Free The Other Game: A Dean Carter Novel (The Perfect Game #4) by J. Sterling

selfish too?” she shouted.
    “Sort of. You’re only thinking about yourself and your feelings. You’re not thinking about Jack at all. This isn’t just a game to him. This is his future, his career. He can’t screw it up. Don’t you care about that?” I said, my heart hurting for my brother.
    “None of that matters if he cheated on me,” she said matter-of-factly, and I felt like she’d slapped me across the face with her words.
    “But you don’t even know what happened! You don’t know who that girl was. She could be an old friend of his, but you have no clue because you won’t ask.”
    I dropped my head in my hand in frustration. Talking to Cassie was like talking to a brick wall.
    “Nope, I won’t. Not until he gets home. And don’t you dare say a thing to him either, Dean. I don’t want you tipping him off so he has an entire weekend to think up the perfect response.”
    Jesus, this girl was relentless.
    “I’m not saying a word to him. But can you please at least send him a text?” I begged. “Just give him something so he can focus on the game. Please do that for him.”
    The line fell silent between us, so silent that I pulled the phone away to glance at the screen to see if we were still connected. We were.
    “Fine,” she finally blurted. “I’ll text him as soon as you let me get off the phone.”
    I released a small laugh. “Talk to you later then.”
    “Wait! Dean?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You know I’m not picking him up on Sunday.”
    Damn it . I sighed, and said, “I’ll come get his car.”
    “Thanks. ’Bye.”
    When she hung up, my thoughts pinged from wondering if Cassie was going to text Jack, to worrying how I was going to pick up his Bronco from her place. I didn’t want to involve Gran and Gramps in any of the drama, and while the girls’ apartment wasn’t far, it was too far to walk.
    A text message pinged, and when I saw my brother’s name on the screen, I hesitated.
     
    Jack : Any news?
    Dean : She said she’s busy with a photography project that’s due.
    Jack : Thanks, man. Sorry I flipped out. I think I’m losing my mind.
    Dean : I told you she was fine. See you Sunday, bro. Good luck.
     
    I pushed my laptop aside and fell back on my bed before I called Melissa again.
    “What now?” she said.
    “I need a favor.”
    She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Another one?”
    “Cassie said she’s not picking Jack up on Sunday. Can you come get me and take me back to your place so I can pick up his truck? I know it’s a lot to ask,” I said, and then waited for her to respond. It seemed like I was always waiting for this girl.
    “No biggie. I’ll come get you. Now?”
    “Now works. Thanks.”
    I reached for my shoes and slipped them on before lacing them up, and then dug through the small drawer in my nightstand. When I found the bottle I was looking for, I pulled out three aspirin for the headache I felt coming on. After downing them with a sip of water, I walked into the living room where Gran and Gramps were sitting in their recliners, watching TV.
    “Melissa’s coming to get me so I can go get the Bronco. I’ll be right back, though.”
    Gran narrowed her eyes on me, instantly suspicious. I could never get anything past that woman.
    “Why are you getting Jack’s truck?” she asked, then glanced at Gramps. “I thought Cassie was looking after it?”
    “She was, but she hates driving it. She calls it his deathmobile.” I tried to smile and hoped they bought my lame excuse. “So instead of having it sit there all weekend, I’m going to get it.”
    “Okay,” she said slowly, thinking it over. “Then who’s picking him up on Sunday?”
    Shit . I’d forgotten about that part. “I am. Cassie has some big photography project she’s working on all weekend.”
    “All right. Drive safe,” Gran said, then added under her breath, “It is sort of a deathmobile.”
    “I like that car. Truck. Whatever it is,” Gramps muttered as he lifted the