Page 99 of Golden Touch
I let out a low groan. “Please reply to Melanie that she needs to stop fussing over her manicure, pick up the damn phone, and sort it out with the vendor herself.”
“All right.” He starts tapping on my phone. “This is Nash’s hotter brother. He is driving right now but he asks you kindly to…”
Mitch seems very pleased with himself after he sends the message. “It’s cool you have an assistant. Your job is more glamorous than mine.”
“On what planet?” He’s a professional athlete, so I reach across the gear box and poke him again. “Don’t patronize us normal people.”
“No, I meant it.” He shrugs. “You overestimate the glamor of my job. But it’s literally just… practice rink, jet, game night, jet… and repeat.”
“Sorry you got knocked out of the playoffs,” I say, slowing down for a fox to cross the road.
“Me too.” He leans his head against the seat. “I thought we could go all the way.”
“Maybe next year.”
A deep silence from the other side of the car seems ominous. But he doesn’t say anything more, and I don’t ask, as per the Giltmaker way.
“Thanks for picking me up,” he says eventually. “Sorry you have to.”
“It’s fine. I showed my face at work. Went to a couplemeetings, picked up some things from home. But, seriously, why is your driver’s license expired?”
“Because I forgot to renew it.”
“Don’t you have people for that?”
“Again,” my brother says patiently, “you seem to overestimate the glamor of my job.”
I glance at Mitch. When I look at him, I’ll always see my baby brother—the kid who once believed our house was haunted by a glowing skeleton named Jingles because I told him it was.
The rest of the world sees Mitch differently, though.A generational talent, saidSports Illustrated. His nickname in sports media is Goalmaker.
And it’s hard to believe my baby brother is thirty now. “Happy Birthday, by the way. Hope it was a fun one.”
He lets out a little grunt of displeasure. “Thanks. But I’m past the age where landmark birthdays are a cause for celebration.”
Okay, touchy subject.
“You have another message, asshole. From Benito Rossi. How is that dude, anyway?” He chuckles. “He sent you an address on Pine Lane. Is this for a party?”
I step on the brake and pull over to the curb. “An address?”
“Yeah, but watch the whiplash? This body takes enough abuse at my day job.”
I grab the phone out of his hands. Then I tap on the address to see where it is on the map. “Hey—help me navigate.”
“Why?”
“That’s where Livia is.” I push the phone into his hand and pull onto the road again.
“I thought you were taking me to Dad’s place?”
“You’ll get there eventually,” I tell him.
“Wow, this girl has you messed up. One clue about her whereabouts, and you’re pushing down the pedal.”
He isn’t wrong.
“If she ghosted you,” he says slowly. “Why are you chasing after her?”
