulder pads did. I was grinning, covered in sweat, and a little breathless when I wagged three fingers in my brother’s face.

“Two more and I go twenty-one, homie.” It was easy like this, just the two of us. It put my heart at ease, reminded me of simpler times, before our parents died. I could put the shit from before Denver out of my mind.

The only person who knew the scars this life had left on me was Vincent.

“Check, motherfucker.” Vin passed the ball, much harder than he should have.

I bounced it back, still grinning. My brother hated to lose, even worse than I did.

Vin dribbled forward, lowered his shoulder, and shoved himself into me. I stumbled back enough that he scored on a layup.

“Still got you beat. This is the game.” I checked the ball. Basketball was the only time Vin had the upper hand on me. Which made these wins twice as sweet.

I drove forward, much the same as Vin had, but faked him out and lined up a short jump shot on my brother’s left side.Swish.

“Twenty-one!” I danced back away from Vin in animated celebration.

He turned away, flipping me the bird as he collected the ball.

“Remember when Mom would make me let you win?”

“Nah, didn’t happen.”

He grinned, that wide teasing smile of a big brother. “You were still little, man, would cry anytime you didn’t win.Checkers, ball, every damn thing. Mama’s baby, she couldn’t stand it. Sort of like how you cry to the refs on every call.”

“Keep making jokes.” I wiped the sweat from my face and popped him with the towel.

Every few weeks we played pool, shot hoops, or whatever, just the two of us. That brotherly competition grounded me, reminded me of who I was and where I came from no matter how many autographs I signed. It was something I couldn’t explain to Yates or Linc, or anyone.

It always felt like I was at home, no matter what was going on in my life. The years Vin had been locked up, I’d missed that feeling the most.

That’s what made talking to him about any of this shit so tough. I didn’t agree with him giving Moriah a hard time or taking my shit without asking me. But he was the only family I had left.

The lights in the room I let Moriah use flicked on. I could practically hear therat-a-tat-tatof her sewing machine.

Vin must have read my sudden interest, because he snorted.

“I can’t believe you let her talk you into giving her a room here, man. That’s a prime gold-digger move.” His annoyance was evident. Every word dripped with contempt.

I tried my best to overlook the attitude. “What she do to you, bro? Piss in your breakfast cereal?”

“It’s not what she is doing to me, it’s what she’s doing to you.” He jerked his chin to the house. “The second you think she’s in there, you check out. She’s practically moved in here, setting up house. Soon she’ll be screwing you out of the rest of your life.”

Vin was always surly and combative when he lost. But if he wanted to think Moriah was the reason he wasn’t staying here without me, I wasn’t going to tell him any different. “She’s my assistant, not my girlfriend. Makes my life easier. More than I can say for you these days.”

His lips peeled back and his eyebrows shot up the way they did when he thought he had something on me. “You ain’t even screwing her and she already got you whipped,boy.”

I could pretend it was the scorn laced in that last word that ripped through me and forced me to clench my jaw tight. But it wasn’t that, it was the same protective anger that almost had me take Ward’s head off. I could say Moriah was just my assistant, or a friend, but something gurgled under the surface that wasn’t friendly or professional.

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