“Dude. You’re allowed to have an off day. You train so hard every day—it’s fine.” I tucked my messy hair behind my ears, slinking back into my warm spot under the covers. “You know as well as I do that you’re gonna bounce back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I probably just need to sleep it off.” His voice wavered with some concern.
“Plus, we just got here. You know how new cities affect you. It takes a few days to find your rhythm. That’s why we always come early.”
“Yeah. I know.” He fingered a ring on his left hand, his classic nervous habit. “You’re right.”
“Besides…” I swallowed hard, willing the words to come out of my mouth. This would fire him up more than anything. “Look who you’re fighting.”
He let a cocky snort. “Jesus. I know.” He popped to his feet, pacing the floor in front of the curtained window. “The fight will be easy. But the interview…”
I propped my head up on my hand, watching as he peered through the slit in the curtain. His classically handsome features were wrought into concern. Brute was a beefsteak—slabs of cut muscle, the most formidable opponent when it came to playing steamroller as a kid. His legal name was Stanford, but that fell out of favor once he snagged the nickname Brute by mercilessly barreling over his classmates in pee-wee football. Now, the IRS was the only one who called him by his given name.
But despite the external hardness his eyes were soft, something I’d always loved about him. A light brown that betrayed all his emotions, or maybe I was one of few who could read them. When he looked over at me, insecurity danced through his gaze.
We’d had these roles since childhood. I knew how to build him up. And he knew how to protect me, make me feel safe.
“You already know exactly what you need to say to him to keep the upper hand.” Usually I’d coach him on those words, but it felt wrong in the afterglow of those orgasms to talk shit about Hawk. “You could say it in your sleep.”
“Yep. Dirty fighter.” He ticked off one finger. “Trash talking loudmouth.” He ticked off another finger. “Blowing up the tabloids for attention like a D-list celebrity.”
“See? You’ve got it.” My stomach turned, and I gathered the covers around me. “Now I need to go to bed.”
“You coming to lunch?”
“Does it look like it?” I harrumphed and burrowed into the covers. “I’ll be around for dinner. You guys can survive without me for a few hours. Your social media accounts are scheduled three days in advance, so don’t worry about a hiccup.”
“I was just worried about you, sis.” He swatted at my hair and then squeezed my shoulder through the comforter. “Rest up so you can go back to micromanaging my life.”
I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it, and listened as his footsteps headed toward the door. When the door shut I snickered, finally allowing the humor to sink in. He always ribbed me about how his little sister controlled most aspects of his life, and I didn’t bother reminding him that he begged me to take the reins of his public persona and paid me handsomely to do so. It was just one of those sibling things.
But the smile fell quickly. Not only was I the copilot for plotting out his public feuds, I gave him the fodder he needed to be able to attack his enemies.
What I’d done with Hawk was wrong. I wasn’t supposed to have sex with the man I had personally helped smear in the tabloids. I’d dug up dirt about his family (absent father, fame-seeking mother), his sexual history (lots of slutty actresses in his past, never seen with the same girl twice), even his university years (former business major until his MMA fights became too lucrative). If I found out my one-night stand had a similar file on me…it would feel too gross for words.
I pinched my eyes shut, trying to keep the guilt from consuming me. Even though I’d done all that, I’d always been drawn to Hawk. And now that I knew him, I didn’t believe half of what I’d whispered into Brute’s ear about him.
But that didn’t mean I should talk to him ever again.
I needed to leave it a one-night-stand.
Even though every cell in my body was desperate for more.