Long Shot (Hoops 1)

“I’m hungry. Are we going to eat, or what?”

I know I sound like the spoiled sorority girl he assumed I was, but whatever. Talking about food is highly preferable to discussing my family drama, which goes back too far and down to deep. Especially on an empty stomach.

He shifts his glance back to the line of cars pulling away from the airport. Those full lips don’t tug into the easy smile he showed me before. I regret making things heavy. Shit got too real too fast.

“Sure.” Eyes ahead, he shifts from park to drive and pulls away from the curb. “I know just the place. Food’s great.”

Maybe to distract myself from the familiar disappointment sitting alongside the hunger in my belly, I run my eyes discreetly over all six feet and however many inches of him. He’s nothing like the guys I’ve dated, but gorgeous nonetheless. He tucks his bottom lip between an even row of white teeth, concentrating on the ever-hellish LA traffic. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I imagine biting that bottom lip.

Am I hungry? Oh, yeah.

FLOW - Chapter 3

Bristol

ALL THOSE CAUTIONARY tales about stranger danger apparently didn’t take because I’m currently cruising down the I-5 with a man I met only minutes ago, who may have the face and body of a lower level deity but has not provided any real proof that he actually knows my brother. Yet, how else would he have known my name? And he did have that hideous throwback picture on his phone. I’m fairly certain he’s no Ted Bundy, but I could have at least asked to speak with Rhyson to confirm. I slide a surreptitious glance his way, studying the hands on the steering wheel. Those hands are grace and capability, rough and smooth. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t wring my neck …

“So, how did you say you know my brother again?” I ask, deliberately nonchalant.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to asking some questions.” His expression loosens into a grin. “You keep looking at me like I might pull over at the next rest stop and stuff you in the trunk.”

“Who … what … me? Noooo.”

His breaks away from the traffic long enough to give me a knowing look, accompanied by a smirk.

“Okay, maybe a little.” A nervous laugh slips out. “I actually was thinking I should have asked for some proof or ID or something. Not just hopped in the car with a perfect stranger.”

“Perfect?” Cockiness curves his lips. “I get that a lot.”

“You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you?” I laugh.

“Oh, I shouldn’t be?” Even in profile, his grin is a little dazzling. “No, you’re right. I could have offered more than ‘I’m Grip. Let’s eat.’”

He tips his head toward the phone in my lap.

“Why don’t you call Rhys so you can breathe a little easier?”

I should have thought of that. What’s wrong with me? Maybe subconsciously there’s some part of me that’s hesitant to call, dreading those first awkward moments when Rhyson and I have no idea what to say to each other. When it becomes terribly apparent I no longer know my twin brother and he no longer knows me.

If he ever really did.

“It’s ringing,” I tell Grip, phone pressed to my ear.

“Bristol?” My brother’s deep voice rumbles from the other end. Even arranging this trip we talked very little, coordinating most of it by email and text. Hearing his voice, knowing I’ll see him, affects me more deeply than I thought it would. He has no idea how much I’ve missed him. Emotion blisters my throat. Even though we haven’t talked much the last few years, he sounds the way he always did when I would slip into his rehearsal room while he was playing. Exhausted and distracted.

“Yeah. It’s me.” I draw a deep breath and dive in. “So, you couldn’t break away long enough to meet your long lost sister at the airport, huh?”

“Lost sister?” Rhyson emits a disbelieving puff of air. “You? Lost? Never.”

He really has no idea. No one does.

“I would have been there,” Rhyson continues. “I made sure I’d be done with this by the time you landed, but this artist and her label are riding me hard about remastering—”

“Yeah, I heard,” I cut in. “It’s fine. I’ll see you when you’re done. You will be done soon, right?”

“Uh … soon? Sure. Relatively soon.”

That could mean anything from tonight to next year when Rhyson’s immersed in music. At least, that used to be the case, but I doubt much has changed.