Page 12 of The Keeper and I

“Well, you’ve got that whole anger thing going on like he does.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It’s certainly similar.”

“No, it isn’t—” he stopped himself once he noticed the mischievous smile slowly parting her lips. She was teasing him. And against his better judgment, he liked it. Coming from her, he really liked it. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Caught on, have you?”

Ava snorted into her drink, and Jordan shot her a glare over Laci’s head.

“Sorry,” Laci said, drawing his attention back to her. She fiddled with the fringe around the edge of her handbag. “Guess I’m still trying to recover from how uncomfortable that whole thing made me.”

Ava looked on with sympathy. “Let’s get you that drink. What’ll you have?”

“A cosmopolitan, please,” Laci said, and Ava called over the barkeep.

“Did you know him?” Jordan asked. “Dane, that is.”

Laci shook her head. “No, he approached me when I was leaving a photoshoot. I told him I was meeting a friend so he wouldn’t follow me home, but he insisted on walking with me and then asked me a bunch of questions about working with men.” Her drink arrived, and she took a sizable sip. “Maybe I was being too paranoid.”

“There’s no such thing as being too paranoid,” Ava said. “Especially for women.”

Jordan couldn’t help but agree. From the time Ava was twelve, he was protecting her from lingering stares and wandering hands. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Laci, who was in the public eye. Her direct messages on any social media platform had to be a nightmare.

“Yeah, especially in your position, you can’t be too careful,” he said.

“What position is that?” Ava asked.

Jordan blinked at her. “You don’t know who she is?”

She glanced between Jordan and Laci, a knowing look in her eye as her gaze landed on her brother. He realized she must have recognized Laci from his paintings but wasn’t giving him away. “Am I supposed to?”

“Laci Miller?” Jordan repeated. “Never heard that name before?”

“Should I have?”

“She’s one of the most famous models in the fucking country!”

“When have I ever kept up with who’s who in the fucking modeling scene?”

“You don’t have to keep up to have seen her name or at least her face—”

“You know who I am?” Laci’s voice interrupted, soft but sweet and not something Jordan was capable of ignoring.

His face grew warm though her expression lacked judgment, just genuine surprise. He’d revealed more than he intended to. He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, sort of,” he said.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a footballer recognize me before,” she said. “I’m quite flattered.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Ava spoke first. “Sounds to me like he’s a proper fanboy.”

Jordan scowled at her. “I know who she is because I’ve got fucking eyes, Ava.”

She flipped him off, and Laci giggled.

“Are you two actually siblings?” she asked.