Typing fast, Morrison comprised a group text message to his family, letting them know he’d found Reagan, and hit Send. The complex was crawling with sports enthusiasts but he didn’t see his brother anywhere, and wondered if Duane had changed his mind about the game. Morrison played tennis three times a week, regardless of the weather, and was proud of his undefeated record. A fierce competitor with a passion for the game, he’d do anything to win, and he wasn’t going to show his brother any mercy.
Strolling toward the tennis courts, Morrison saw children running around in circles, and a group of British nannies chatting in front of the water fountain. The women smiled and waved, and Morrison nodded in greeting. Glancing at his Gucci sports watch, he realized he was ten minutes late to meet his brother, and broke into a jog.
“Morrison Drake in the flesh? This must be my lucky day!” shrieked a female voice.
A brunette, in a red, lace-trimmed mesh dress, that looked more like lingerie than tennis attire, appeared in front of him, doing the happy dance. Morrison tried to move away but the woman was too fast. Pressing her body against his, she kissed him on each cheek. Her sickly sweet perfume made his eyes sting and his stomach churn.
Morrison thought hard. What was the woman’s name again? She was one of his brother’s fiancée’s friends, and he vaguely remembered meeting her at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party last summer. After a whirlwind courtship, his brother had popped the question to the twenty-five-year-old blonde from New Hampshire, and the couple were sparing no expense for their dream wedding. Roderick was an entertainment attorney who spent money like a Saudi prince, and the last time Morrison saw his youngest brother he’d bragged about booking Adele and John Legend to perform at the September ceremony.
“It’s so great to see you again, Morrison,” she gushed, her hand grazing his ass. “You look as handsome as ever. How have you been?”
Put off by how loud and aggressive she was, Morrison stepped back. He wanted to run for cover but remembered he was a Drake, not a pubescent boy, and gave a polite nod. Morrison couldn’t believe how bold she was, and searched the grounds for the nearest escape route. “Great, thanks, and you?”
“Better, now that we’re together,” she purred, coiling a lock of frizzy hair around her index finger. “Join me inside for a drink. I just finished my private lesson, and my Swedish instructor worked me hard this morning. I could use something cold right now.”
Morrison wore an apologetic smile, but deep down he was glad he had plans with his brother. Being one of the most eligible bachelors in the city certainly had its perks—single women dropped off home-cooked meals at his estate on a weekly basis, and he was invited to the best parties—but he was tired of pushy females propositioning him every time he left his mansion. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a game, and if I leave my brother hanging he’ll be pissed.”
“I understand. Family comes first.” Batting her extra-long eyelashes, she rested a hand on his forearm and squeezed it. “I bet you’re an amazing tennis player, Morrison, so give me your number and we’ll play one day next week. I’d love that, and I bet you would too.”
Wrong again! He recalled how she’d bragged at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party about dating a married New York senator. The brunette was the kind of woman who only cared about a man’s status, and what he could do for her, and Morrison wasn’t interested in seeing her again. Turned off by her overconfidence, and her skimpy attire, he said, “I have to go. I don’t want to keep my brother waiting.”
“Not so fast, mister. You have something I want.” Sliding in front of him, she offered her cell phone, her eyes wide and bright. “Put your number in my cell, and I’ll give you a ring later. Maybe we can hook up tonight.”
He opened his mouth to decline her offer, but it was Duane’s voice that filled the air.
“Are we gonna play or are you gonna stand around shooting the breeze?”
Morrison was so relieved to see Duane standing inside court nine he wanted to cheer. Moving with the quickness of an NFL running back, he dodged the brunette, entered the fenced court and closed the door behind him. He’d come to the sports complex to play tennis with his brother, not make a love connection. Besides, if he wanted to hook up with someone it would be a sophisticated and classy woman, like Karma. He wondered whom she spent her nights with, was curious if the salon owner had a man—
Morrison scoffed, telling himself he was being ridiculous. Of course, she was dating someone. Women like Karma, with brains, charisma and booty, didn’t have one man, they had several, and he’d be a fool to pursue a woman who was playing the field. Not that he was ready to settle down. He wasn’t. He had his hands full with Reagan, and aspirations of becoming the youngest Supreme Court judge in the nation. Not to mention aging parents who needed his help on a regular basis. His brothers were busy with their careers and families, and since he was the oldest—and happily single—he was the one who kept a watchful eye on their stubborn parents. His father was recovering from hip surgery, and these days his mother was so forgetful Morrison worried about her state of mind. They could afford to hire someone to help them, but they refused, saying they didn’t want a stranger snooping around their waterfront estate.
“Did you get baby girl’s number?” Duane teased, wiggling his thick eyebrows.
“Yeah, and I’m going to save it in your cell under Side Chick.”
“Hey, don’t joke about things like that!” Shivering, he pressed his eyes shut and made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Erikah has a quiet nature and a sweet disposition, but if she thought I was cheating on her she’d bury me alive.”
“You better not, or I’ll help her dig the ditch!”
Duane gave Morrison a shot in the arm, then dumped his Cleveland Cavaliers backpack at his feet. Short and stocky, with dark skin and a salt-and-pepper moustache, he was often mistaken for Morrison’s older brother, and laughed off comparisons to their father.
“Ready to play?” Morrison unzipped his duffel bag and took out his tennis racket.
“Not yet. I need to stretch. Don’t want to break anything.”
Amused, Morrison watched his brother roll his neck from side to side, chuckling as Duane jogged in place for a minute, huffing and puffing as if he was climbing the Great Wall of China. Unlike Roderick, Duane would rather save money than spend it, but his workout gear had seen better days and Morrison couldn’t resist teasing the dad of four about his faded Nike T-shirt and nylon basketball shorts. “After our game, I’m taking you to the mall. You need some new clothes ASAP, bro.”
“Get out of here,” Duane argued, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “This is the outfit I was wearing when I met LeBron James at Rucker Park several years ago, and since it always brings me good luck you don’t stand a chance, Your Highness.”
Morrison chuckled. “Not today, Daddy-Daycare! I’m going to mop the court with you.”
Taking their positions on the court, they agreed to do practice shots to warm up, and took turns serving the ball. Morrison heard his cell phone ring from inside his duffel bag, but ignored it. He hadn’t seen Duane all week, and he was having fun talking trash and joking around with his brother. His family meant the world to him, and nothing mattered more to Morrison than spending time with the people he loved. Losing Emmanuelle had been a crushing blow, the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and at her memorial service he’d vowed never to take his siblings for granted again.
“Reagan called me a few minutes