Page 76 of Fumbling for Perfection

“No offense, Jackson, but I have no desire to be in that office.”

“Shit. That was insensitive of me. Don’t blame you. For the record, Daddy Warbucks rarely makes an appearance anymore, and I’m pretty sure he’s still in Europe. Italy, maybe? Could be Greece now. No idea. Anyway, we can meet in the cafeteria on the fourth floor.”

The fact that Jackson doesn’t keep in contact with our father on the daily makes me like my brother a little more. I’d always thought they were attached at the hip. The father and his protegé.

“You don’t seem like the cafeteria type.”

“Riley hates my stuffy office. We don’t often have time to meet up during the day, but on the rare occasion she comes by, she insists on the cafeteria. It’s the only time I allow myself to eat mass produced food. I’m willing to do the same for you.”

Putting Riley and me in the same category is fitting for this meeting. “I can be there in thirty. That work?”

“Call me when you get here.”

I turn off the oven and toss the chicken I was about to prepare back in the fridge. Looking down at my workout shorts and shirt, I’m tempted to say fuck it. This is how I dress in August unless it’s a travel day, but I change for my brother’s sake.

Khaki shorts, a plain navy T-shirt, and slides aren't much better, but at least I don’t look like I just rolled out of bed. Since I’ve become more recognizable in Boston these days, I pull a Red Sox hat low on my forehead and head out to my SUV.

When I pull into the parking garage, I fire off a text and make my way up to the cafeteria to wait for Jackson. It’s not crowded this late at night. A few minutes later, Jackson, dressed to impress in his tailor-made suit, greets me with a handshake and pulls me in for a chest-bump hug. It’s our new thing. We’ve done it three times, but he’s proud to have a manly shake with me. And not gonna lie, I like it too.

“Their chicken salad is passable. Riley likes their meatball subs. I have no idea how anything else on the menu rates.”

We step up to the counter and I order two meatball subs, a side salad, and an iced tea. Jackson chuckles.

“Could have predicted that one.” He orders the chicken salad.

I insist on paying, and it isn’t until I’m halfway through my second sub that Jackson tosses his napkin on the tray and rests his elbows on the table.

“Bellies are full. So, what ails you, brother Bankes?”

I wipe my mouth and take a sip of iced tea. On my drive over, I practiced a few different ways to broach the subject. None of them sounded right.

“I need some advice.”

Jackson beams at my statement. “I love giving advice! Please, fire away.”

I clear my throat and push the rest of my sub aside. I’ll polish it off for dessert. Training camp always leaves me ravenous.

“I’m asking you as mybrother,not as...” I scratch at my neck. “Not as Riley’s friend.”

He narrows his eyes for a moment before he quirks a brow. “You’ve come for dating advice?” He rubs his hands together in excitement.

I huff out a sarcastic laugh. “Dating? I’m working on getting her to be my friend again. Once she doesn’t hate my guts, maybe then we can get to that stage.”

“She doesn’t hate your guts.”

I shake my head. “Brotherly advice. Forget you know the woman I’m referring to. Be objective.”

Jackson nods. “I’ll try, but she tells me everything, so it’s going to be hard to forget about all the sex you two have had.”

“Fucking Christ.” I rub my hand over my mouth. “This isn’t going to work.”

He taps his fingers on the edge of the table to get my attention. “Sorry. Erasing all the hotel sex stories from my memory.”

“She told you about—never mind. We’re starting over. That Riley is in the past, as is that Walker. We’ve both done and said some things we’re not proud of.”

“Wait. I thought this was about you not trusting her? Did you do something to piss her off?”

“She didn’t tell you?”

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