Page 1 of Verdict

Chapter 1

Ava

11 months ago

My older brother grabbed my hand and dragged me off the dance floor before Cohen Jordan—his teammate, star shortstop for the Austin Aviators, and best friend—could even open his mouth.

“What the fuck, seriously, Walk?” I groaned.

“Aria needs you,” Walker barked.

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, she does. Ugh. You never let me have any fun.”

He dumped me onto the couch beside Aria. We were out celebrating the Austin Aviators’ World Series win. Walker had been the team’s ace pitcher for eleven years, but this was his last season.

“Not with my teammates.” His arms crossed over his broad chest. If looks could kill.

“He’s not your teammate anymore,” I shot back. “You’re retired now, old man. Remember?” I smirked.

That will piss him off.

Farrah and Aria both snickered. Farrah King was Walker's girlfriend, and Aria King was her younger sister and my best friend.

“He’s still my best friend,” Walker muttered.

I sighed dramatically. “Whatever. Fine,” I relented.

The bar was chaos. Teammates were shouting over each other, and the music was loud enough to rattle the liquor bottles on the shelves. Walker had been pulled into a dozen conversations already—old teammates, coaches, reporters who somehow slipped past security. Everyone wanted a piece of him tonight. Eleven years as the Aviators’ ace, and he’d gone out in the best possible way.

A World Series win.

I was proud of him. But my eyes and my mind kept drifting somewhere else.

Cohen Jordan had a way of standing out in a room, like he owned it without even trying. After my brother had unceremoniously removed me from his arms on the dance floor, he'd made his way back to his teammates. He leaned against a high-top, laughing with Drake Cooper and two other players I didn’t recognize, the neck of a beer bottle dangling loosely between his fingers.

He caught me looking and smiled.

That stupid, devastating grin that surely got him into trouble with women across three time zones.

But that grin wasn't new to me; it was the first thing I’d noticed all those years back in my brother's penthouse. That and the confident, easy way he moved, how people were instantly drawn to him… how I was.

How I still was.

I escaped toward the bar, leaning against the sticky wooden bartop while I waited for the bartender. I pulled my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and groaned. About fifteen unread work emails stared back at me.

The life of an associate attorney.

I opened one and began to scan when two large hands landed on the bar on either side of me, caging me in. I knew those hands. My eyes drifted up thick, corded forearms as I whipped around—and there he was. He was the definition of temptation with his mussed chocolate-brown hair and piercing hazel eyes. That easy grin that melted all of my defenses.

He was criminal.

I smiled, pressing my palm to his solid chest. “Careful, CoJo. My big brother might see you.”

He dipped his mouth to my ear. “Not if we leave.”

I leaned back against the bar and studied him.

Walker’s best friend. The Aviators’ resident playboy. A line I shouldn't cross.