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Jokes on all of them, though. Garrison and I are 100% still a couple.
But I’m not winning any Best Girlfriend awards this morning. “Maybe the time zones mixed up everything? Are you sure they delivered?” I ask Garrison on the phone while I frantically search the messy common area.
Wine glasses and empty bottles of Sauvignon Blanc make sticky rings on the coffee table, and I toss pillows off a purple thrift store couch, then peek behind the small TV. I already received an un-rate-able, out-of-this-world box of chocolates for Valentine’s from Daisy—(half the tin was espresso flavored)—so I don’t know why Garrison’s gift is missing.
“Nah,” he says. “I’m pretty sure they were already sent to your apartment last night—your time. I got an email confirmation, and someone signed off on the delivery. So they have to be there.”
I woke up in a cold sweat at 7 a.m. to his text message.
Garrison: did u like the roses? You never said anything about em
My heart sunk to my knees, and I texted back: what roses?
And then he called me.
Now I’m sweeping the tiny kitchen for a dozen pink roses and wondering if I should’ve taken Lo and Ryke’s handout.
The offer came early this month.
My brothers flew out to London ASAP—sooner than the visit they planned and booked—after Garrison made an off-handed comment about my flat being unsafe.
I don’t blame him for the loose lips. He lives with Lo, and he said it just slipped out.
When my famous brothers arrived, the internet went wild.
SPOTTED! Loren Hale & Ryke Meadows in London!
They were trending on Twitter, but they entered my apartment dressed in workout gear—baseball caps, sweatshirts, running pants, and Nikes—appearing more like normal men in their late twenties than billionaire celebrities.
No matter their clothing, they’re intimidating. Towering with overprotectiveness as I opened the door. Concern was etched in Lo’s sharp gaze and Ryke’s hardened jaw.
Lo bulldozed his way in. “Is this the lock?” His glare punctured inanimate objects like the doorknob already accosted me.
“Yeah,” I said softly, noticing bodyguards posted up in the apartment hallway.
Ryke was full-on brooding as he sauntered inside the flat, checking on my bedroom door.
“How many people come in here a day?” Lo asked me.
“Um…” I pushed up my glasses. “Besides my roommates, it just depends.” On party nights. “Maybe like…a dozen…or more.”
Lo looked supremely more protective. He put a hand on my shoulder as he rounded my body and motioned for security to check the windows.
All three of my roommates were in class at the time, but Sheetal and Tess texted sad gifs that they missed seeing more of my family.
The living room was still a mess from a party the previous night (one that I avoided), and I’d been trying to clean up. After a short house tour, I swept up potato chip crumbs, and my brothers talked heatedly under their breaths to each other.
Lo came forward, brows cinched with seriousness. “We need to talk.” He took the broom out of my hands.
“Okay.” I felt really young all of a sudden.
Ryke crossed his arms, eyes darkened.
“You’re famous,” Lo said flatly, like I’d never been served the fact. “Severely famous, Willow.” This wasn’t the first time his fame had impacted my living situation.
But it’s different now that he’s an ocean away. He can’t bail me out as easily, and I know Lo has always felt responsible for me.
He’s my brother.
“You have to remember that,” he continued. “Every day, everywhere you go.” He sighed out. “For Christ’s sake, you should have a bodyguard—”
“I don’t need one,” I protested, worried it’d draw more attention. I can be invisible, but that feels less likely with a muscular shadow following me.
Lo’s cheekbones sharpened. “I can’t leave you in a situation where you’re at risk of kidnap, rape, and murder.”
Ryke rolled his eyes. “We can add extra locks, Lo, and a fucking security alarm.”
I nodded. “I’d rather just do that…” I trailed off, noticing how Ryke zeroed in on the remnants of the party. Daisy had told him about my roommate problems, so I think he was more fixated on those.
Ryke was popular in college.
The captain of the track team.
Lo was lazy at Penn and skipped class more than he attended.
I know this from what they’ve told me, not just Wikipedia, but I wonder how they’d be at a collegiate party in their early twenties.
Definitely not like you, Willow. Hiding. In a closet.
“Why do you want to live here?” Lo questioned.
“My lease doesn’t end until May.”
Ryke frowned and asked, “That’s the only reason?”
I wanted to say, no. That I’ve been having a stupendous, heart-warming time living with my friends, but it’s been…rocky.
Not just between me and them. Sheetal and Tess blew up at Salvatore after his hookup projectile vomited everywhere in the bathroom.
He said that he hired some cleaning service, but they never showed. He left the mess too long, so the three of us ended up mopping puke for two hours.
