Page 28 of Necessary Roughness

“I think you’re following me,” he added.

Claire cackled. “I think Leonard is a sneaky son of a bitch!”

I stood my ground. “I’m not here to answer questions, Brett. I don’t want to provide more fodder for youresteemedpodcast.”

Claire laughed again.

I could tell she was a hoot. It was odd to me that someone hilarious like her would choose such a boring, hateful, dud of a friend like Brett.

Brett scowled. “I understand you’re not here to answer questions, just to relax. Is it hard transitioning from a legend to just another retired guy with too much time on his hands?”

What an ass.

“That sounds like another question to me,” I rebuffed. “Still making a career out of tearing down people who’ve actually achieved something, huh?”

Brett sipped his drink, glaring at me with a furious stare. “Funny how you’re always complaining about the media when I’m the only one keeping you relevant these days.”

Fuck.

Fuck this guy.

That one got me. He knew exactly how to sharpen his words and point them directly at me like a dagger.

I wanted to hurt him right back. I needed to let him know that his career efforts paled in comparison to the things I had achieved.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Brett,” I smirked, “boats like this aren’t exactly in the budget of a no-name podcaster.”

“Right?” Claire loudly agreed between sips of her cocktail. “Brett, this yacht is like a five-star resort, and your podcast setup looks like it was assembled by a toddler with a glue stick!”

“Hey!” Brett shouted, lifting his drink into the air.

Claire laughed maniacally, punctuated by the sounds of seagulls squawking around us.

Brett seemed furious at his friend, but he returned his focus to me and pursed his lips together in a feigned pout. “Big guy like you and all you’ve got left is a bruised ego and a pile of money. Must be rough.”

Before I could tee up a brutal response, Leonard appeared and cleared his throat. “Ah, I see the stars have aligned on deck!”

Leonard had changed outfits and was donning a captain’s hat and a sequined robe.

At least he’s consistent in his lunacy, I thought.

“I wouldn’t say they’ve aligned,” Brett scoffed, climbing out of the hot tub. “I need another drink.”

As I watched him get out, I realized that it was my first time seeing Brett with his shirt off. Which was odd, considering that we both lived smack-dab on the beach.

I was completely and totally prepared to judge him. To mentally rip him apart and confirm for myself that I did, in fact, hate him. In the back of my mind, I secretly hoped he’d be pudgy and out of shape under those pretentious shirts he wore. Instead, I was frustrated—and slightly perplexed—to realize that he was fit.

As in, pro athlete, clean diet, meticulous workout program fit.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but Brett Mercer was obviously someone who kept in shape.

His body looked like it was the result of countless hours in the gym, sculpted and refined to near perfection. His broad shoulders tapered down to a lean, tight waist and each defined muscle in his biceps and chest seemed to ripple under his skin with every movement. His abs appeared to be a hard, chiseled six-pack, the kind that looked like they’d been carved out of marble. Years of obvious dedication had given him a physique that was equal parts power and pleasure.

Claire cleared her throat, shaking me from my thoughts. “Luke?”

I quickly realized that I had been standing silently for at least a few seconds, staring at Brett’s shirtless body as he climbed out of the hot tub.

Leonard stared at me, confused. “I said do you want a drink, my boy? There’s a full bar!”

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