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“Umm, Wade…”
“Yeah, babe?”
My mom turns. Her eyes bug and then squint shut as she throws her hand out to block her view. “Jesus,Wade!”
Uh-huh. “I’m going back to the hotel to grab some clothes.”
Hand still blocking her view, my mom fumbles out of her seat. “You aren’t leaving this house, mister. If Kelsey comes home from the courthouse early, lock yourself in your room.” Then to Harlow, “Grab his keys, we’ll get his clothes.”
* * *
Harlow
I makeit all the way to the truck before I crack. Grace slides into the passenger seat beside me, the horror still lingering in her eyes. She takes my hand in hers and we both fold forward, laughing so hard I’m not sure it will ever stop.
“I’ve never seen anything so—”
“He should have warned us—”
“Were those even his?”
Grace wipes her eyes and sits back. “I thought so, but maybe they were Walt’s?”
I shake my head. “From middle school?”
She scrunches her face in thought. “I don’tthinkso?”
And I die laughing some more.
I get a text from Wade telling me the circulation is being cut off to my favorite “fun park” and to put the truck in gear and go. After adjusting every setting six hundred times, it’s about as good as it’s going to get.
“I don’t normally drive Wade’s truck. Are you sure you want to come along?”
Grace buckles up. “Absolutely. You see what I have to deal with raising these boys? I’ll take every minute with their girls I can get.”
I don’t wreck the truck and Grace waits in the lot while I grab the clothes. She peppers me with stories about Wade as a boy, and I’m grinning so hard I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to ice my cheeks from the workout they’re getting.
When we get back, Walt’s car is in the drive and I can only imagine his reaction to his brother’s nothing-left-to-the-imagination ensemble.
But when we walk in, it’s not Walt I see.
“David?” I choke out.
Chapter 19
Harlow
“Harlow Richards, what the heck?” David chuckles, rushing over to shake my hand with both of his. “This is unexpected. How do you know Walt?”
I blink, holding my smile in place as my worlds collide.
A warm hand smooths over my back, circling around to my hip in a possessive hold. And my breath stalls in my lungs, any hope—irrational as it might have been—of keeping David Carlson from human resources at PHR from finding out who I’m here with goes out the window.
His brows bump to his hairline. “You’re Wade’s—” He turns to Wade, who’s still wearing the obscene sweats, not that anyone’s paying attention now. “Wow, man. I had no idea. When did this happen?”
My heart starts to pound and my mind spins.
Whendidthis start? What did we agree to say? Are we both about to be caught?
