He rolls his eyes. “I’ve caught a few minutes of it when Laney’s been watching it.”
I chuckle. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
Suddenly, the car door opens.
“Can we go already? I could have walked home quicker,” Laney shouts before slamming the door.
“Unlikely in those shoes,” Ben mutters as he steps away and holds the passenger door open.
We’re silent on the short drive to my apartment. I don’t know what to say to Laney, and I doubt she wants to make small talk either. When Ben parks up, I turn in my seat to look in the back of the car.
“It was good to finally meet you, Laney.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Laney mumbles, and my heart sinks.
“Don’t be so God damn rude, Laney Murphy!” Ben exclaims. “Apologize to Ashlyn, right now.”
I place my hand and Ben’s arm. “It’s okay, Ben.”
“It’s not okay. It’s not okay at all.”
I give him a small smile. “I should go.”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
“I feel sick,” Laney says from the backseat.
Ben closes his eyes and blows out a breath.
“You should take her home,” I tell him softly.
He leans across the centre console and brushes a kiss on my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in my ear.
“Stop apologizing,” I whisper back.
I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”
“I have an all-day meeting at Riverside tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll text you about tomorrow night.”
“Okay. Night, Ash.”
“Night.”
I step out of the car and make my way to the entrance of my apartment building. Glancing back, I wave at Ben, and he waves in return, only driving off once I’m inside and the door clicks shut behind me.
With a sigh, I watch his car disappear into the distance. This isn’t how I expected the night to end. I always knew gaining Laney's approval would be tough. I think I underestimated justhow tough. I expected my brothers to be the biggest challenge in our relationship, but now I’m starting to realize they might be the least of my worries.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ben
Idon’t want to leave Ashlyn in the foyer of her apartment building, but with Laney threatening to throw up, I have no choice. With a reluctant wave, I pull away. My anger toward Laney is so overwhelming that I can barely see straight, my grip on the steering wheel turning my knuckles white. A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows Laney with her eyes closed. Maybe it’s for the best. We should wait until we’re home to talk. Right now, I’m so furious, I’d probably say something I’d regret.
Twenty minutes later, I pull onto the driveway.
“We’re home,” I say before opening the door and climbing out. Laney follows slowly, my frustration growing as I wait on the porch for her to close the car door. The car locks automatically, and I open the front door and walk inside.
