Brother's Best Friend is Back

by Eva Luxe

  Sometimes they had live jazz bands playing but tonight was just a regular night. Dark brown leather booths were arranged back to back to make individual spaces for the patrons.

  Brian and I sat in one of the leather booths, sipping our usual expensive whiskey.

  “This is just what the doctor ordered,” I said, looking around.

  “What are you talking about?” Brian asked. “You’re always going out. I doubt you needed some serious R&R time.”

  I shrugged. “I mean the relaxed vibe. I’m not in the mood for a party.”

  Brian raised his eyebrows at me. “Are you feeling sick?” he asked, grinning.

  I shook my head, chuckling. “I’m not that bad, Brian.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. “You’re always out at the club, trying to pull women. If your night doesn’t end in a good fuck, it doesn’t count.”

  I shook my head again. Maybe that was true, or used to be true. But it wasn’t how I felt tonight. I just wanted to spend some time out with my friend.

  “The game was good,” I said.

  “Topic change. Don’t think I don’t see that.” Brian sipped his drink. “It was okay. We didn’t play very well, but we won. That’s all that counts. By some miracle, we haven’t dropped in the rankings, despite your absence.”

  I shrugged. “A miracle for sure,” I said and grinned.

  “Cocky bastard,” Brian said. “You’re back now, eh?”

  I nodded. “Fucking finally. It felt like a hell of a lot longer than just six games. Which, by the way, is bullshit. I didn’t deserve that much for what happened. It was a first offense. Two games would have been enough.”

  Brian shrugged. “I think it’s because of everything else you do, too.”

  I glanced at him. “Yeah, Mr. Perfect. Thanks for that.”

  Brian shook his head. “That’s not how I meant it. You know I’m grateful.”

  I waved my hand to cut him off. I didn’t want to talk about it. “Next round is on you,” I said.

  We sipped together in silence, and some women came into the bar. They were okay. They didn’t take my breath away. None of them were as classy and as elegant as they could be. Like Lacey.

  God, I was an idiot. I didn’t fall for women. Especially not ones that told me what to do.

  “What’s wrong?” Brian asked.

  I looked at him. “Who says something’s wrong?”

  “Well, we’ve been here,” he glanced at his watch, “for almost an hour, and you haven’t found a woman you want to take home yet. That’s very un-Hanson-like of you.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just not in the mood, tonight.”

  Brian made a face.

  “Now I know something’s wrong. Are you trying to keep it on the straight and narrow because of the game?”

  I shrugged and finished the last of my drink. I put the glass down and someone picked it up in no time at all.

  “How are things with that PR Manager of yours?” Brian asked.

  “Good, I think,” I said.

  Better than good, if you counted sex and ignored the times she’d rejected me.

  “She’s taking me to Jackson Memorial. They want to see me after the donation, for something like a photo session with the kids.”

  “That’s good,” Brian said. “Stuff like that really wins the public over.”

  “I didn’t think I needed to win anything, other than my games.”

  Brian shook his head and waved at a waiter to come to us.

  “You need to win the hearts of your fans, sometimes,” Brian said. “And with your reputation, you can do with some love from the fans.”

  I nodded. I guessed that was true.

  “I don’t know what to make of Lacey, though,” I said.

  Brian ordered two more whiskeys and the waiter disappeared.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “We’ve had sex. Twice.”

  Brian whistled through his teeth. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off her.”

  I shook my head. “I get that. I have a reputation. Whatever. But the second time was all her, man. She showed up at my place wasted and took what she wanted. I’m not complaining or anything. On the contrary. Fuck, she was good. I just don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Since when do you need to make anything of what you’re doing with a woman?” Brian asked. “It sounds a lot like you like this one.”

  I snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I don’t do it like that. It’s just another woman. She’s just acting differently than I expected.”

  “What, she hasn’t slapped you yet?” Brian laughed at his own joke. The waiter arrived with our drinks, and I took mine, sucking down half of it in one go.

  I shook my head. “I’m serious,” I said. “It’s confusing when they’re not asking me to call them and being clingy. She’s fucking me and walking away like it was nothing. I don’t get it. She’s doing what I usually do.”

  Brian laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know you any better, I would have said you were falling in love.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said, shaking my head. There was no way I was falling in love with Lacey. Yes, she was good in bed, and she was good at her job. And her way of making me feel like she didn’t care if I wanted her or not just made me want her more. But that didn’t mean I was falling for her. Right?

  It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t like that.

  Two women approached us. The one had a camera around her neck, and her friend introduced them as Chanel and Tanya. Tanya was a photographer, visiting Miami to write a travel blog about the nightlife. It sounded interesting, but I eyed the camera. I didn’t like having my photo taken.

  Chanel was very flirty. I had the feeling she knew who we were, but neither of them rubbed it in our faces. I appreciated that. I didn’t want to be reminded of my fame. It made me feel like it was the only reason they were with us. Which was the case, anyway, and it never bothered me before.

  What the hell was going on with me?

  “So, what do you do for fun?” Chanel asked, putting her hand on my thigh.

  I looked down at her hand. Her nails were long, slim, and blood red. Everything about her was manicured and maintained. I would have taken her home in a flash before, but now, I wasn’t feeling it.

  “I like to spend my time alone,” I said, gently removing her hand.

  She pouted a little, getting the idea that I wasn’t interested. Brian watched me with a poker face, but I knew what he was thinking. If I wasn’t falling for Lacey, why wasn’t I taking what I usually took?

  I didn’t want it. It didn’t matter why. That was enough.

  Tanya snapped a picture or two of the bar. I was in them. Lacey was going to kill me. She didn’t even want me working out at an unapproved gym, so I could only imagine what she would have to say about this.

  “Will you stop that?” I asked. “Get that camera out of my face.”

  “Aww, come on,” Chanel said. “Don’t be such a wet blanket, Hanson.”

  I hadn’t told them my name. It was more than obvious now that they knew who we were. Chanel tried once or twice more before she took the hint and moved to Brian’s side of the booth. He didn’t respond to her advances any better than I had. I ordered more whiskey. Tanya ordered shots for the four of us. Tequila.

  There was no harm in drinking. Brian had his arm around Chanel, and we downed shots and whiskey like it was going out of style. It was a bad mix, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get drunk. I wanted to be numb, to forget, to stop fretting over women and what was going on in my head.

  It worked, too. The alcohol took over, and I felt light and airy.

  “Hanson,” Brian whispered loudly, leaning over. “You about ready to get out of here?”

  He jabbed a thumb at Chanel, who probably heard everything we said.

  I nodded my head. “Or do you want to go home with them? Have them both.”

  Tanya smiled from behind her camera.
r />   “The only place I want to go is to the men’s room,” Brian said. “Then we can get out of here.”

  Chanel and Tanya both smiled at him. When he walked away, they moved together and gossiped about him and wondered why he didn’t want to go home with them.

  “What about you?” Chanel asked me.

  “What about me?”

  “Don’t you want to come with us? Have some fun? I promise we can show you a good time.” She moved toward me and put her hand back on my leg. I shook my head. “I’m sure I can persuade you.”

  She moved her hand up my leg and leaned in toward me. Her lips were the same color as her nail polish, and her neckline was so low it left very little to the imagination. A camera flash went off, and I jerked away.

  “Dammit,” I said. “Get that thing the fuck away from me. Are you even allowed to have that in here?”

  Tanya shrugged. “I did ask. I explained it’s for a blog about the place.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t ask if you could harass customers.”

  She shrugged again. “I didn’t word it like that. I was just taking in the essence of the place.”

  Right. Or the essence of me fucking up my image again. Before I could say anything, Brian returned.

  “Ready?” he asked me.

  “Ladies, have a good evening,” I told them.

  Chanel blinked up at us, all innocence. Tanya got up.

  “If that photo ends up on the internet,” I said.

  “Relax, Hanson,” Brian said. He was drunk. His words were a little sloppy around the edges, and he pressed his hand against my chest. “I’ve called Carl to come get us.”

  He exaggerated a wink. Tanya was already headed for the door. But Chanel didn’t want to give up. She clung to Brian’s arm, swinging her hips from side to side.

  I didn’t need this shit in my life. I didn’t know exactly what had been caught on that camera, but I doubted it was good. This was just going to keep happening as long as I let women come close to me. But how could I avoid it? Was I supposed to stay locked at home? I didn’t even start this shit anymore and it kept finding me.

  I waved at a waiter and ordered more alcohol. Whiskey. Tequila. Why not? I might as well get shitfaced, considering what had just happened. It wasn’t like they could find anything worse to put on the internet about me.

  All I cared about was that I was going to be allowed to play again. I didn’t care what happened if it didn’t stop me from playing my game. Since the accident, where I’d admitted to being the one to drive drunk, everything had gone south for me. A bad reputation, the suspension, all of it. Whatever.

  It wasn’t like I had to care. There was no one in my life I had to answer to.

  Chapter 27

  Lacey

  I hadn’t seen Hanson in a week but it was time for the charity engagement I’d told him we should go to. I’d spoken to him over the phone, sure, but he’d been busy training, and I’d been busy trying not to hate him for the latest scandal that was in the news about him. That was all there was with this guy, wasn’t there? One woman after the next.

  I should have figured. And it shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. The guy’s image was my problem, but that should have been the end of it. Instead, I tried to avoid him when I could because I didn’t like who he was. I didn’t like who I wasn’t to him.

  I didn’t even know what I was thinking.

  I drove to his place and waited outside after I let him know I’d arrived. When he appeared, he looked good. He wore blue jeans that were faded in all the right places, a white collared shirt, and a dark blue blazer that looked put together and casual, all at the same time. His hair was stylishly messy, and his smile was the kind that melted me from the core.

  I didn’t want to respond to him that way. How many other women had?

  “You look good,” I said. “Just the right amount of casual and flair.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I was following the advice of a great PR Manager I know.”

  I rolled my eyes. Cliché much?

  He didn’t mention my outfit, I noticed. I hadn’t dressed to impress him, of course. I wore dark skinny jeans and boots, with a blouse and a coat. It was Friday. A dress suit was too much.

  “Get in,” I said. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  I got into the driver’s seat and waited for Hanson to walk around the car. When he closed the door behind him, I was aware of his scent. He smelled fresh and manly, like he’d just been in the shower. No cologne or strong aftershave. Just soap.

  There was something so attractive about that. I shook off the thought. A lot of other women had thought the same.

  “Obviously, this whole thing is to thank you for your generous donation,” I said. “So, you’ll have to be gracious about it. You’re going to spend time with the kids. Engage with them, talk to them, get to know them a bit, but don’t get personal. Some of them are terminal, and the point is not to remind them of why they’re there.”

  “I get it,” Hanson said. “A few smiles, a few signatures.”

  “Right. I’ve arranged a photographer. We need to get some good photos of you out there, try to trump the bad publicity that’s constantly doing the rounds.”

  Hanson glanced at me when I said it. I wanted to ask about him the busty blond in the photo with him, but I bit my tongue. It didn’t matter.

  “I think I’ve got this,” Hanson said. “It will be easier than that donation speech you dumped on me.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t know if you were going to play along, then. I was scared if I told you beforehand, you would bail on me.”

  “That might have been accurate, then,” Hanson agreed. “But I get what you’re doing now. I don’t like running around like the local do-gooder. It’s not my style, but I’ll do it if it means I can play.”

  I nodded. That was what it was about, after all.

  I pulled into the parking lot at Jackson Memorial Hospital, and we walked to reception where I met Donny, the camera guy, and Mason, a reporter. I had chosen a team that were all male. I didn’t need Hanson to have any distractions.

  We walked through to Jackson’s Pediatric Center and announced ourselves.

  An older woman with a white coat met us. Her voice was deep from years of too many cigarettes, and she had smile wrinkles fanning out from her eyes when she greeted us.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said to Hanson, after she introduced herself as Doctor Cortez. “We are so lucky to have you visit us. The children are excited.”

  I let Hanson walk first, followed by Donny and his camera. Mason stayed next to me, jotting down notes as we went along.

  “We take care of kids that need extra medical attention while we let them do what kids do. We have a playground and activity rooms for the kids, so they won’t be bored while they’re in our care. We also make a point of teaching the child’s caregivers what they need to know to take care of their children at home.”

  I looked at Hanson. He wasn’t just pretending to care. He was interested in what Dr. Cortez had to say. We were taken to a few private rooms and shown the facilities. The rooms were all painted with bright colors and cartoon characters to liven up the space.

  “All of this will be upgraded now, thanks to your donation,” Cortez said. She smiled at Hanson, who nodded, smiling too.

  “Shall we meet the children?” she asked.

  We followed her to a large room with eight beds. The kids were ecstatic to see Hanson, even the girls. I stood to the side with Mason and watched him engage with them. He did everything I’d asked of him and more. I didn’t get the feeling that Hanson was just going through the motions to get back on the team. He really cared for children. He got on well with them, and he made sure not to mention anything that would come across wrong.

  “This is going to make a great story,” Mason said. He was still scribbling in a little notebook. Donny snapped away. Everyone ignored the camera, just the way it was supposed to be. “Thanks
for calling me.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  When it was time to wrap it up, Dr. Cortez walked away and returned shortly with a canvas with hand prints and a little plaque with Hanson’s name on it.

  “The children made it for you, to say thank you,” she said.

  Hanson accepted it and posed with Cortez and the children for one more photo before it was finally time to leave.

  When we were in the car, Hanson blew out his breath like he’d been holding it for the longest time.

  “That was intense,” he said.

  I nodded. It had been so much more emotional than I’d expected.

  “It was a good idea to do it,” I said. “Mason will write up a great story, and Donny got some fantastic photos. He’s one of the best there is.”

  “Thank you,” Hanson said, turning his head to me. “For all of this.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t thank me. I’m getting paid to do this.”

  Hanson nodded and looked straight ahead as I backed out of my parking space.

  “Let’s go out to dinner,” Hanson said. “To celebrate.”

  I shook my head. “Hanson.”

  “No, I mean as a business thing. To discuss our next move. That kind of thing. You’re allowed to do that, right?”

  I hesitated a moment before I nodded. Business dinner was fine, and we did have to talk about what was coming up next for Hanson.

  “Okay,” I said. “Where am I going?”

  Hanson directed me toward the water’s edge where we walked into Il Gabbiano, a classy Italian restaurant. We didn’t need a reservation. Hanson Bell got a table no matter where we went, and we were taken to a table that looked out over the water to the high-rise buildings across Biscayne Bay to Brickell Key.

  “This is nice,” I said, looking around. The restaurant was an upscale place but it had a homey feel to it, and I didn’t feel underdressed.

  “I love this place,” Hanson said. A waiter came to us and he ordered a bottle of wine. The waiter disappeared, and Hanson looked across the small table at me.