“You’re so fucking petty,” Lucas says, laughing as he pours himself a drink.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
I focus on the stack of papers in front of me, while my cousin walks around the penthouse telling me what he likes and doesn’t like about it. The penthouse he currently lives in is in the building beside the one I’m remodeling, but unlike me, he met with the builder and had a say in every detail of his.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to just give in and work for our dads?” he asks as he paces.
I stop everything I’m doing and look at him. “No. Do you?”
Our fathers were born with silver spoons in their mouths and gained access to their inheritance when they turned twenty-one. While my dad made smart investments, Lucas’ blew threw a lot of it, something that’s very difficult to accomplish considering the amount of zeros in his bank account. It may have been for the best. My uncle married someone outside of our social circle, which is practically unheard of, and Lucas and his brother Asher were raised in a very normal household. As normal as growingup in a high-class household could be. My aunt was a homemaker and very present in their lives—in mine as well—and kept them grounded. She was my biggest cheerleader when my career took off, and still is.
More often than not, when I was growing up, I wished I’d lived with them. But I didn’t, and because of that, I had no qualms about walking away. It’s not like I was going to gain access to my inheritance if I hadn’t. The way things are set up now, only our money managers can touch that money until we’re thirty-five. Not that we need it. We’ve both received money since we were born just for existing.
Even if I didn’t, there’s no way I’d ever work for my father, and he hates that. He hates that I’ve paved my own way, doing something I actually love. I used to hate him for it, until I realized he was probably envious of me since he didn’t do the same. It never occurred to him that it was an option, so he couldn’t get out from under my grandfather’s thumb. He couldn’t marry the woman he actually loved or do whatever it was he would have done if he hadn’t been born a Barlow. That’s on him, though.
“Why would you even consider it?” I ask after a moment. “You have everything you want and more. You’ve built it.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Is that what you tell yourself? Our monthly allowance?—”
“Yes, fine, you started out in a much better financial situation than most, but it’s not like you can survive off of our monthly allowance forever.”
He laughs. “If my mom hears you say that, I think she’d slap you.”
“She probably would.” I feel my lips tug. “She’s always been the most normal of us all.”
“What happens when they die?” he asks. “Our dads, I mean. We’ll have no idea what to do since we’ve never paid attention to any of it.”
“I don’t know, Luke, but we have a lot of lawyers, so I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ve been your own boss your whole life. Doyou really want to answer to someone, let alone our dads?” I ask, brows raised.
I can’t imagine he would. I sure as hell wouldn’t. I start sorting everything into individual stacks—one stack for my real estate, one for anything that has to do with the Owls, and a third for things about Mallory. My phone buzzes with a text from Tom, my private investigator, and I open it to see pictures of Josslyn sitting at a coffee shop across from Tate. White heat spreads through my body in an instant.
I knew he’d find a way to speak to her again, but I didn’t think it would be so soon, and I definitely didn’t think she’d give him the time of day. The fact that she did annoys the fuck out of me, but that’s not even what annoys me the most. She’s wearing Tiago’s basketball jersey. I wish I could reach into the screen and rip it off her. I don’t know what the fuck it is about this girl that makes me feel this way, but the most insignificant things make me see red.
Why the fuck should I care that she has another man’s jersey on? She already confirmed that they’re not hooking up, but seeing his name on her back and knowing it’s a jersey he actually wears grates on my nerves. The sound that escapes my lips is typically reserved for times on the ice when my team is losing, so Lucas stops walking.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing.” I wave a hand. “Go back to being a nosy fuck and ignore me.”
I keep looking through pictures. Josslyn looks nonchalant, lounging on the chair. She’s wearing shorts underneath that huge jersey, and her smooth tanned legs are crossed as she listens to whatever fuck-face is saying. Tate, on the other hand, reeks of desperation, with the way he’s leaning over the table. I keep scrolling through the pictures and find more of the same.
When they’re finished with their little meeting, they face each other, and Josslyn says something before she turns around and walks away. At least, she didn’t do something stupid like hug him. I inwardly groan. I just need to fuck her and get this over with. Inthe next picture, she has her phone pressed to her ear as she walks down the street with a smile on her face that makes me wonder who the hell is on the other end of that call.
I exit out of the text messages and open up the first social media icon I see. She’s permanently in my search history, so I don’t have to type out her name anymore. She’s the only thing in my search history, I realize. That gives me pause. I click her name and look at her feed.
Her last post was this morning and it’s a video of her wearing the jersey. I glance around to make sure my cousin isn’t here, and I click it. Josslyn’s wearing a sports bra and tiny shorts, and she smiles at the camera as she lifts up Tiago’s jersey.
“You guys remember the bet I made with T?” she asks, pouting. “It’s my turn to pay up.” She puts the jersey on and fixes her hair as she sits down in front of the camera. “I’m only wearing it for a few hours. That was the deal.” She glances down at herself and shrugs. “I’m just going to pretend it’s mine.” Her eyes sparkle, and my chest squeezes. “To be fair, he’s wearing mine today, as well, so stay tuned.”
I feel my jaw set. He’s wearing her jersey? What kind of bullshit bet is this? Josslyn goes on talking about her day as I exit out of the app and find her name on my phone, my fingers flying before I can process what I’m doing.
Me: you need to come up with a better bet
I watch the little bubbles as she types back.
Josslyn: why? You don’t like me wearing another man’s jersey?
I grip my phone tighter, a part of me wishing I could take back my words, but I can’t help it. If I don’t say something, my head is going to explode.
