Page 20

Harper

Agreed. I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine, we'll smile politely at group dinners and never speak of this again.

Cam

Deal.

I set my phone down, told myself I felt relieved, and absolutely did not spend the next ten minutes analyzing the phrase "move forward" like it was a secret code.

This was fine. Everything was fine. We'd handled it like adults. Crisis averted.

That was four days ago.

Now I was standing in Mia's beachside cottage, trying to figure out how to murder my best friend and make it look like an accident.

"I can't believe you're making me do this," I said, watching Mia bustle around her kitchen like she wasn't currently ruining my life. "This is a betrayal of our friendship. This is worse than the time you made me watch all three of the Hobbit movies in one sitting. This is—"

"It's a youth basketball clinic for underprivileged kids," Mia interrupted, not even looking up from the protein bars she was packing into her bag. "You're being dramatic. Stop getting so overwhelmed.”

"I'm being appropriately whelmed by the situation." I collapsed onto her couch with the kind of theatrical despair usually reserved for an Edgar Allen Poe poem. "Mia. Babe. Light of my life. You know I love you. But I literally just agreed to avoid Cameron Russo for the rest of my natural existence. And now you want me to show up at her basketball clinic?"

"It's not her clinic. It's a Fangs organization clinic."

"But she'll be there."

"Probably."

"Definitely. You said definitely yesterday when you were guilt-tripping me into this."

Mia finally looked up, gave me those puppy dog eyes that were completely unwarranted and should be banned by the Geneva Convention. "Harper. These are kids from underserved communities. Kids who need positive role models and access to programs they might not otherwise get. You know how much that would've meant to you at that age."

I groaned, covering my face with a throw pillow. "That's a low blow, and you know it."

"Is it working?"

"Yes, and I hate you for it."

"You love me."

"I love you and I hate you. Both things can be true." I sat up, pointed at her with the pillow. "But for the record, I'm going under duress. This is coercion. I'm being coerced."

"You're being a good person and supporting youth development."

"I'm being emotionally manipulated by someone who knows my weaknesses. It's basically a hostage negotiation at this point."

Mia grinned, victorious. "Wear something cute. It's outdoors."

"Oh, so now I have to look good while being tortured? What's next, you want me to bring snacks? Perform a dance number? Donate a kidney?"

"Just be there at ten. And Harper?" Mia's expression softened. "Thank you. Really. This matters."

And see, that was the problem with having a best friend you actually loved. They could weaponize your affection for them, and you just had to take it.

"I'm getting credit for this," I muttered, heading for the door. "Like, eternal credit. When you're old and gray and asking me for favors, I'm going to bring this up. 'Remember that time I went to a basketball clinic to do the opposite of avoiding the woman I explicitly said I was avoiding because you made me?' Yeah. That's going in the vault."

I showed up at the clinic wearing my cutest athletic wear because if I was going to suffer, I was going to look irresistible while doing it.

Purple leggings that made my legs and ass look incredible. Sports bra and a cropped tank top that showed just enough stomach to be a threat to humankind. Hair pulled up in a high ponytail, curls perfectly defined because I'd spent thirty minutes on them this morning. Minimal makeup but enough that I looked effortlessly pretty, which was a lie because nothing about my face was effortless.