Page 6 of The Way We Touch

“Nice to meet you.” My voice is quieter. “Good luck with… everything.”

She shakes her red head. “Don’t tell my life story.”

“It’s a good story! You should be proud.”

Garrett is a giant, cocky, friendly bear with curly brown hair and a thick beard. He’s casual in a T-shirt and jeans, and his dimpled grin and merry blue eyes put everyone at ease.

By contrast, I’m lean muscle, dressed in a suit jacket with my dark hair styled and a light scruff on my cheeks. I study the world with my brow lowered, and there’s not many people I trust. Life has taught me to maintain a buffer.

All that to say, we’re pretty much night and day.

“Grab what you need and be at my place in an hour. I want to be on the road by ten.” He’s not giving me time to come up with an excuse, and I don’t really want to.

Escaping to a small town on the coast sounds pretty good right now.

“You know my dad has a private jet service. We don’t have to drive.”

“Nah, I gotta have my truck.”

Garrett and his truck. “I don’t know anyone who drives a pickup in the city.”

“They should. Most useful vehicle on the road.”

“Well, if it isn’t Low-gas Murphy.” The annoying voice comes from behind me, and I turn to see Ricky Berke, wide receiver for the Challengers swaggering to where we’re standing.

“Bro, that is the stupidest dunk. It’s not even close to his nickname.” Garrett leans on an elbow and still towers over Ricky.

My nemesis is undeterred. “I noticed you weren’t at the White Party this year, Murph. Losing your cool, old man?”

In the race for MVP, it’s down to me and this guy, three years in and completely full of himself. Just like I was, I guess, only I’d like to think I wasn’t a total asshole.

“Actually, I was in Houston with my dad for the Fourth.” And it was hot as the face of the sun and humid as a fucking rainforest.

“I heard you weren’t invited.” Ricky lifts his chin. “No surprise. Mr. Rubin only invites the best to his parties. Not sad ole has-beens like you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dick.”

I don’t bother defending myself. My father and I have been on the guest list for that annual summer party in the Hamptons since before I was in high school.

“I’m surprised you made the cut this year, Dicky,” Garrett steps up beside me, crossing his arms. “I heard Mike likes ass-kissing copycats even less.”

Ricky and I are the same height and build, but he has bright red hair, brown eyes, and pale skin covered in freckles. I’m a little faster than he is, and my secret weapon is Garrett covering my ass and helping me make the plays that keep the commentators talking.

“Like you know anything, Grizz.” He looks past Garrett. “Where’s Natalia?”

This guy is always swimming in my wake.

“I left her at Galileo’s. She might still be there if you’re interested.”

“I heard she spent last month on a yacht in the Mediterranean with some Greek mogul.” Ricky smirks. “And now ESPN has you trailing me in the MVP race. It really is a drag getting old.”

“It’s better than the alternative.” I slap his shoulder, not interested in engaging any further.

“And by alternative he means you.” Garrett points at him, a laugh in his voice, and he’s vibrating, hoping Ricky is dumb enough to take a swing at one of us.

He’s always up for a good bar brawl—because he always wins.

I put my hand on my friend’s shoulder. “Meet at your place at ten, right?” Turning to Ricky, I tip my head. “Natalia’s all yours.”

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