Playing Mr. Perfect (The Bradens at Ridgeport #1)

Clay

I drop my suitcase and head directly to the minibar in my Paris hotel suite to pour myself a shot of whiskey. It was a long-ass flight, and my shoulder aches. Fucking injury . I’m downing the shot when my phone rings, and my youngest brother’s name flashes on the screen. I pour myself another shot and answer on speaker. “Hey, Noah. What’s up?”

“I’m here with Clay Braden, the quarterback for the New York Giants,” he announces in his best sportscaster voice. “Clay, you lost the playoff game for your team, and they won’t let you into Disney World. Fans want to know what’s next for Mr. Perfect.”

I down the shot, trying to drown out my recent distaste for the nickname the media graced me with a decade ago. As far as Noah goes, we’ve always given each other crap to lighten the mood when tough shit happens. It usually works, but last weekend’s loss is still raw.