Page 31 of Hard to Handle

But he’s not shooting.

No, instead he’s passing it off and then falling back when normally he’s the heart of the offense.

If the Jacks were in their own arena, the crowd would be booing him after every pass. This crowd here senses something is off and has been cheering each and every one, because it’s to their advantage.

Someone has knocked the king off his reign-of-terror throne and it’s not pretty.

I welcome the distraction from the scoreboard when my phone buzzes at my hip.

Lennox.

It’s sad that I’m immediately on the defensive before I even answer the phone.

“Hey, Len,” I say, walking toward the back of the press box and pushing a finger to my other ear. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in.”

“For?”

“No reason,” she says, but a lifetime of living with her tells me she’s fishing for information.

“So you just called to say hi?” I can’t remember the last time one of my sisters did that.

“Yes . . . and, never mind.”

And here we go.

“What is it?” I honestly don’t have the bandwidth to deal with her today.

The crowd goes wild as the opposition scores, and I crane my neck from where I stand huddled in the back to watch the replay on the Jumbotron overhead. Lucky shot.

“Who scored?” she asks.

“The Patriots.”

“Boo,” she says, and I smile but then remember she’s playing coy.

“What is it you needed, Len?”

“I just wanted to see how it was going with Maddox.”

“I’ve talked to him but haven’t talked to him yet about us.”

“Us?”

“KSM,” I explain in annoyed exasperation.

“Yes. Sure,” she says but doesn’t sound anything like she does. “It was pretty shitty of Dad to make Maddox your recruit.”

I open my mouth and close it, wanting to say so much—agree, commiserate, talk about what it felt like to see him for the first time—but don’t. “It’s business. I can handle it.”

“Keep that in mind.”

And now my back is up.

“Excuse me?” I snort.

“You two were more than sex.”