Page 29 of Making It Up

Thanks for the food, but no need to thank me. Happy to help.

Another text comes in right after that one.

But you know I can’t call you. You know we can’t see each other. We really can’t be friends. I’m really sorry.

My stomach drops.

Another text comes in.

You’re great. But we can’t be more than that either.

Ugh. I feel a little sick now.

Which is stupid. This is what I expected. But I’m shocked at how disappointed I am.

I show Harlow my phone. “This is worse than a tornado.”

She scans the text. Then grimaces. “He’s talking about Dad there?”

I nod. “And doing something that would disappoint Dad would be really hard for me.”

“I know.” She dips another fry, then says, “You know that Dad really only wants you to be happy, right?”

I do know that. “Yes, but I also know he thinks he knows how to make that happen better than anyone.”

She nods. “So…maybe there are two men you need to prove something to. One needs to realize that you’re perfectly capable of figuring out what and who makes you happy for yourself. And another needs to figure out that there is absolutely no use in trying to resist you.” A little smile teases the corner of my sister’s mouth.

I let her words sink in. As they do, my smile grows bigger and bigger. “I think you might be onto something there.”

“God, falling in love myself has made me a sucker for this shit,” she says with a little sigh.

I laugh. “Well, perfect timing. You can help me with my idea.”

“Ooh, yes. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to have to work out the details,” I tell her, feeling a rush of excitement and, if I’m not mistaken, empowerment. “But if I had to summarize it, I would say I’m going to seduce David Bennett.”

CHAPTER 6

DAVID

Pink cardigans are a new turn-on for me.

Short sundresses with cowboy boots are not.

They’re not new, I mean. They’re definitely a turn-on for me.

Mia Hansen dressed in anything is, apparently, a turn-on for me. That’s new too. And I’m not happy about it. But it’s undeniable as she steps into the Come Again with three friends on Friday night.

She’s wearing a cream-colored dress and turquoise-colored cowboy boots, with her hair down, her makeup done, and a huge smile.

The dress isn’t tight, but it’s cinched at the waist. It’s got sleeves. Kind-of. The loose sleeves cover her arms from the elbows down, but her shoulders are bare, like someone cut holes in the tops of the sleeves. Holes to tease and tempt the men around her with even more skin. As if all the skin shown off from the hem of the dress down to the tops of her boots wasn’t enough to have every male in the room turning to look.

Her hair is most definitely not pulled back and up into a prim little bun. It’s falling past her shoulder blades in waves, and not wind-blown-frizzy-and-tangled waves like the other night. Tonight, it’s sleek and smooth, and I want to run my fingers through it.

Of course, I wanted to run my fingers through it when it was frizzy and tangled, too, so that’s not really a shock.

I am definitely not the only one in the bar who notices the new arrivals.