Page 139 of Cohesion

“You slipped. On nothing. It worries me how uncoordinated you are, considering what you do for a living.”

Rude. “I am perfectly coordinated.”

“Don’t make me run through the list of all the ways that’s incorrect. I even have both photographicandvideo proof. How do you not injure yourself every time you’re on a job?”

“Work-me and home-me are two different people.” Obviously. He wasn’t going to talk about that one time he’d tripped coming out of the BearCat. Harry didn’t need ammunition.

“Thepoint,” Harry said loudly, “is that you can’t talk.”

“I assure you, I’m very good at it,” Will argued. “Consecutive double faults and a foot fault is deserving of ultimate bribery material, and that’s just the truth. You can’t be that sloppy in the top ten, bro. I know it’s a new thing for you, but FYI.”

“Piss off,” Harry muttered. “Anyway, how can it be bribery material when the whole fucking world saw it?”

“Not the whole world. I know you think you’re all that, but there are parts of the world that don’t actually watch tennis,” Will said. He stuck his hand in his pocket in search of the key that Quinn had given him. He knew it was on his person somewhere. He came out with a mini Chuppa Chup he’d forgotten he had. He’d eat that later. Next was a tissue. Why—He had no idea. He wasn’t going to try to work that out. Aha. Key!

“Blasphemous lies. Did you actually watch?” Harry asked sceptically.

“Not the whole match, but I watched the highlight reels. Salvatore Mancini really picked apart your form.Hisform was on point. Do commentators get points? They should.”

“He’s an asshole; he shouldn’t get any points,” Harry said with a huff. “Just because he’s sour about being too old to play.”

“Well, he’s a funny one,” Will said with a grin. Was Mancini even that old? How old was too old to playtennis? He jammed the phone between his ear and shoulder as he worked the key into the lock.

“Whose side are you on?”

“His. Was I not obvious enough?” He could make it clearer.

“Why do people think you’re the nice brother?”

“No idea. I didn’t tell anyone that.” Will kicked the door shut with his heel and shoved the key back in his pocket, never to be found again.

“Did you know he wrote an ‘opinion piece’ on me that was less than flattering? Like ‘stepped in your dog’s business’ level of unflattering. I wanted to scrunch it up and choke him with the paper.”

“That low, huh?” Will couldn’t remember Harry mentioning that one, but he mentioned Mancini a lot, and Will tuned some of it—most of it—out after all this time. “Do you need another lecture from Aubrey about reading your own press?” he asked.

He made his way into the living room. Jericho’s car was out front, and so was Peyton’s bike. They had to be here somewhere.

“I can’t help it,” Harry said. He blew out a breath. “If it has his name attached to it, then I have to read it. He’s such a smarmy dickbag, Will. You have no idea. He thinks because he was some big champion sixty years ago that he’s the only one who’s ever had talent. His ego is the size of the entireplanet.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you listening to me?”

Sort of. “Yes. Is he even sixty years old?” How could he have won anything that far back? Will thought he was more like… forty? He’d check online later. There was a disturbing amount of information available about sports players online.

“Are you just going to sit there and poke holes in my rant?”

“… no?”

Harry sighed heavily. “Aubs can’t talk either. Remember when they did that magazine feature on their top-ten favourite bars in Sydney?”

“All your arguments require past events, which I think makes them invalid.” Will chuckled at the memory, though. Aubrey had manically checked every bar on the list above him and then dragged Will, Harry, and Peyton—both of whom were luckily in the country at the time, or unluckily, depending on who was asked—to each of them. None of them had been game to be honest about the drinks they’d been served. Not when they’d been good, anyway. Aubrey’d had wild, crazy eyes. Their self-preservation instincts had well and truly kicked in.

“It makes themmorevalid, actually,” Harry said. “I didn’t overreact like that.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Will said solemnly. Aubrey liked that one. Though Will didn’t agree with Harry’s statement. If he wrote down how many times he’d had to hear about this commentator, he could write a book. Would people buy that? Maybe if he put Harry’s name on it.

“Aubrey sent me an email with a GIF he made himself. It said, ‘Better luck next time.’ I didn’t even lose! I’m sending him a giant bag of dicks for his birthday.”

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