Chapter 2

War was serious business. This particular war had been waged for more than fifteen years, on battlegrounds ranging from football fields to baseball diamonds to basketball courts. Today it was racquetball and Brandon Burgan was caught in a tie, which was, to his mind, every bit as bad as losing. He wiped impatiently at the sweat dripping into his eyes as he waited for the next incoming projectile.

Thwack! The ball bounced off the wall of the court and came hurtling toward his head. With a twist and a mighty backhand, Brandon sent it winging back toward Travis with all the ferocity of a Viking berserker.

"Point!" he shouted as it sailed past his friend's racquet with inches to spare. The spurt of momentary victory was sweet and merited a little trash talk. "Getting sloppy, pal. You too busy being moony-eyed over Alicia to keep your head in the game?"

"Oh, it is on, pretty boy." Travis retrieved the ball and served.

Brandon returned his volley. "Whipped. That's what you are."

"No such," Travis slapped the ball for emphasis, "thing. You're just jealous I'm getting regular, adult female company."

Brandon snorted at that and, for a couple of minutes, the only sounds were battle cries, the squeak of shoes, and the slap of racquet against ball. The music of friendship and competition.

Travis edged ahead by two points. "Take that," he said, with a little victory strut and point of his racquet.

"A temporary state of affairs," Brandon assured him with a cheerful flash of his middle finger. He tossed the ball to serve.

The jaunty strum of a banjo echoed off the court walls.

"Time out," called Travis, striding across to their pile of gear in the corner.

"Seriously? Haven't you heard of the Do Not Disturb function? It's 6:45. Who the hell is calling you this early?"

Travis didn't dignify that with a response as he reached simultaneously for a towel and his phone. "Abernathy."

That meant it was work. It was always work with Travis. Well, work or Alicia these days. She was a nice girl and a good match for Travis. Brandon just wished Travis had a little more free time to split between them. Knowing he was likely to be a while, Brandon passed the one-sided conversation by seeing how long he could bounce the ball on his racquet without dropping it.

Couldn't pay me enough to put up with that crap, he thought. And, in fact, they hadn't. No amount of money or corner office had been enough to make him endure the suits, the endless hours, and the stress. Which was why his buddy was the lawyer and Brandon had tossed his law degree only a year after passing the bar. These days he contented himself with being a freelancer, working quite blissfully on his own doing graphic design.

He'd made it to twenty-seven bounces without dropping the ball by the time Travis hung up. "You're surgically attached to that thing, man. It's not healthy to be that connected."

"If I wasn't connected, I wouldn't have just found out that court is canceled for the day. Judge Haygert has the stomach flu. This is awesome."

Brandon lifted a brow. "Probably not to Judge Haygert."

Travis waved him off. "Better him than me. I can get a jump start on that brief for the Wilson case."

Shaking his head, Brandon crossed the court and plucked the phone out of Travis's hand. "You're wasting a golden opportunity."

"Hey, give me that." Travis tried to nab the phone but Brandon just danced back and held it out of reach. "A golden opportunity for what?"

"To take a snow day. There's six inches of fresh powder out there. Let's hit the slopes."

The mix of guilt and desire on his friend's face was just pitiful. "I should really - "

"You should really take advantage and have some fun. You've been working your ass off to make partner since you joined the firm. C'mon."

"That would be how one actually makes partner," Travis pointed out.

"Dude, don't be such a suit."

"You haven't seen a suit since your mom's second wedding."

"And hallelujah for it," said Brandon with feeling. "But the point remains, people are more productive when they take actual time off to have fun."

"Easy for you to say. You're your own boss." But Brandon could tell he was wavering.

"All the more reason for you to take advantage of this unexpected gift of a day. Who knows when you'll get another day off?"

Travis rubbed the towel over his head. "You're not giving my phone back until I agree to this, are you?"

"Nope," said Brandon equably, grabbing a water and chugging.

"How 'bout we make a wager. I win this match, you give me my phone and I go into the office and get ahead so that I can maybe actually have a Saturday off for the first time in God knows when. You win, we go skiing today."

"I am duty-bound to kick your ass to save you from yourself."

Terms agreed upon, they took their positions and resumed battle. With a two point lead, Travis was cocky. Racquetball was his sport, and he was already semi-distracted by whatever brief his mind had already started working on the moment he took that call. So he didn't expect the brutal comeback that led to Brandon trouncing him 11-8.

Bracing his hands on his thighs, Travis worked on catching his breath. "What the hell, man."

"For your...own...good," managed Brandon. He tossed a bottle of water toward Travis, who barely caught it before it crashed into his head. "Hydrate. We've got a mountain to ski."