Page 24 of Filthy Rich Brother’s Best Friends (Filthy Rich Harems #5)

Lola

I stare at the ceiling for a long time.

There’s this shallow groove in the plaster that I keep tracing with my eyes, back and forth, over and over. It doesn’t lead anywhere. Neither do my thoughts.

The sheets are a tangled mess around me. I never moved to fix them after round two. Honestly, I haven’t moved at all.

Reid must have left earlier and I’m grateful for that. I can’t do the “morning after” thing with him right now. Or ever.

I feel like I should be angry at myself for letting it happen. I’m not though. The truth is I needed it. And I’d do it again if he walked through my door right now.

That’s the worst part. It was so damn easy to let go with him.

But it’s easy with Jude too. He never expects more than I want to give. He knows how to hold me when I need to be held and how to shut up when silence is the only thing I can handle. Being around him feels comfortable and easy.

Then there’s Miles. Sweet, dependable Miles. I fucked that one up royally. What kind of person makes a confession like that and slips away without a word? I can’t even imagine what it must have felt like to wake up alone the next morning. He hasn’t responded to any of my texts since then.

I never made them any promises. I never told any of them I belonged to them. And I don’t owe them anything. That doesn’t stop the guilt from crawling up the back of my throat.

None of this was planned. But I don’t think I could stop even if I wanted to. I want different things from each of them. Comfort. Escape. Punishment.

When I finally roll out of bed, it’s only because I can’t lie in my own worries any longer. My limbs feel heavy, sore in all the places that used to be numb. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. There’s a bruise on my thigh that I know came from him, and I trace it with my fingertips.

I don’t want to sort through all these feelings right now. I just want coffee.

The second I step into the kitchen, I regret it.

Gigi’s perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, already holding court. She’s still wearing Reid’s jersey. This time she’s cuffed the sleeves and tied the hem in a knot at her waist.

“I’m just saying,” she tells Blaire, “we’d be unstoppable. I mean, he’s the brooding ex-pro, I’m the intuitive healer. Wellness power couple, obviously. Can’t you see it? The branding simply writes itself.”

Blaire snorts into her mug. “It’s perfect.”

My jaw tightens. I walk past them without a word, heading straight for the coffee machine. I pour myself a cup and continue ignoring them.

Gigi doesn’t stop. She actually raises her voice to make sure I hear her.

“God, I was so sore this morning,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. “Pilates, obviously.”

Not at my studio you back-stabbing bitch.

“Obviously,” Blaire deadpans.

The worst part isn’t even the performance.

It’s how transparent it is.

They didn’t see him leave my room. That much is obvious. If they had, this would be uglier. And way more vicious.

When I don’t give her the response she’s looking for, she addresses me directly. “What the hell was that between the two of you last night, Lola?”

Shit. Did she see him leave?

“Honestly,” she says, “you and Reid should really work on your energy. It’s not exactly chill, you know. He stormed after you and we could hear you two yelling at each other.”

I keep my face neutral and my mouth shut.

“He’s going to be around a lot more, Lola. So, you two need to work your shit out. I mean it was so dramatic. Get over yourself.”

“I’ll get right on that.”

“Just saying,” she adds, and flips her hair.

Blaire finally speaks. “I don’t know. You and the guys have gotten pretty close, haven’t you, Lola?”

The smile that comes with it is soft enough to pass for polite if you didn’t really know Blaire. I’ve lived with her long enough to know better. She’s fishing, looking for some reaction to confirm what she thinks is going on.

I don’t give her what she’s looking for. “Not really,” I say nonchalantly. “I mean, I’ve known Reid and Miles for forever. Gotta run, though. I’m late.”

I look over at the guys’ house as I head toward my car. My fingers are tight around the strap of my bag, and I already hate the idea forming in my head. I grab my phone anyway and open the thread between me and Miles.

Still nothing.

There’s a few messages from me going back to the morning I walked out of his room without looking back. I can see he read them, he just hasn’t responded to a single one.

I hesitate. Then I type.

Lola: You don’t have to talk to me. I just want to know you’re okay.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. I backspace half the line and rewrite it. Then rewrite it again. Then delete the whole thing and start over.

Lola: I didn’t mean to hurt you.

My thumb hovers over send. Nope. That’s not it either.

Lola: Can we talk? Please?

I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Then I shove my phone in my bag and slide into the driver’s seat already knowing he probably won’t answer.

Every class today feels longer than the last. And without anyone else to lean on for a break, I carry it all alone. Reid hasn’t been back in since Gigi interrupted us. He offered all this help and never followed through on it.

Maybe he’s waiting for me to ask. I just can’t bring myself to do that. As much as I need his help, I don’t want it. I don’t trust that he won’t find a way to hold it over my head and demand something in return.

Sure the sex is mind blowing, but he’s still Reid. And Reid is an asshole.

Every moment of my day is busy. The few moments I do have between classes are spent doing all the little things it takes to keep a studio running.

I clean the bathroom, launder the towels, sort the merch bins, and answer the urgent emails in my inbox.

It’s not enough to quiet the thoughts in my head.

By the time the sun starts to dip behind the buildings, I’m wrung out. My muscles throb from overwork. My head aches. I’ve had too much caffeine and not enough food. I know I should go home. Shower. Sleep. Try again tomorrow.

I sit in the back office with my phone in my lap for too long. I scroll through my contacts. I pass over Reid quickly. I hover on Miles for a second. No. I can’t press the button. There’s no reason to put myself through the pain of him refusing to answer.

Then I land on Jude.

I type without thinking.

Lola: Can I see you?

I hit send before I lose my nerve.

He replies in under a minute.

Jude: My place or yours?

Lola: I’ll be home in 10.

I grab my bag and lock the office behind me.

By the time I get home, the sky’s completely dark.

I pull into my spot and turn off the engine, but I don’t reach for the door right away.

My fingers stay wrapped around the steering wheel.

I’m relieved to see neither of my roommates' cars are here. Thank god, because I don’t have the energy to deal with them tonight.

Jude is already waiting by the front steps. He crosses the asphalt and opens the door before I can even reach for the handle. And then he’s reaching in, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me out of the car and straight into him.

I sink into his chest and let my bag fall to the ground. For the first time all day, I let myself stop pretending to be okay.

He strokes my back slowly, not saying anything. Not asking anything either, which I appreciate. The silence is the only thing that keeps me from falling apart.

After a while, he kisses my temple. “Let’s go inside.”

I nod.

He picks up my bag and follows me through the front door. We don’t speak as I disarm the security system. I leave the lights off, not wanting the brightness right now.

We move through the front hall and up the stairs toward my room like it’s a routine we’ve done a hundred times before.

I let myself wonder what it would be like if I just chose him. What would happen if I stopped running in circles and let myself lean on just one person. Jude always shows up when I need him. And right now, he feels safer than anything else in my life.

He would take care of me if I let him. I know it.

There’s a version of this story where I stop fighting it. Where I fall into him and let that be enough. I let the guilt go and stop carrying everything on my own. That version sounds so easy I almost convince myself it’s real.

There’s another version, too. One where I don’t have to choose. Where all three of them hold me up, because I’m so goddamn tired of pretending I can do it alone.

It’s a fantasy, and I know it. But damn, it would be nice. I wonder what it would be like to be taken care of for once. Why am I always the one holding everything together? It’s exhausting to always be the strong one. I don’t feel strong, I feel broken.

I can almost see it—three pairs of hands holding me, each of them giving me something different, something I need.

I let the thought linger longer than I should. Then I shut it down before it becomes something I can’t ignore.

I step into my room and sit on the edge of the bed. Jude follows close behind. He caresses my chin, thumb brushing lightly against my jaw.

“You want a shower?”

I nod. He looks at my face for a moment, and gently rubs my shoulder.

“You want company?”

I give a faint smile and nod again.

In the bathroom, he starts the water while I peel off my clothes. He grabs towels then checks the temperature. When we step under the hot water, it feels so damn good.

His fingers move through my hair with gentle pressure, massaging my scalp as he shampoos my hair. I tilt my head forward into his chest. He rinses the suds from my hair and keeps one hand on my waist.

Then he soaps up every inch of my body with my delicious rose shower gel and uses the detached showerhead to rinse me off.

He doesn’t try to kiss me or fool around.

He just takes care of me.

After, he wraps a towel around my body and dries my hair with slow, careful motions.

He helps me dress in pajamas then pulls back the covers and helps me climb into bed.

“Can I make you something to eat? You’ve got to be hungry,” he asks.

“Starving actually,” I respond.

He leaves and comes back ten minutes later with scrambled eggs, toast and an assortment of berries.

I gobble it up, not even caring how unladylike I look.

“Thank you so much. That’s the first real meal I’ve eaten today.”

“You need to take better care of yourself, Lola.”

“I know. I’m trying.” I feel like crying but hold it back. I don’t want to make this awkward.

He puts my empty plate on my dresser before climbing in bed with me. He positions himself behind me and pulls me in until my head is resting against his shoulder and I can feel the rise and fall of his chest.

His hands find my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tense muscles with practiced precision. I inhale sharply at the initial intensity, then exhale as the knots begin to release.

"You're carrying everything right here," he murmurs, working the rigid band between my shoulder blades. His fingers are strong but gentle, finding every painful spot with uncanny accuracy.

I let my head drop forward as he moves up to my neck, his thumbs circling the base of my skull where tension always collects. The pressure is perfect—firm enough to reach the deep tissue but never crossing into pain.

"God, that feels amazing," I breathe.

He hums in acknowledgment, moving to my temples with feather-light circles. His fingertips trace my jawline, releasing tension I didn't even know was there. When he returns to my scalp, applying gentle pressure in spiraling patterns, I feel myself melting.

My breathing slows. My mind, which has been racing for days, finally quiets. It's like he's not just massaging my body but somehow reaching all the tangled thoughts in my head and smoothing them out too.

I feel myself drifting, suspended in that peaceful place between wakefulness and sleep. For the first time in weeks, my nervous system isn't on high alert. The constant buzz of anxiety fades to a distant hum.

"Better?"

“Oh my god, yes. I forgot how magical your hands are.”

He chuckles quietly. “I’m here to remind you anytime you’d like.”

I don’t know when it happened—when he stopped being the easy choice and became the one I’m afraid to lose. Somewhere between his quiet patience and the way he always knows what I need before I say it, he stopped being just comfort and started meaning something more.

I want this.

I want him.

And not just tonight. I want this to be real. Even if things are messy and nothing about my life makes sense right now. I still want him here, beside me.

I know there are things to figure out with Reid and Miles, too. But I can’t let Jude go. I won’t.

Jude is propped against my headboard looking sexy as all hell. If I didn’t have to head over to the studio right now, I’d be climbing back in and having my way with him.

He watches me get dressed. There’s something warm in his gaze that makes me pause in the middle of tugging my tank over my head. He has this cute little smirk on his face that I want to kiss right off. So, I do.

I press a knee into the bed and reach for him. He meets me in the middle, fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt.

“Hi, baby.”

I close the space between us, just enough to brush my nose against his. My lips are inches from his when the door flies open.

“Oh—”

Blaire stands in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the knob, a perfectly timed smirk already pulling at her mouth.

“You’re up early,” she says, drawing the words out. “Geez, you must be exhausted juggling all these men. Wasn’t it Reid in here just the other night?”

I freeze. So does Jude.

She holds my gaze a second longer, then flips her hair over one shoulder and lets the door swing shut behind her.