“No, thank you.” I stare out the window as I come out of a haze from a daydream—a memory of the night I walked in on Byron and Brandon hooking up with girls after a game in New York.
It was in their first year of playing for the LA Sharks. Rookies of the NBA, and yet both played well, securing their positions on the team. Women were like magnets to the more famous players like Simpson and Drew, and wherever we played, there was someone waiting for them.
In the early years, my father and Franklin delivered a speech to Byron, warning him of the implications of misconduct when you become famous.
“Don’t fuck it up,” Franklin had warned.
Brandon was also aware of my family’s expectations, and wehad just started to secretly hook up. After a year of flirting, it wasn’t a surprise. A harmless kiss—no one else needed to know. Only months later, it happened again. And again.
At that stage, I wasn’t stupid enough to fall into bed with him.
Byron would have killed him—us. On occasions, we came awfully close, but I had already given my heart to him and thought he felt the same way until that game in New York. I was in the restaurant with the team manager when I received a text from Leroy.
Sensible and loyal Leroy, who will get the job done on the court. A no-frills type of guy and not a flashy player. So when he asked me to meet him outside his room, I didn’t question why.
“You need to go to Simpson’s room and sort shit out before Coach hears about it.” His dark eyes bored into mine with a sense of urgency and anger.
“What number?”
“413.”
The door slammed.
He wanted no part in this.
My father owned the team, and my brother was an upcoming star. He knew the repercussions of players with bad behavior on the team and the players.
That night, I banged on the door, ready to tell Simpson to pull his head in. Long dark hair caught my attention, alluring brown eyes, a slow, sexy smile. “Babe,” she said and looked over her shoulder. My heart raced. Did I have the wrong room?
“Who is it?”
I knew Simpson’s voice, so I pushed the door open and walked in.
“Hey.” Simpson had the decency to pull up a sheet to cover himself.
His tone had Drew calling from the other room. “Who is it?”
“Party’s over,” Simpson had shot back.
I glared at him to confirm it, then marched toward the other room.
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Whatever.” I had seen their naked bodies in the locker room, only I wasn’t prepared for what was behind the other door.
“Squeeze them, honey.” A white powdered line between the blonde’s ample breasts was clearly visible as he lay between her thighs. She wiggled her hips to urge him to hurry up. I looked away to the other two guys on the other bed with a redhead. Her breasts were in full view. Speechless, I leaned on the doorframe, willing my brain to say the necessary words. Brandon pulled his finger from her lips. Byron’s hand was between her legs.
“The fuck?”
“Lottie!” Byron flew off the bed and stepped toward me. “What the hell are you doing?”
I held up my hand in warning.
Brandon fell back onto the wall in shock, landing in a squat position. There was nowhere else for him to go. He bowed his head, unable to look at me. I couldn’t look at the fucker either.
“Are you nuts? What if I was Coach?” I glared at Byron. The anger rolled off me in waves. If these idiots wanted to ruin their career for a night of fun, then that was on them, but not my brother. Our family had invested time and finance into this club, and I’d be damned if I sat by and witnessed him undo everything with one bad decision.
I looked at the women. “You have thirty seconds to get out.” I had to remember to breathe because a knife had sliced through my heart, stealing all breath until Simpson grinned his infuriating trademark smirk. “I won’t protect any of you next time. If you all think this is what the game is about, then you’re on the wrong team.” I stormed toward the door and then looked back at the brunette. “Thirty seconds.”
