LONG SHOT: (A HOOPS Novel)

Home > Other > LONG SHOT: (A HOOPS Novel) > Page 43
LONG SHOT: (A HOOPS Novel) Page 43

by Ryan, Kennedy


  “I’m hungry. Are we going to eat, or what?”

  I know I sound like the spoiled sorority girl he assumed I was, but whatever. Talking about food is highly preferable to discussing my family drama, which goes back too far and down to deep. Especially on an empty stomach.

  He shifts his glance back to the line of cars pulling away from the airport. Those full lips don’t tug into the easy smile he showed me before. I regret making things heavy. Shit got too real too fast.

  “Sure.” Eyes ahead, he shifts from park to drive and pulls away from the curb. “I know just the place. Food’s great.”

  Maybe to distract myself from the familiar disappointment sitting alongside the hunger in my belly, I run my eyes discreetly over all six feet and however many inches of him. He’s nothing like the guys I’ve dated, but gorgeous nonetheless. He tucks his bottom lip between an even row of white teeth, concentrating on the ever-hellish LA traffic. As much as I know I shouldn’t, I imagine biting that bottom lip.

  Am I hungry? Oh, yeah.

  FLOW - Chapter 3

  Bristol

  ALL THOSE CAUTIONARY tales about stranger danger apparently didn’t take because I’m currently cruising down the I-5 with a man I met only minutes ago, who may have the face and body of a lower level deity but has not provided any real proof that he actually knows my brother. Yet, how else would he have known my name? And he did have that hideous throwback picture on his phone. I’m fairly certain he’s no Ted Bundy, but I could have at least asked to speak with Rhyson to confirm. I slide a surreptitious glance his way, studying the hands on the steering wheel. Those hands are grace and capability, rough and smooth. Doesn’t mean they wouldn’t wring my neck …

  “So, how did you say you know my brother again?” I ask, deliberately nonchalant.

  “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking some questions.” His expression loosens into a grin. “You keep looking at me like I might pull over at the next rest stop and stuff you in the trunk.”

  “Who … what … me? Noooo.”

  His breaks away from the traffic long enough to give me a knowing look, accompanied by a smirk.

  “Okay, maybe a little.” A nervous laugh slips out. “I actually was thinking I should have asked for some proof or ID or something. Not just hopped in the car with a perfect stranger.”

  “Perfect?” Cockiness curves his lips. “I get that a lot.”

  “You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you?” I laugh.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t be?” Even in profile, his grin is a little dazzling. “No, you’re right. I could have offered more than ‘I’m Grip. Let’s eat.’”

  He tips his head toward the phone in my lap.

  “Why don’t you call Rhys so you can breathe a little easier?”

  I should have thought of that. What’s wrong with me? Maybe subconsciously there’s some part of me that’s hesitant to call, dreading those first awkward moments when Rhyson and I have no idea what to say to each other. When it becomes terribly apparent I no longer know my twin brother and he no longer knows me.

  If he ever really did.

  “It’s ringing,” I tell Grip, phone pressed to my ear.

  “Bristol?” My brother’s deep voice rumbles from the other end. Even arranging this trip we talked very little, coordinating most of it by email and text. Hearing his voice, knowing I’ll see him, affects me more deeply than I thought it would. He has no idea how much I’ve missed him. Emotion blisters my throat. Even though we haven’t talked much the last few years, he sounds the way he always did when I would slip into his rehearsal room while he was playing. Exhausted and distracted.

  “Yeah. It’s me.” I draw a deep breath and dive in. “So, you couldn’t break away long enough to meet your long lost sister at the airport, huh?”

  “Lost sister?” Rhyson emits a disbelieving puff of air. “You? Lost? Never.”

  He really has no idea. No one does.

  “I would have been there,” Rhyson continues. “I made sure I’d be done with this by the time you landed, but this artist and her label are riding me hard about remastering—”

  “Yeah, I heard,” I cut in. “It’s fine. I’ll see you when you’re done. You will be done soon, right?”

  “Uh … soon? Sure. Relatively soon.”

  That could mean anything from tonight to next year when Rhyson’s immersed in music. At least, that used to be the case, but I doubt much has changed.

  “Then I guess I’ll see you when I see you.” I try to keep the disappointment and irritation out of my voice, but Rhyson’s sigh on the other end lets me know I fail.

  “Bristol, I’m sorry. I’ll see you at Grady’s tonight, okay? And I promise we’ll catch up tomorrow.”

  “So you’ll be done tomorrow?” My heart lifts the tiniest bit. I don’t want to sound needy, but he’s the whole reason I’m here. Against my parents’ advice, against my better judgment, I’m seeking him out. I’ve crossed the damn country to try. If I don’t try, who will in what’s left of our family?

  “Not sure if everything will be wrapped today or not,” he says. “I’ll send them the tracks, but they may have more tweaks. We’ll see.”

  “Sure.” I clip the word. “We’ll see.”

  “In the meantime, you’re okay?” Rhyson sounds half in the conversation, like the music is already siren calling him.

  I flick a glance Grip’s way. His expression is completely relaxed and impassive, and his eyes are set on the road like I’m not even there, but he doesn’t fool me. There’s this constant alertness that crackles around him, as if he’s been trained to be on guard but is wily enough to let you believe he isn’t. I think he’s always completely aware of everything around him, and this conversation between Rhyson and me is no exception.

  “Yeah, we’re on our way to eat.” I fiddle with the strap on my bag. “Since apparently Grady isn’t home either.”

  “Yeah.” Guilt drags Rhyson’s one-word reply out. “That was completely unexpected. He—”

  “Grip explained,” I insert before he rehashes the story I’ve already heard. “The conference. I know. Things happen.”

  It’s quiet for a moment. At first I think I’ve already lost him to whatever song he’s working on.

  “Bris.”

  Rhyson says my name the way he used to in those rare moments when we were just brother and sister, when we would play I Declare War on rainy days. When he wasn’t closeted away rehearsing for a concert or a tour. When he was just Rhys and I was his sister, and he called me “Bris.”

  “I know it looks bad,” he continues. “I know it took a lot for you to come out here like this to see us, to see me. It must feel like we don’t care or we don’t want you here, but we do.”

  Another pause.

  “I do,” he says. “Just let me get through this project, and we can talk, okay? I’ll be home tonight.”

  “When are you getting your own place?” I ask the first question that comes to mind because I’m not sure how else to respond to his unexpected candor. “I’m surprised you’re still under Grady’s roof.”

  “Yeah, well after I came back from Full Sail, I just crashed at home and haven’t seen a reason to leave yet. Grady gives me a pretty wide berth. And hey, it’s free.”

  Home.

  The ease with which he speaks of Grady’s place here in LA as home tells me all I need to know. Rhyson doesn’t need anything “free.” He earned more money before he was fifteen than most will in a lifetime. He just loved it here so much, loved Grady so much, he came back after graduating from the storied production school in Florida.

  I try not to resent my uncle for “taking” Rhyson from us. My parents, Mother especially, pour a steady stream of bitterness down my throat about Grady “interfering” with Rhyson. To hear Rhys tell it, which I did in court, Grady saved him. I didn’t know what to believe at the time, and I don’t much care. I love my parents, though even I recognize they’re insane, and I love my brother. I shou
ldn’t have to choose between them, which is why I’m here.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you at Grady’s place … your place … tonight,” I finally say.

  “Great. Can I speak to Marlon?”

  “Marlon?” I frown, wondering if I really should have been more cautious before getting in the car. “Um … someone named Grip picked me up.”

  Rhyson chuckles, and I notice Grip’s mouth hitch to the side, even though he doesn’t turn his head.

  “Marlon is his real name. You think his mom named him Grip?”

  “How would I know what his mom named him?” I laugh and meet Grip’s eyes briefly, finding them smiling back at me. “Here ya go.”

  I proffer my phone.

  “For you, Marlon.”

  He stops my heart for a beat with a stretch of white teeth and full lips.

  Wow. That’s just not fair.

  “’Sup, Rhys.” He nods, his smile melting a little every few seconds and a small pull of his brows making me wonder what Rhyson’s saying. “All right. Yeah. We’ll grab something to eat. I got you.”

  He offers one more grunt and a mumbled “peace” before handing the phone back to me.

  “Hey,” I say once I have the phone back.

  “Yeah. Hey,” Rhyson says. “I actually did have dinner planned for us. You still like Mexican?”

  “I love Mexican.” I’m pleasantly surprised that he remembers.

  “Well, maybe we’ll get to try this place before you go back, but with the emergency on this project …” He sighs heavily. “Anyway Marlon will take you to eat and then bring you to Grady’s and stay with you ’til I get home.”

  “He doesn’t need to do that.” I hate feeling like a burden to anyone, and right now, I feel like the egg baby project Grip has to keep alive. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “Marlon doesn’t mind,” Rhyson assures me. “He has stuff to do for Grady anyway. He helps with one of his music classes.”

  I just bet he does. Lies. I glance at Grip’s profile, a study in impassivity.

  “Gotta go,” Rhyson says. “See you later if you’re still awake when I get home. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  “Yeah. More hungry than anything.”

  “Marlon will take care of you.” A voice in the background interrupts Rhyson. “Hey, I need to go. See you tonight.”

  “Okay. Tonight.” I hold the phone to my ear for a few seconds after he’s gone just because I don’t want to talk.

  I finally drop the phone to my lap, processing the longest conversation I’ve had with my twin brother in five years. I have no idea what’s going through Grip’s mind. It’s too quiet, so I break the silence with the lightest question I can think of.

  “Marlon, huh?” I ask with a smile.

  “Only Rhyson calls me by my real name.” He keeps his eyes ahead on the road, grimacing good-naturedly. “And my mom.”

  “And Grip, where’d that come from?”

  “I was in a talent show or showcase or some shit when I was a kid.” He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “I had to recite a poem and was so nervous, I kept holding onto the mic even after I was done. Just wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was like my safety blanket. Who knows? One of the kids started calling me ‘Grip’ after the show, and it stuck.”

  “So even then you were craving the spotlight,” I tease.

  “I guess so.” His smile fades after a few seconds. He looks briefly away from the road and at me. “I don’t mind, ya know. Staying, I mean. There’s things I can do in the rehearsal room at Grady’s house.”

  I don’t bother arguing, because I seriously doubt I’ll change his mind now that Rhyson has asked him. I just nod and pretend to check the email on my phone.

  “We’re here.” Grip pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.

  I look up from my phone, surprised to see the length of pier stretching from the shore out over the Pacific Ocean.

  “Where’s here?”

  “Mick’s. Jimmy, one of our good friends, works here. Food’s good.”

  “Well that’s all I care about.”

  As we’re walking up the boardwalk toward a sign that reads “Mick’s” I feel overdressed. In my sleek leather jacket and ankle boots, both black, I’m so very New York. Everyone’s milling around in bikinis, tank tops, board shorts, and flip-flops. Once we’re seated at a window booth with an ocean view, I slip the jacket off. I sense more than see Grip’s eyes linger on my arms and shoulders bared by the sleeveless shirt under my jacket. I force myself to keep my arms at my side and not cross them over my chest. I block his line of vision with the huge menu and feel as if I can breathe a little easier with it between the heat of his eyes and my skin.

  “So what’s good?” I ask.

  “I get the same thing every time. Burger and fries.”

  I scrunch my nose, not seeing anything I want, but half-starved enough to settle. Before I can say as much, a set of perky breasts in a green bikini appear beside our table. My eyes do the slow crawl from the girl’s hot pink toenails in her wedge heels, over the skimpy cut-off denim shorts and the bikini top, which barely bridles her breasts. Bright blue eyes and blonde hair complete the California package. If all the girls look like this, and a quick glance around Mick’s dining room tells me a lot of them do, I may reconsider my secret plan to move here when I graduate.

  “Hey, dude.” Perky tits leans over to drop a quick kiss on Grip’s jaw.

  “Jim, what’s good, girl?” He slaps her ass, aiming a playful smile up at her. “Been missing you.”

  Rewind. Jimmy’s a girl? Her name tag reads “Jimmi.” The “i” would be cuter if I wasn’t so hungry.

  “I know.” Jimmi blows at the blonde bangs brushing her eyebrows. “Between shifts here and gigging all over town, there’s been no time to hang.”

  “Yeah, Rhys and I were just saying the same thing,” Grip says. “We need to get everybody together.”

  “My uncle’s beach house!” The blue eyes light up. “He’s out of the country and said I could crash there some.”

  “We need to do that for real.”

  “We could play Scrabble again,” she says. “Remember how much fun we had?”

  “You sure you want to play Scrabble?” Grip lifts a skeptical brow.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” She looks confused, or maybe that’s always her look. She’s very blonde, even if it may be from a bottle, so I can’t tell.

  “You’re not really good at it,” he says with a grin.

  “Why would you say that?” Jimmi’s hands go to her hips.

  “’Cause you thought guffaw was a character from Lord of the Rings.”

  “Ugh,” Jimmi half groans, half laughs. “You weren’t supposed to tell anybody that.”

  Oh, my God, guffaw.

  Laughter bubbles up in my throat. I try to push it down, but it’s no use. It springs from my mouth as a, well … guffaw. Jimmi looks a little embarrassed but manages a self-deprecating smile. Grip’s laugh matches mine.

  “Jim, this is Rhyson’s twin sister Bristol. Bristol, this is Jimmi. She went to high school with Rhys and me.”

  “Great.” Jimmi gives me a wry look. “Now, she’ll think I’m an airhead.”

  I don’t deny it and just smile and hold out my hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Jimmi,” I say. “I promise not to tell.”

  “Well, thanks for that.” Jimmi squints an eye and tilts her head, considering me. “Did he say twin sister? I knew Rhyson had a sister, but I had no idea you guys were twins. I see the resemblance.”

  I’m surprised she’s even heard that much about me.

  “I live in New York.” I attempt a natural smile. “We haven’t seen much of each other lately.”

  Jimmi’s smile shrinks, her eyes dropping to the floor.

  “Oh, yeah.” She nods, avoiding my eyes. “He doesn’t get back to New York much, does he?”

  “No, not much.” I agree quietly since it’s obvious she, like everyone e
lse, knows how splintered our family is.

  “So where is the maestro?” Jimmi directs the question to Grip.

  “Last minute remastering with that project he was working on,” Grip says.

  “Ah.” Jimmi nods, a tentative smile on her lips. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I miss him.”

  “Okay, Jim, you know the deal.” Grip’s look seems to hold a careful warning.

  “I know. I know. You don’t have to worry about me.” Jimmi waves a dismissive hand in the air and turns back to me. “Did you see anything you want?”

  If I’m not mistaken, the anything she wants is my brother, but I just got here, so what do I know? I deliberately shift my eyes to the menu.

  “What’s good?”

  “Let’s see.” Jimmi leans over my shoulder to consider the menu like she hasn’t seen it before. One of her breasts nearly pokes my eye out. I lean back in my seat to avoid a nipple.

  “Careful where you aim those things,” I say before I catch my wild tongue. I’m great at keeping my thoughts to myself when it counts, but when it doesn’t, I don’t bother.

  Startled blue eyes collide with mine, and I’m not sure if she expects an apology or what, but I just look pointedly from her torpedo tits back up to her face. For a beat, I think I’ve really offended her, but then she laughs until she has to bend over, giving the customers behind her an eyeful, I’m sure. Grip grins, his eyes affectionate on blonde and breasty.

  “Oh, we’re gonna be friends.” Jimmi wipes the tears at the corner of her eyes. “Watch where I aim … that’s priceless. Okay. You like seafood?”

  “Um, yeah.” I blink a few times at the speedy shift of gears. “I love it.”

  “You like scallops?” She drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Off-menu item.”

  “I would kill for scallops.” My mouth is already watering, and my empty stomach is already thanking her.

 

‹ Prev