Page 17 of Against The Rules

Always be closing

I swear to god, Ben, if you don’t stop quoting that stupid scene

Are you going to lobotomize me, Luke?

I could, since I’m a brain surgeon

I’m not reading all this shit

You couldn’t read it all even if you wanted to… you’re not a brain surgeon like me

We were taking bets on whether or not you nailed that hot blonde from Vegas

Yeah, your wife

Did you close the deal on your wife????

Irritation climbs through me, hot and unexpected. I don’t like them talking like that about her. Since when has it bothered me, their casual womanizing?

Why is it bothering me now?

I notice the shadow looming over me too late, too distracted by my strange annoyance at them talking about Savannah like that. Like she’s… just another one of the women that warms my bed.

“Your wife?” Jacob laughs, peeking over my shoulder. “That’s a good one.”

I slowly squeeze my eyes shut, my phone dropping to my side, my muscles stiff with tension.

My brother sucks in a breath. “Holy shit. Wait. I thought he was joking… but you went to Vegas. Fucking hell, Ty, tell me you didn’t get married. Tell me this is a joke.”

“What I’ll tell you, is that this is none of your business,” I mutter, turning away from him and pulling my clothes out of the locker. Yeah, I’m playing it real cool.

“I’m your brother, your life is my business.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t.”

Jacob’s fist smashes into the locker next to mine, and that, more than anything, startles me.

“Why do you fucking act like this?”

I jut my chin out, tugging my shirt overhead. “Like what?”

“Don’t make me say it.” He runs a hand through his wavy brown hair, making it stand on end. “Dude, I don’t… I just…” he pauses, clearly at a loss for words. “Are you okay?”

“I can take care of myself, bro,” I tell him through clenched teeth.

“You got married in Vegas and didn’t tell me,” he says quietly, and I glance around, worried someone’s heard. “That’s fucked up. We’re supposed to be friends.”

“I had a good reason not to tell you.”

“But you told your douchebag friends,” he says, and a glimpse of hurt crosses his features.

“Not here,” I say, quietly, because goddamnit, that’s all it takes—Jacob looking upset that I haven’t told him something—for me to fold. I’m nine years old all over again, and all I want is his approval.

“Not here?” he echoes, and then seems to realize that yeah, we’re still surrounded by the team, all changing out of our practice uniforms. “Right.”

He still seems dejected, so I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about her,” I promise him. “But you have to keep it a secret.”

His eyes narrow, and he rubs the beard on his jaw, considering. “I can do that,” he says, then smiles wide at me. “But I swear to god, if you’re in trouble, you better fucking tell me that too.”

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