Chapter 3 Brother’s proposal
One corner of Logan’s mouth twitches, brief and almost slyly, “You really are my sister.”
“Don’t smile at me like that,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “I know that look. And you’re about to say something terrible."
“Horrible is a strong word.” Logan sets the empty mug on the counter with the kind of calm that always irritates me right away.
“Then it’s awful.”
“Debatable.”
“Logan.”
He crosses his arms and watches me for a second too long, as if he’s trying to set the right pitch to sell it. That alone is already a bad sign. My brother only acts like this when he’s trying to convince someone to walk into an absurd situation while believing it’s a rational decision.
“You need money,” he finally says, bluntly. “And I need a quick, dependable solution that won’t make this crisis worse. You’re smart, not easily impressed, and above all… You have absolutely no intention of fawning over Tristan.”
I stare at him for a second, waiting for the part where he laughs and says he’s joking.
It doesn’t come.
For a moment, silence hangs between us, then… I laugh—a loud, dry sound with no real humor, one that quickly fades into a definite “No.”
Logan doesn’t even blink, which only makes everything worse. I keep staring at my brother from the other side of the counter, waiting for some sign of common sense to appear on his face, but all I see is that same professional calm as always—the one he uses when he has already made up his mind and is just figuring out the best way to push me into it.
“Don’t even try,” I warn, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t even for a second consider putting me on that stupid reality show with your maniac player.”
He exhales through his nose, surprisingly patient for someone who has obviously lost his mind.
“He’s not a maniac.”
“Whatever. The answer is still no.”
He runs a hand over the back of his neck, tired but still patient in that professional way that makes me want to throw the mug at him.
“You can barely pay your bills this month. You’re taking on exhausting part-time jobs, refusing help, and pretending everything is fine. I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to solve two problems at once.”
“My problem isn’t yours.”
“You’re my sister, Alisson. Of course it is.”
The words hit me hard enough to make me look away for a second. I hate it when he uses that low voice, when he stops sounding like an agent and goes back to sounding like the brother who used to split the last waffle with me and pretends he wasn’t hungry.
That always makes everything harder.
I sigh and rub my forehead.
“Even if I were desperate enough to consider this—and I’m not,” I say quickly, too quickly to sound convincing, “Why me? There are thousands of girls in Boston. Influencers, theater students, crazy fans of this team, anyone without enough self-respect to go on a reality show like that.”
“Well,” he leans slightly over the counter. “You’re the best option I have, Ally.”
“I’m the worst option you have,” I correct, feeling my heart beat faster for a reason that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with a hallway that’s way too white, one hard punch, and green eyes slicing through the air straight at me. “You are clearly sleep-deprived if you think putting me near Tristan McKenna for more than five minutes is a good idea.”
Logan watches me closely again, with that intense gaze that’s way too sharp, and I feel it the exact second he notices something is off.
“Why does that sound personal?”
“Because he seems unbearable to me.” I lie way too quickly.
“You’ve never even spoken to him, Alisson.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and shrug, trying to seem casual. “I know the type.”
My words cause him to exhale a quick breath through his nose.
“You know those arrogant high school players. Tristan isn’t like that. He isn’t what people are making him out to be.”
“And I’m supposed to trust your unbiased judgment because you’re his agent?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“You should trust me because I’d never put my sister in a dangerous situation.”
That makes me hesitate for a second because Logan can be stubborn, controlling, and absurdly confident in bad decisions, but he doesn’t lie when it comes to me.
The problem is, he also doesn’t see what I see.
“Do this for me, and I’ll give you enough to pay your debt to Leah. You can buy a new camera, one better than the last, and still have some savings for the next few months.”
I close my eyes, trying to appear steadier, less shaken by his extremely irritatingly tempting offer.
“Think about it, Ally,” Logan says, his shoulders easing up a bit and that confident look returning to his face… But then his phone rings again, way too loud—and he grunts. “Dang,” he mutters through his teeth.
“But think fast, pumpkin… my time is getting a little tight.”
“WHAT?!” Leah screams… and coughs, as she strains her throat too much. Funny, I think she’s saying that quite too much… “A REALITY SHOW WITH TRISTAN?!”
“Calm down…”
“How am I supposed to calm down?!”
Leah inhales so loudly on the other end of the line that I instinctively pull the phone away from my ear.
“Ally, this isn’t just a proposal. It's a cosmic event— the universe finally apologizing to you for every humiliation it has ever caused you.”
I throw myself back on the bed and stare at my bedroom ceiling, white and cracked in one corner, completely indifferent to the collapse of my life.
“It’s a terrible idea,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Actually... It’s the worst idea Logan has ever had. And that’s impressive because he works with college athletes and marketing executives. His bad-idea standard should already be high.”
“You’re ignoring the main point,”* Leah shoots back, out of breath, and I can hear her shifting around on the other side, probably trying to sit up even with the flu. “Tristan McKenna. Right in front of you. Every day.” She pauses dramatically. “Shirtless, maybe.”
“Leah.”
“What? I’m thinking about the sexy potential of this situation.”
“It’s my life, not some poorly written fanfic.”
“With all due respect,” she says, her voice turning serious for a second. “Your life has been desperately in need of a little spice.”
I close my eyes.
Okay, that’s true. My days have been a dull string of exhausting classes, poorly paid part-time jobs, reheated coffee, and the constant feeling that I am chasing something that always seems two steps ahead. But what nineteen-year-old girl’s life is different?
There’s no room for elaborate disasters here, let alone famous players with green eyes and dangerous fists.
“Did you forget the part where he’s a lunatic?” I ask, turning my face toward the window. The late-afternoon light filters through the thin curtain and casts a pale stripe across my skin. “I saw what he did, Leah.”
Leah coughs again, this time weaker.
“Okay… that really does make it complicated when I tell you to run happily into the extremely strong, muscular arms of destiny.”
“Thank you for finally coming to your senses.”
“I say it complicates things, not that it stops them.”
“You’re impossible…” I let out a humorless laugh. “He’s your crush. Why are you telling me to go on a reality show with him?”
“You’re my best friend, Ally. I can see you honestly need a little more excitement,” she says in a way that feels too practical. “And believe me, six-pack abs are exciting enough.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Leah laughs, and her laugh ends with a tired little cough. Even when she's sick, she still finds me funny, which is both irritating and, yeah, comforting.
“Just promise that if you go, you’ll get Tristan’s autograph for me,” she asks softly and sweetly.
And damn it, I know it…
She has those puppy-dog eyes again, even if I can’t see them now.
…I sigh.
“Yes, Leah… I promise.”
