Sacked (The New York Nighthawks 1)

He shook his head. “Nah, I have a publicist who handles the big stuff, but I prefer to have someone who can put a more personal touch on my social media. With you already doing Nixon’s accounts and us being teammates, you’d be perfect. You’ll already be around to take photos of him, so it shouldn’t be a lot of extra work for you to snap some of me too, right?”

“It wouldn’t be hard at all.” In fact, the most difficult part would be forcing my lens toward my brother since I’d have free rein to stare at Prentice all day.

“Plus, having another client would be great for your résumé.” He beamed a confident grin at me. “And being able to use me as a reference couldn’t hurt. My name tends to open doors in certain places.”

I snorted at the understatement. “Yeah, like anywhere in the United States.”

“Some other countries too since I’ve done my fair share of international ads as well.”

That was putting it mildly. Considering I’d saved the Italian Vogue spread he did last year, I should know. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

“Good, then it’s settled.”

“What’s settled?” Nixon asked, flopping down onto the chair next to me.

Prentice slid a glass of water toward him. “Your sister is going to help me with my social media.”

“Awesssome.”

Judging by the glazed look in Nixon’s eyes and how he’d just slurred, I figured he’d had more than enough to drink. “I think it’s time to call it a night.”

Before Nixon could argue, Prentice pushed away from the table and agreed, “Your sister is right. Seven is going to roll around before you know it, and we all need to be at the stadium for our morning weightlifting session.”

“Ugh, you’re right.” Nixon guzzled down the water as I stood. Then he stumbled against me and flung his arm around my shoulders, almost taking me down with him.

Prentice moved quickly, circling the table to wrap his hands around my waist to steady me. “You good?”

“Yeah.” A simple touch from him left me noticeably breathless, and I hoped that he assumed it was because Nixon had almost knocked me over.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured, his thumb stroking over my side before he dropped his hands to reach for my brother. “C’mon, I’ll walk you guys to your car.”

Nixon let Prentice guide him out of the club. “Thanks, man. You’re the bessst.”

As we walked to the car, I wondered what was going on with my brother. His head was swaying from side to side as Prentice practically carried him through the parking lot. He was singing something under his breath, but I couldn’t catch enough of the lyrics to recognize the song. Just little pieces about writing letters in his head about stuff he wanted to say. When he stumbled over a part about being a wife and mumbled about being a husband instead, I giggled since he was as bad as me when it came to dating.

Worse actually. Being a hotshot football player meant that girls were always throwing themselves at him. He just never bothered to catch any of them as far as I was aware.

Seeing him drunk like this was pretty funny, but I couldn’t remember a time when I’d ever seen him overdo it. Although I’d come to New York for my own reasons, I was suddenly glad that I’d be around to keep an eye on him and make sure the pressure of going pro wasn’t getting to him.

When we reached my brother’s Range Rover Evoque—his first big purchase after he got his signing bonus—I undid the locks so Prentice could help him into the passenger side. When Nixon was slumped in the seat, he stared up at the quarterback. “Seriously, dude. You’re the only guy on the team I’d ever trust with my baby sister. I owe you for looking after her tonight.”

Before my brother embarrassed me further, I nudged Prentice out of the way. Then I slammed the car door shut and muttered, “He might be older than me, but there’s no denying I’m the more responsible sibling.”

“I know it might not seem like it tonight, but your brother is holding up pretty damn well for a rookie,” he assured me as he circled the vehicle at my side. “He’ll settle in just fine, and I’ll keep an eye on him.”

I beamed a smile at him as some of my concern eased. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Meet me at my house tomorrow at four?”

The full impact of what it meant to work on Prentice’s social media hit me. We’d be spending time together. Alone. Just the two of us. At his house. Where there were beds.

I tried to keep my dirty thoughts out of my tone as I casually replied, “Sure.”

“Your brother has my address.” He stretched his hand out. “But if you give me your phone, I’ll put my number in for you.”