1
Tex
"I need a favor."
I hold the mug of hot chocolate between my palms, letting the heat seep into my fingers, and shoot a wary look my brother’s way. "Out of your mouth, those are the four most terrifying words in the English language."
Kimball smiles. Then stops. Then starts nodding like he actually agrees with me. Catches himself. And smiles again. It's clown-level creepy, and if I didn't deal with dead bodies for a living, I might be worried right about now.
Instead, I'm mildly curious. I wondered why he invited me to have lunch with him at The Leafy Nook today, the part café, part bookshop, part community garden I frequent for every single meal because I was,tragically, born with kitchenitis: a condition that kicks in the second I try cooking anything and guarantees whatever I make is inedible.
The choice of location isn't a mystery. His boyfriend, Bean, who just so happens to be my best friend, and I just so happen to have played an instrumental role in getting them together because I just so happen to be the world's greatest best friend, works here. Bean also built most of the wooden tables and mismatched chairs, benches, and bar stools scattered throughout the place from reclaimed materials because he's wildly talented like that. So, yeah, any chance Kimball can get to spend time with Bean, he'll take in a heartbeat. No brainer there.
Bean is currently behind the counter, chatting to Barry Wexler, the small-town grump perched in his usual spot at the end of the bar. Kimball's eyes drift over to Bean every so often, and every time, without fail, he smiles likea goofball. It makes me smile, too, seeing how happy he's been since returning to Gilberton. I'm proud of myself. Some of my finest work, bringing my two closest people together.
However, as close as Kimmy and I are, we don't normally do lunch on Wednesdays. In fact, he's been so busy helping Rein and Beau get the Gilberton Grizzlies minor league football team off the ground in addition to preparing for his role as defensive coach and hanging out with Bean, we haven't caught up face-to-face since the holidays last month.
"It's not that bad—" he begins, then clears his throat. "Let me rephrase that. Itisthat bad, but I'm desperate."
I take a slow sip and let the warm cocoa sweetness settle on my tongue. "I'm listening."
"The rental the team arranged for TD Banks fell through after the owner showed up early and decided not to lease it out anymore. We've been scrambling trying to find him something else, but with all the coaching and support staff converging on Gilberton, finding a place has been damn near impossible."
His eyes meet mine.
Kimball and I are technically half brothers. We share the same dad. But despite that, and the fact that he's twelve years older than me, I idolize the guy and would do anything for him.
Including, probably, whatever he's about to ask, too. Not that I intend to be a pushover and make ittooeasy for him.
"Wait a sec. Is this the same TD Banks who got the head coach role you secretly, not so secretly, want and has been driving Beau and Rein up the wall for months now even though pre-season hasn't even started yet?"
Kimmy winces, dragging his hand through his surfer-boy-blond locks. "The one and only."
"And you hate me because?"
He grins. "I don't hate you. You're my second favorite person in here." Eyes be drifting again. "I'm asking because I'm desperate, and it's only until we can find somewhere else for him. It'll hopefully only be for a few weeks, max."
"When does he get here?" I ask. When Kimmy's eyes flick not to his boyfriend behind the bar but to the entrance, I jerk upright. "You're shitting me."
"Relax," he says. "I wouldn't spring it on you like that. He's arriving…this evening."
I blow out a breath, grateful for the reprieve. Even if it is only a minor one.
Unlike most people in Gilberton, or all of New England for that matter, I'm not a hardcore football fanatic. But since Kimmy was an NFL coach before moving back home, I followed his career closely. Athletes may get all the glory, but the support staff, like coaches and trainers, dietitians, and therapists, put in so much hard work, too, and, in my humble opinion, deserve a lot more kudos than they get.
So, yeah, I know who TD Banks is. He was the best damn coach in the pro league…until his personal life imploded a few years ago with shocking allegations that were later retracted and an ongoing divorce and custody battle that makes the Johnny Depp and Amber Heard saga look like a walk in the park. In the pro league, TD is persona non grata with a capital PNG.
And if I'm being completely honest,someof the attention I've paid himmighthave something to do with him being the single hottest man I've ever laid eyes on inall my twenty-five years. Intense, focused, masculine, and always in control.
Oh, and I haven't even gotten to the best bit—his resting coach face.
TD Banks has a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and narrow hazel eyes that make his stare feel steady, like he’s always taking everything in without trying. Dark blond hair, cut short on the sides and longer on top, and the faint lines on his forehead give him that rugged, ex-athlete look.
I've always had a thing for older guys, but commanding, slightly surly older guys? Tie me up and have your way with me,puh-lease!
Back to Kimball's offer. I should be jumping on it, shouldn't I? Rooming with a coach fantasy come to life who'll be so busy I probably won't even see that much of him, except for, you know, early mornings and late evenings. When he's wearing sweats. Or a tank top. I should be jumping for joy and saying yes without hesitation.
"You're worried about his reputation, aren't you?" Kimball hedges, scrutinizing my face.
