Page 91 of Lose You Twice

Kai: stop texting me from the same room.

Harlow: Stop being emotionally loud.

Kai: you’re sick. harass someone else.

Harlow: I am not sick.

She lowers her phone, then immediately winces and presses a hand to her stomach again.

Grayson catches it this time. “Harlow.”

“I’m okay.” She closes her eyes for a second. “Maybe I picked something up from the twins. They were definitely a handful this weekend.” She sits up slowly. “I might go home. I told Wren I’d help tomorrow morning because her mom picked up an early shift, but I can text her.”

“Help with what?” I ask.

Harlow looks at me, and even sick, even pale, even wrapped in Grayson’s blanket, she knows exactly what she just did.

“Nothing.”

“Harlow.”

She winces. “Her mom’s car broke down this morning, so Wren is letting her use her car, and I was going to pick up Wren and the twins tomorrow morning and take them to school. The boys arranged rides with their friends, so it’s just the littles that we need to get.”

“I can do it.”

The room goes quiet.

Weston lowers his chip bag. “Sorry, what?”

I look at Harlow, not him. “I can go.”

Harlow’s brows lift. “You have morning workout.”

“I can move it.”

Grayson studies me, a knowing grin taking over.

“It’s not like I’ve never skipped a workout before,” I say, then instantly regret my word choice, as I most definitely haven’t skipped a workout before. “I’m capable of driving children to school.”

Weston raises a hand. “Do they know that?”

Harlow leans back, looking tired enough that the argument leaves her face. “Kai, you don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Wren might be a little more than displeased,” Harlow says, giving me another chance to take back my offer, but I don’t. “She might yell at you. She’s not exactly a morning person.”

I chuckle, because that’s an understatement. “She probably will.”

Weston points at me. “Why do you sound hopeful? Is that your kink?”

I throw a pillow at him without looking.

He catches it against his chest and gasps. “Violence. In my vulnerable space.”

“It’s the living room,” Asher says.

“My vulnerability lives here.”