Page 112 of For the Boys
He sat and said, “Never use the words ‘hot and sweaty’ in a sentence in reference to me again, okay?”
His sister wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, that felt wrong coming out, but I was already committed.”
He took a sip of his coffee and studied her over the rim. “What are you making?” Garlic scented the air as the pan in front of her sizzled. The counter was littered with diced fruit and shredded spinach, and a big container of protein powder and a carton of oat milk sat next to the blender, which was half full of ice.
“We are having smoothies and spinach and mushroom omelets.”
“Perfect,” Brent said. “Are you going to be okay here when I go out of town tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said, pulling her dark hair into a ponytail. “Berkley said the realtor put together some showings for Saturday, and I’ll spend the rest of the time getting acquainted with my new city. I definitely want to stop by Detroit Manufacturing and meet Jack and the team.”
“Sounds like a good plan. I’ll have Mitch pick me up tomorrow so you can use my truck to get around while I’m gone.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Absolutely.”
She wouldn’t be happy to learn the real motivation behind the decision, but he’d be damned if he was going to let his baby sister ride around on public transportation or use rideshares with creepy drivers.
He was an overprotective big brother. Sue him.
“Thanks, B. I appreciate it.” She turned to him. “Hey, can I make an Instagram account for FLEX? Today would be the perfect day to get some behind-the-scenes stuff at the shoot, and I can get more when I go meet Jack. Then we can generate some buzz for the next launch too.”
Brent said yes the second she finished speaking. It was a good idea, one he’d been considering for a while himself. He just hadn’t had the time or energy.
Mackenzie’s face instantly lit up, surprise and joy waging a war in her eyes.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he told her. “It’s your company too. You don’t need my permission.”
“We’re partners, B,” she said, sliding an omelet out of the pan and onto a plate, then turning to pop it in the oven to keep it warm while she made another. “I don’t want to make any decisions without you.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “But I’m on board with this idea. Now hurry up with that food, or we’ll be late.”
She responded by turning on the blender.
The photoshoot with Danica went off without a hitch. Brent felt entirely comfortable around her. It was like working side by side with an old friend, and she and Mackenzie got along great.
As they walked out of the gym and into the cold February air, Mackenzie chattered excitedly, expressing her desire to bring in more men and women to represent a wide range of body types and emphasizing how happy she was that Danica had signed on.
Brent smiled to himself. Mackenzie was truly in her element here, and he had to admit that her decision to leave college and move to Detroit, while risky, had been great for her. Although he knew not all days would run as smoothly as this one—they would inevitably argue like the siblings they were—having her here was already a huge benefit to FLEX.
Plus, having his little sister in his city simply made Brent happy.
“Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” Brent said Thursday morning as he wheeled his luggage to the entryway. The Warriors were off to Canada for a road trip, with stops in Toronto and Winnipeg before returning home on Monday. “And no boys. You can drink my alcohol, but do not leave this condo if you do. If you want to go out, call Berkley. She might be glad for the excuse to get away from studying, and you can meet her friends.”
“Brent, I’ve been living on my own for a while now, in New York City no less,” Mackenzie said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to burn your house down, and the only boys I know in Detroit are leaving with you! Although,” she added, “you could have told me you were going to let me drink in the apartment before you were on your way out the door so I could have made you buy me something not totally disgusting.”
“What’s wrong with beer and wine?”
“Beer will make me fat, and wine is gross,” she said.
“Jesus Christ, Mackenzie. You’re like the size of my pinkie. Beer is not going to make you fat. And wine is delicious.”
“I’m not drinking either of them, so save your breath.”
Brent rolled his own eyes, and his phone chimed. “Mitch is here.”
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Let me know when you land, and good luck. Show those Canadian teams who’s boss.”
