Page 20 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

Relaxing in my chair, I fold my arms. “Just so we’re clear, the tickets don’t count as one of my favors since you agreed to get the tickets before you owed me,” I say with a smug expression.

“Figured you’d say that,” Harrison complains. “What the hell do you need two favors for anyway?”

From my observation, favors are reserved for close friends and family. Since I refuse to ever be in someone’s debt, I prefer collecting favors when people owe me to avoid any misconceptions about obligations. In my opinion, it’s better to keep things clear and straightforward.

I shrug. “Might as well have a couple in the bank for emergencies. Never know when I might need help hiding a dead body,” I deadpan.

“You better not get me or my brothers into any legal trouble,” Harrison warns.

I give him a pat on the back. “Lucky for you, you’ve got a great lawyer.”

His alarmed expression only makes me chuckle. Cashing in these favors might turn out to be entertaining after all.

The next afternoon, I pull up to the apartment building Christian and his mom live in to find him waiting outside on the curb.

He’s sporting the baseball cap I got him at a Yankees game last year that keeps his shaggy blond hair from falling in his eyes. He has an athletic build with broad shoulders from playing football and baseball.

I cover the cost for him to explore any extracurricular activities he’s interested in, wanting him to have every opportunity I never had growing up.

“Hey, Dawson,” he says, grinning.

I hop off my bike and give him a fist bump. “Hey, kid.”

“When are you going to give me a ride?” He adjusts his baseball cap as he admires my limited-edition Confederate FA-13 Combat Bomber. “I’d be the coolest kid at school if you dropped me off on this thing.”

He’s only fourteen, but in many ways he’s more focused and disciplined than most adults. With his mom working long hours as a nurse at the local hospital, Christian helps with the household chores and cooks so she has a meal waiting for her after a long shift.

“Sorry, Christian. I promised your mom I wouldn’t take you on my bike.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, I’m still going to keep asking.” He runs his hand over the bike. “One of these days she’ll come around.”

I’ve got to give him credit for his perseverance.

I pull out an envelope from my leather jacket and hand it to him. “In my opinion, this is even better than going for a ride.”

Christian gives me a skeptical look when he opens it up, his eyes growing wide when he takes out the booklet of tickets. “Are you serious? Is this what I think it is?” He’s grinning from ear to ear.

A swell of pride fills me as I see his face light up. After everything he’s been through, witnessing the joy in his eyes means everything. I’ll always go the extra mile for this kid, no matter what.

“If you guessed season tickets to the Mavericks, you would be right,” I say.

“This is incredible. Thanks, Dawson—you’re the best big brother ever,” Christian exclaims, throwing his arms around me in a hug.

I pause briefly before wrapping one arm around him in a side hug. Growing up in foster care, most of the physical touches I received were harsh and impersonal, aside from the occasional handshake or hug from a case worker, and even those were few and far between.

Christian and I might not be part of a Big Brothers Big Sisters program, but it became a running joke when we started hanging out. Before long, he was calling me his big brother and I’ve found that I don’t mind it.

I tousle his hair. “Sure thing, kid.”

“Can I go show Koda? He’s our new neighbor and loves the Mavericks too.”

“Yeah, I’ll wait out here. You still down to get tacos and ice cream?”

“Hell yeah.” He grins. “My mom’s shift ends in an hour. Can we get her something, too? She loves tacos.”

“Of course, but watch your language,” I warn.

He crosses his arms, a stern expression on his face. “How come? You swear all the time.”

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