Page 77 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

His jaw is tight, chest rising and falling in short, shallow bursts. “If you want to accuse me of something, then do it.”

“I just did.”

“Don’t pretend you’re any more selfless than I am.”

“I’m not,” I say. “But I know what I want. And I don’t need to break her to get it.”

“This is what we do.”

“Is it? You flirt with Gigi in her kitchen, Reid. It’s right in front of her face, man. You show her how much she doesn’t matter to you every time you get a chance.”

“I haven’t slept with her roommates.”

I blink. That’s the defense? That’s the best he’s got?

“But you let her think you did,” I say. “You let her walk away believing the worst.”

He doesn’t answer. His fingers grab the edge of the counter. I can see the tension vibrating in his shoulders.

“I’m not judging you for fucking up,” I say quietly. “But if you’re not serious about her, you need to stop. Because whatever you’re doing? It’s hurting her.”

His jaw flexes. “Whatever.”

I catch the flash of frustration in his eyes a second before he turns. He mutters something I can’t hear, but the sound of his footsteps pounding toward the back door says enough.

I follow without thinking. I’m not about to let him walk away from this conversation. He yanks the door open with every intention of storming through it?—

But there’s Lola…

She’s standing on the other side of the door with a platter of chicken skewers in her hand. The other hand is lifted halfway in the air like she was about to turn the knob. Jude’s nowhere in sight and I remember now that he had to work at the spa this evening.

Lola’s eyes go wide as they flick between the two of us. And, right on cue, Gigi appears right behind her, wearing some godawful peach dress that makes her look like a piece of candy.

Reid mutters something under his breath and storms past them both.

Gigi trails after him with a sing-song “Reid, wait—” that makes my skin crawl. I don’t bother watching them go. I’m already looking at Lola.

Lola walks into the kitchen and my hand moves toward her. Then I redirect it to the back of my neck. After the way I’ve treated her this week, it’s not my place to offer comfort.I take the grilled chicken from her and place it on the counter.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says.

“You didn’t. Reid is just…being Reid.”

She frowns and then nods. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I don’t argue. Because she’s right.

She crosses her arms, but it feels more defensive than angry. “So, did I misread that night?”

She keeps going. “I know I shouldn’t have left the way I did in the morning. I panicked. And I’ve tried to talk to you since, but you haven’t exactly made yourself available.”

I stare at her for a second, then let out a slow breath. “You didn’t misread anything.”

That gets her attention.

“I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, Lola,” I say. “And I’ve spent most of that time telling myself it didn’t matter. Itwasn’t mutual, and I could live with that. Then itwasmutual. And it wasn’t hypothetical anymore.”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak.