Page 2 of Filthy Rich Brother’s Best Friends (Filthy Rich Harems #5)

Lola

B y the time I get home, I am equal parts mortified and blissed out.

I can still feel his hands all over me. Every muscle feels like it melted into the car seat on the drive back, and my brain—which has been trapped in a non-stop anxiety group chat for the last six months—is suddenly quiet.

Not off, exactly. Just…not so loud. The volume has finally turned down enough for me to hear myself think.

The moment I shut the front door behind me, I sag against it and close my eyes. I can still hear the sound of his voice when he said those words that I cannot—will not—analyze right now.

Let me know if you need a minute to come down.

God.

I groan out loud, face heating all over again. That happened. That really, actually happened.

I toss my keys into the bowl on the side table, peel off my jacket, and head for my bedroom. I’m as quiet as I can be because I’d rather not alert either of my roommates to my presence if they’re home. When I get into my room, I lock the door behind me.

I pull out my favorite scented candle, my softest blanket, and the cute little pink vibrator I keep tucked in the nightstand drawer.

But just as I light the lavender candle on my nightstand, my phone buzzes.

I glance down. Harper.

Of course.

The screen lights up with her face. I stare at it for two full seconds before answering, because I already know how this goes. If I don’t answer, she’ll just call back.

I love her. She knows that. But right now, I’m trying to have a private moment with my newly relaxed nervous system and a rechargeable silicone lifesaver.

“Just one drink,” Harper says before I can even say hello.

“You owe me one drink, Lola Monroe Hayes. I haven’t seen your face in weeks, and if you flake again, I will show up at your studio and stage a full intervention with as much drama as I can possibly create.

I will chain myself to a reformer and sob at full volume. Do not test me, woman.”

I flop backward onto my bed, phone pressed to my ear. The candle is still flickering but it's useless to me now. “I was going to have a night of self-care,” I mumble.

“Girl, no. You’ve been in survival mode for a month. Self-care is great, but you need social contact that doesn’t involve any of your Pilates students.”

She’s not wrong. I want her to be. I want to tell her I’m busy or tired or too zen to go out, but the truth is I do need to see her. And she knows that.

“You’re not even going to let me say no, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” she says brightly. “You love me too much, and I’ve been patient long enough. Wear something cute. You’ve got exactly—” I hear her fake-checking her watch “—thirty minutes to meet me at Lucky’s.”

I groan, but I’m already rolling off the bed. “Fine. One drink. But I'm not putting on real pants.”

Harper snorts. “That’s the spirit.”

I hang up, and drag myself to the mirror.

My hair’s a mess, my face is still a little flushed from the massage—and the “event” I won’t let myself think about—but I swipe on mascara and lip gloss.

I pull on the first outfit that looks cute but feels comfortable.

Stretchy jeans, a black bodysuit I forgot I owned, and boots.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the car, mind still low-key vibrating from everything I swore I wasn’t going to think about again.

I really wanted to stay in tonight. But Harper asked and I couldn’t say no.

And maybe I do need the distraction.

Two drinks in, and the tight band across my chest has finally loosened. As have my lips.

Harper has her chin propped on her hand, eyes locked on me with full attention as I lower my voice and tell her everything. Well, not everything , but the parts I can say out loud in public.

The massage. The touch. The voice. The way my entire body short-circuited like a teenage girl grinding against her pillow (or her stuffed bear).

Her mouth drops open mid-sip. She blinks once, then stares at me. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Wait. Wait. Are you saying—did you actually?—”

I lift a finger. “I’m not confirming anything.”

“Oh my god.” She leans in closer, eyes wide with delight. “You got off during a massage?”

“Hush! Not so loud,” I say, looking around. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Harper bursts into laughter. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done. Ever. I don’t care how mortified you are, this is completely amazing, and I am here for it.”

I can’t help it. I start laughing too.

I feel warm. Loose. A little unhinged in the best way.

I glance around again, but no one seems to be paying any attention to us.

Still, I drop my voice another notch. “He didn’t exactly come out and tell me that he knew what happened.

But he did stop the massage and say— let me know if you need a minute to come down. ”

Harper chokes on her drink. “No. He did not.”

I nod and I feel my face go red again just from talking about it. She coughs and waves at the server for water, still laughing.

“Tell me more about this guy,” Harper demands.

I open my mouth to oblige…and then freeze.

Harper doesn’t notice right away. She’s still grinning into her glass, but my whole body has gone stiff.

“I said details, bitch!”

But I can’t answer. I’m not even sure I’m breathing at the moment.

Because he’s here.

The massage guy. Jude.

He just walked into Lucky’s, and I can’t fucking believe it.

He looks taller somehow. His hair is down, falling just past his jaw in lazy waves. He’s wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans, nothing special. But he looks so damn hot.

He starts walking toward the bar, but all of a sudden, he stops and turns toward me. Our eyes lock across the bar, and the rest of the room seems to drop away.

There’s an undeniable flutter between my legs that has no business showing up right now. But there it is, loud and clear.

Harper follows my gaze, and the second she sees who I’m looking at, her eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. Is that him ?”

I nod. Or I try to. It’s more of a barely-there jerk of my head, because I’m too busy trying not to pass out.

Harper leans closer. “That’s him? That guy?”

I swallow hard, and manage to choke out the words. “That’s him.”

“Oh, you weren’t kidding. Golden god doesn’t even do him justice.”

My thighs press together under the table. I am suddenly, acutely aware of how hot my skin feels, and how little oxygen seems to be available in this building.

He’s still watching me.

And I have no idea what’s supposed to happen next.

But he does.

He starts moving toward me. I tell myself I’m imagining it. But, no, he’s heading straight for our table.

“Oh! Oh! He’s coming over here! Lola,” Harper grabs my arm and shakes me, “you are so getting laid tonight.”

I swat at her as he stops beside the table. His gaze flicks to Harper for the briefest second, a polite nod, before he turns that crooked smile on me.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he says.

His voice hits low in my stomach. Who am I kidding? It hits a whole lot lower than that. It’s confident without the smug edge. I try to remember how to smile without looking deranged.

“I could say the same.” My voice comes out steady, which feels like a small miracle.

Harper looks between us with a glint in her eye that should probably worry me. “Hi,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m Harper. And I am one hundred percent here for this.”

He laughs. It’s an incredible sound, and I feel it hum right through me. “Jude.” He shakes her hand, then turns his attention back to me. “Can I buy you a drink?”

I should say no. I should thank him politely and leave. But my body is already leaning toward him, and my mouth is opening without permission.

“Sure,” I say, and the smile he gives me makes me tingle inside.

He flags the waitress, orders a beer for himself, and another round for me. And then he looks at me. He gives me his full attention the way he did earlier, when he rubbed my entire body and I couldn’t remember my own name.

But he doesn’t say anything. And neither do I.

I cross my legs under the table. My throat feels tight. The air between us buzzes with something I’ve never felt before.

“Okay,” Harper says suddenly, slicing through the silence like a knife. “That’s enough eye sex for one evening. I’m thinking it’s not going to take long before the two of you abandon me for the backseat of his car.”

I blink. Jude’s smile pulls wider, but he doesn’t look away from me.

“I wasn’t planning on a backseat,” he says. “Were you?”

My entire body lights up like it’s just been plugged in.

Harper lets out a low whistle. “Oh, my. I need some popcorn for this show.”

I finally break eye contact. It takes effort. Real, physical effort.

I take a sip of my drink, though I have no idea when it arrived.

“Do you always pick up women this way?” I ask.

He lifts his glass but doesn’t look away. “Only when one of them comes on my table, and runs out before I can ask for her number.”

I cough. Harper cackles.

This night has been completely turned upside down.

And I already know I’m not going to stop it.

Somehow we find our way back to silently staring into each other’s eyes. I hear Harper’s chair scrape back at some point. She mutters something about being safe, and kisses the top of my head.

Jude and I don’t stay long after that. We both know where this is going.

We walk out together into the night air. Neither of us is fit to drive so we take an Uber to his place.

We barely make it through the front door before he has me pressed up against it.

Jude’s hand curves around the back of my neck as his mouth finds mine. The kiss lands hard. Full pressure. Zero patience. It’s the kind of kiss that knocks the air out of you, and you desperately want more.

God help me, I melt for him like a puddle right there in the entryway.

His hands skim up my sides, splaying across my waist. I feel his thumb drag along the underside of my breast, and I gasp into his mouth.