Page 47 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Don’t give me bullshit. Is he or not?” He flopped into the couch at the center of my office and flicked on the television. He made himself right at home, like he wasn’t leaving without ananswer. “I wanna put some money on it. Bookie I know already has a pool going for it.”

Vincent betting on this sort of shit could come back and bite me. An old anger I thought I’d buried, dug its way up.

“Bro—”

“Don’t give me this garbage, Travis. Everyone does it, online and untraceable. It doesn’t come back to you.” He flipped through the channels and landed on some high intensity action movie with lots of explosives.

I crossed my arms, hitched a hip on the corner of my desk, and glared at him. He needed to care more about the blowback to me, to the life I’d created for the both of us.

“Don’t give me that holier than thou shit. Not when you’re banging the hired help.”

Anger spiked through me, hot and bright. My muscles tensed and my nostrils flared. Vincent glanced back, saw his barb had hit the mark, and snickered.

“Simmer down. It’s not that obvious, except the other night she left her purse on the table and her panties on the stairs.” His lips peeled back in a mean smile. “Definitely weren’t Kari Tatum’s.”

When I stood, ready to swing on him, it surprised even me.

Vin held his palms out face up. “I like an ass better than a beanpole, too. I’m just saying I saw that shit when I came in the next morning to drop the keys off.” He stood and wandered through the doorway. “You need to chill out, bro.” And then he disappeared.

Which was a good thing. Vincent knew me well enough to know when I was that quiet…it was dangerous.

****

“Hey.” She smiled as she curled on the couch.

Not quite beside me, but close enough I could touch her if I wanted. I was still angry at Vincent. I didn’t dare reach for her. Not until I’d calmed down.

Moriah seemed to sense something was up. She was quiet, in a way she rarely was when we were alone. I reached for her after a few minutes, just being near her soothing me, and twisted a piece of her hair around my finger.

“I told you he doesn’t like me.” She whispered as the opening scenes played.

“My shit with Vincent has nothing to do with you. He might hide behind that as excuse, but it’s not true.”

When she glanced down at the pillow she’d pulled into her lap, I moved closer.

“He’s mad, about a lot of things. Mainly that I’m forcing him to grow up. Tonight wasn’t about you—”

“I heard him say you were banging the help.” She glanced at me, almost apologetic, and I broke inside. “I went downstairs after that. I didn’t want to be nosey or get involved.”

And for that reason alone, she was too good for me. I’d have stayed, listened to see what else was said about me.

“He’s pissed because I won’t tell him if Jones is retiring or not.” I dropped my hand, entwined my fingers with hers. “He gets mad if I don’t do something that benefits him. He didn’t used to be like that, but since he got out….”

She nodded, let me trail off without talking about the elephant in the room. “My sister was always similar.”

I paused the show and watched her. Moriah rarely spoke about her family.

“Turn that back on.” She shook our joined hands. “No big story. We don’t get along, aren’t close like you and Vin.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that wouldn’t be easier.”

“It’s not.” She shook her head but turned back to the show when my only response was to pull her hand to my lips and press them against her knuckles.

Just being with Moriah made everything better. I’d have a talk with my brother about his shitty comments later. I didn’t get involved with his romantic shit; he shouldn’t be involved in mine.

Usually, the stupid show hung just over the edge of believability. Enough melodrama to hold interest, but not too much. Until today. One of the main female characters was being drawn into a fake friendship by the villain jock, complete with bright purple letterman’s jacket.

“I never had one of those.” I murmured and pulled her closer to me.

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