Consumed: A MMA Sports Romance by Claire Adams Page B

shortcut.”
    “Then what do you want
from me?” he asks. “If wanting to get out is the only way you’ll trust me, but
you wouldn’t trust me if I said I wanted to get out, where exactly does that
leave me? You’re going to just throw your own brother out onto the—”
    Line: crossed.
    “Do you know how many
times I’ve taken you in?” I ask. “I’m only twenty-one and you’ve already used
up more chances than most people get in a lifetime.”
    “Whatever, dude,” he says
and finally stands. He walks over to me and I’m almost expecting him to throw a
punch, but he just reaches out and grabs at the remote control in my hand.
    “Let go,” he says.
    “We’re talking, Chris,” I
tell him. “I’m not going to let you drown me out with my own television.”
    “What do you expect me to
say, huh?” he asks. “I wasn’t born with the gifts that you were. I’m not motivated
the same way other people are,” he says. “I know that. Maybe you could even
call me lazy or tell me that I just take shortcuts, but do you have any idea
how much skill and planning goes into a successful job [6] ? Instead of going to
college, maybe you should think about interning with your big brother for a
little while.”
    “Three days,” I tell him.
“I want some kind of substantial evidence that you’re turning things around
within three days, or I want you out of my house.”
    “It’s like that, huh?” he
asks.
    “Yeah,” I tell him.
“That’s what it’s like.”
    “Harsh, bro,” Chris says.
“And how exactly am I supposed to give you some kind of evidence you’ll
actually believe. You’ve never really given me the benefit of the doubt.”
    “I did give you the
benefit of the doubt,” I tell him. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt when we
were both kids and you were the closest thing to a functioning parent that I
had, but you lie all the time, Chris. For all I know, your entire half of this
conversation has been completely made-up.”
    “By the way,” he says,
“that chick you’ve been seeing: what’s her story?”
    “Are you serious?” I ask.
    “What? She’s cute,” he
says.
    My fingers bend into my
palms and my mouth is open, ready for whatever diatribe is about to come out,
but that’s when I see the gleam in Chris’s eyes.
    “What are you doing?” I
ask.
    “What do you mean?” he
asks.
    “You’re just trying to
get me mad now,” I observe. “Why?”
    “Oh, I didn’t mean that I
was going to try to steal her out from under you,” Chris says. “I just wanted
to know a little bit more about her in case things go bad with the two of you.”
    “Are you threatening me?”
I ask. “Do you really think that’s a smart decision?”
    “Put the guns back in
their holsters,” he laughs, patting one of my arms. “I just wanted to break the
tension.”
    “You know, I don’t think
it worked,” I tell him.
    “I’ll make you a deal,”
he says. “Let me back toward home tonight and I’ll see how things look. If
everything’s copacetic, I’ll just be gone.”
    “If it’s not?” I ask.
    “Well, I might need you
to help me get back out of there again,” he says.
    Chris never has fewer
than half a dozen people on the hook at any given time. Most of them are quick,
five-minutes-and-out cons, but he’s never let someone with an impressive
pocketbook go so easily. The story he’s giving me, as outlandish as it is,
can’t be the whole truth.
    “What aren’t you telling
me?” I ask him.
    “Nothing, I swear!” he
protests.
    “Isn’t that the line you
always used when mom asked you if you’d stolen any of her vodka while she was
sleeping?” I ask.
    “Okay,” he says, “I can
see the charm everyone else knows and loves isn’t going to be enough.”
    “Stop trying to con me,”
I tell him. “Are you going to make a change or are you going to find somewhere
else to live?”
    “Mase,” he starts.
    “I hate that name,” I
interrupt.
    “Mason, brother, whatever
you