Page 27 of The Way We Fight

So maybe the sex helped me, not her. But if that was the key, then I needed to make sure we did that before every game.

Walking into my penthouse, I could smell tomatoes and garlic and my nose took me straight to the kitchen. Rhys was shirtless, with his back to me, and his head bent over into a cookbook. He hadn’t even realized I had come in.

“Aw, honey, you didn’t have to do this for me.” I teased him, making him jump from where he had been lost in the book.

“Fuck off. I got tired of eating out and I found this cookbook in the top of the pantry.” He angled his head back to the words. He had the cookbook my mom gave me when I went to college. It was supposed to be filled with cheap and easy recipes, but Rhys was making it look hard.

There were four pots on the stove, two looking like they may boil over, and the counters were trashed. I got up behind him to look over his shoulder and tried to figure out what had him so confused.

“It says I need minced garlic, but I got whole garlic and I don't know how to mince,” he explained.

A laugh I hadn't let out in a while escaped and Rhys turned around to look at me with concern. “Try a knife, bozo.”

“Are you okay? Did you finally lose it?”

“No,” I turned from his scrutiny and pulled a beer from the fridge. “Just feels good to win.”

“Holy shit, you got laid.” How the fuck did he know that? And how was that making me feel lighter? Maybe I just really was happy we won.

“Nope,” I lied. But that was pointless, because as I watched Rhys give up and throw whole cloves of garlic into a pot, I could tell by the smirk on his face that he didn't believe me.

“Nothing calms a man down more than pussy. Good pussy. The kind you walk away from and still think about hours later, maybe even days.”Months, I thought to myself. Charleigh had the kinda pussy that still had me thinking of New York like it truly was the “concrete jungle where dreams are made.”

“Okay, so I had sex. I’m not a kid, I have a lot of sex. It’s not a big deal.”

“Correct,” he turned and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the counter to eye me better. “Except you were a lunatic before half time. I watched the game. So, my question is, what happened at the half?”

My eyes gave me away, but the way my jaw dropped at his observation was the nail in my coffin. He laughed again and went back to his cookbook while I sat there and had an inner panic attack that I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought I was.

“Relax,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m your brother, and probably the only person that could figure that out so easily. Besides, I was just guessing that you got laid. Had you kept denying it, I would have believed you.”

I set my bottle on the counter and sighed in defeat. I left the kitchen, hoping he was successful with the food and called me when it was ready, but not able to stand in there and answer any more of his questions.

If I was going to tell anyone how fucked up, I was for fucking the ref during half time, it would be my brother. I trusted him with my life. But the truth being said out loud meant that I would be admitting I was acting like an adolescent with no self-control or morals. That was a harder truth for me since I had to act everyday like I had my shit together.

When I climbed from my shower, my phone was buzzing on my bed and I walked slowly over to answer it. No one called me on a Sunday night, so I sighed, expecting one of the players to have gotten in trouble while celebrating.

Looking down, I blew a breath of relief when I saw Al’s name pop up. He was probably wondering where I was since the last few games I had ended up at his place for a fight.

“Hey Al,” I answered.

“Where the hell are you?” he barked, making me smile at his predictability.

“Home, I’m fucking tired tonight.”

“You ghosting me again like you did after your trip to New York?”

I cringed because Al was half right. After being introduced to Charleigh’s pussy, I held back on fighting in the ring and didn’t show up to Al’s until she showed back up in my life. Now I could still feel how tight she squeezed my dick only hours ago and again didn’t feel the need to fight.

Huh?

“Nah, I had meetings with the owner and the bruises on my face weren’t a good look.” That was the truth and something I needed to be mindful of.

“So should I tell Sisco you don’t want a rematch?”

Why the fuck would I want to fight Sisco again?

I didn’t.

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