Page 6 of The Wrong Move

I end the call and jog down the staircase to answer the door. “You have the new code?”

Charlotte pushes past me. “You keep changing it. That tells me too many girls stay over,” she says aggressively. She has a point. “Get yourself a security guard.”

“I have one when I go out. What’s up? You’re not here to discuss who I sleep with or my protection.”

She digs her fists into her hips. “No, because everyone knows you’re notsleeping.” She rolls her eyes. “And God, I hope you’re using protection.”

Charlotte is the female version of myself—blue eyes and light brown hair. We are closer in age than our other siblings, and for the most part, we understand each other. Though she is hard to read of late, and tonight, with the shadows under her eyes and the agitation in her expression, she looks ten years older than me.

“Wait, who iseveryone?” I ask.

“Everyone in theoffice. Every player is watched. We prepare for collateral damage.”

“Jesus.” I tilt my head to the ceiling. “Does admin need to know every detail of what happens off the court?”

“Yes. I’m not about to let anyone fuck up and ruin our team, and that includes my brother.” She walks into the living room and pours herself a whiskey.

“Help yourself.”

She glares at me.

I shove my hands into my track pants pockets. Charlotte doesn’t intimidate me. Ever since she left college and began working at the LA Sharks’ administration department, she has taken on personal responsibility for keeping the players in shape and in line. It might be my father’s team, yet her personal investment in the team is too much for my comfort. She knowsalmosteverything about me.

She raises an eyebrow. “How many times have you changed the code on your door?” She walks to the balcony and takes in the sprawling city at dusk as the sun sets over the ocean. The view is one of the best, and I’m lucky to have a brother who works in real estate who discovered this beauty in Hollywood Hills for me.

Charlotte tilts her back and neck before taking another sip. She’s doing this more often lately, as though it somehow relieves her tension.

“Are you okay, Lottie?” I despise her treating me like I’m a teenager, but I hate seeing her stressed out like this.

“Of course I am. I just need you two douchebags to pull your heads in.”

Why does she always bring Brandon into this?

“As my sister, you get away with snarky remarks about me, but you don’t have the right to do it to BJ.” I shake my head. “And as much as I want to stand here and chat about trivialthings, I’m about to head out.” I press a button, and the twenty-foot glass doors slide closed.

Charlotte walks inside and eyes what I’m wearing. “You’re not going anywhere important dressed like that.”

I grin. “Observant. I was upstairs about to get dressed. I’m attending our high school reunion with Mason.”

Her eyes go round. She looks like our mother when she is surprised. “It’s not on your calendar.”

“Do I have to report to you every time I want to piss?”

“No, and don’t talk to me like that.” She downs the last of her drink.

“I’m not a fan of being managed like I’m still at school.”

“If you and Brandon didn’t mess up so spectacularly on your last away game, we wouldn’t be in this position.” Her edgy tone sharpens as she mentions Brandon’s name.

“We apologized, and all parties were consenting adults.”

“If photos are leaked?—”

“There were no photos. How many times do I have to say it?”

She stares at me. “Fine. But it’s the last week of August. You need to be at your best for training in the morning.”

“Lottie, this is not my first rodeo.”

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