Page 8 of Filthy Rich Brother’s Best Friends (Filthy Rich Harems #5)

Lola

I ’m not okay right now. Not even a little bit.

The grill is smoking. The patio string lights have fallen down in several spots.

I’m not sure why Gigi decided they needed to be put up at the last minute.

All I know is that she was pissed I wouldn't help her. You know, because I can’t exactly prepare the entire dinner and help her hang completely unnecessary decorations at the same time. What a cold-hearted bitch I am, right?

Blaire was conveniently absent during Gigi’s meltdown. She emerged from the house five minutes later in a new outfit, raving about how she had created the perfect playlist. I guess our definitions of “perfect” differ because her playlist is giving me a massive headache.

I am now extremely irritated on top of being completely burnt out.

And they’re here. All three of them.

Jude, Reid, and Miles.

I can handle this, right? I’m an adult who does adult-y things. I can handle big girl feelings and even bigger awkwardness. This is just a simple backyard gathering with the new neighbors, not a complete disaster, right?

But every time I glance across the patio, I see Jude laughing at something Blaire said. It’s casual. I know it’s casual. But she keeps inching closer and closer to him and I’m fighting every instinct in my body to go push her away from him and tell her to back the fuck off.

Across the yard, Reid is bantering with Gigi, trying to get a laugh for some stupid joke he just told.

The way she’s pressing her chest into his arm, you’d think she’s incapable of holding herself upright without his help.

She tosses her head back with a laugh that carries over the god-awful music.

He says something to her, and she lightly slaps his chest.

Miles is standing a little off to the side, though near enough to Blaire and Jude that he’s almost part of their conversation. He’s not talking much, just nodding while Blaire rambles on about something I can’t hear. His expression doesn’t change, but I can tell he’s listening.

I’m trying not to spiral. Really, I am.

I’m keeping my distance, doing what I was “asked,” and I’m wearing the smile I keep on reserve for when I want people to think I’m fine. Spoiler alert: I am very much not fine. The trick is to keep moving. If I stop, I might start crying or screaming or throwing things. Probably all three.

And who doesn’t want to see a full-grown woman have a complete toddler tantrum?

The smoke is getting in my eyes. Or maybe that’s just my brain melting.

It’s just…a lot. Every second feels longer than the one before. I have to keep reminding myself to chill the fuck out.

But every time I manage to find some semblance of calm, I catch another glimpse of Reid’s smirk or the way Jude’s shirt hugs his arms or the way Miles keeps watching Blaire. And Gigi. And me.

I can’t do this.

I really, really can’t do this.

But I don’t really have a choice, do I?

I flip the burgers on the grill again, even though they don’t need it. Behind me, someone cracks open another drink. Someone else laughs too loudly. I can’t focus on any of it.

Then Jude steps up beside me.

He bumps my shoulder with his. Even that small, casual touch makes my brain short-circuit. I can feel someone’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my neck. When I glance back, I’m not at all surprised to find that it’s both Blaire and Reid staring daggers. If looks could kill…

“Do you need help with this? I feel bad you’re over here all by yourself.”

“It’s fine.”

The silence stretches thin. I wish he’d just walk away.

But he doesn’t. “So, you doing okay?”

“Yep,” I say.

I can feel him looking at me. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I can feel them all looking at me. My hands are shaking.

I adjust the heat on the grill, even though it doesn’t need adjusting. I swipe the side of my shorts with my free hand. I do anything I can to avoid looking at him again.

He leans in a little closer to me. I try to brace myself for what’s coming next.

“You left before I got up that morning.”

My stomach flips. And not in the cute, I’ve-got-butterflies-over-a-cute-boy kind of way. Nope. It's more of a roller coaster drop.

I laugh. Or I try to. It comes out weird and far too loud, ending in a pitch I’m pretty sure only dogs can hear. Then I flip a burger that wasn’t ready and manage to tear it in half before immediately knocking another one straight to the ground.

“Shit.”

Jude reaches for the tongs on the prep table, but I wave him off.

I bend to pick the patty up, mumbling something about early meetings and busy weeks.

My voice doesn’t sound like mine. My limbs don’t seem to want to work right.

I still manage to grab it with a napkin and toss it toward the trash behind me.

I don’t make it. It hits the patio with a sad little slap.

“Perfect,” I mutter.

“I’ve got it.” Jude grabs another napkin and throws the lost little patty directly into the garbage can.

“Lola,” Jude says.

I don’t answer. Instead I pretend like I’m so busy with my grillmaster responsibilities that I can’t possibly take a moment to concentrate on our conversation.

He exhales, then straightens like he’s going to say something else. But Reid interrupts him.

“Careful,” he says, glancing at the grill. “You’re going to dry those out.”

It’s a nothing comment. I’ve received far worse from Reid over the years. And even though I know he’s right, it scrapes across already raw nerves.

I keep my eyes on the grill. “Thanks for the tip.”

“You know we all saw you dropped one, right?” he adds. “Might want to double-check what’s landing on people’s plates.”

My jaw tightens.

“Not that I’m picky,” he goes on. “Just don’t want to eat food that’s been on the ground.”

Jude doesn’t say anything, but I feel him tense up beside me.

I grip the spatula tighter. “You don’t want a burger? Don’t eat one.”

“Just trying to help,” Reid says, feigning innocence. “Would hate for your little cookout to turn into a food poisoning lawsuit.”

I turn to face him. “Do you have anything useful to say? Or are you just here to be an asshole?”

He raises his brows, like I’ve shocked him.

“Didn’t realize constructive feedback made me an asshole,” he says. “Maybe you’re just sensitive.”

“Maybe you’re just a dick.”

He laughs. It’s this low, smug sound that always manages to get under my skin. “You always get this worked up when you cook?”

“You’re hilarious,” I say, shaking my head. “You may recall I’ve cooked for you a time or two. Someone had to make sure you ate something that didn’t come out of a microwave.”

“Ouch,” he says. “You’ve been saving that one?”

“Yes. You caught me, Reid. I keep an entire arsenal of insults just for you. That’s how often you’re on my mind.”

He takes another step forward, and now he’s too close. “I’m just saying,” he says, still wearing that smile that isn’t really a smile, “if you can’t handle a grill, maybe don’t volunteer to run it.”

I don’t tell him that I was voluntold. I should be in bed right now, trying to get a full night’s sleep for fucking once. But here I am, playing hostess because my inconsiderate roommates want to impress the pretty boys next door.

The pretty boys who turned out to be my one-night stand and my older brother’s two best friends. One of whom I’ve had a crush on since I was a teenager, and the other I can’t fucking stand.

“Not everything requires your commentary, Reid. If you’re that desperate for attention, try having another breakdown.”

His smile drops—just for a second. Shit. That was too far. It’s not his fault he got addicted to pain pills after his career-ending injury. I’m about to apologize but before I can, I watch as his face hardens and I know he’s going to start going for blood.

“You’re a mess tonight,” he says. “But you’re always a mess, aren’t you, Lola?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

There’s no smirk now. Just that cold, flat tone he saves for when he’s done playing around.

“You walk around like everyone’s supposed to accommodate your drama. Newsflash, the world doesn’t revolve around Lola Hayes.”

“Go to hell, Reid.”

“Already there,” he mutters. “Thanks for the invite.”

“I’ve been preparing this dinner for over an hour,” I snap.

“Right,” he says. “Because nothing says sacrifice like dropping half the food and throwing a tantrum when someone offers to help.”

I take a step toward him. “You didn’t offer help. You came over here to poke at me until I cracked.”

“If poking’s all it takes, maybe the problem isn’t me.”

Jude makes a sound in his throat, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.

“What the hell is your deal?” I ask, voice rising. “Why are you even here if you hate being around me so much?”

Reid just scowls at me. “I came here to sleep with your roommate.”

“Right. That’s why you’ve dialed the asshole up to eleven ever since you realized I know your roommate.” I lean in closer so he’s the only one who can hear me. “Does it bother you that I’ve slept with your roommate, Reid?”

His expression hardens.

Bingo.

“Wow,” I say. “There it is.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Please. You’ve been circling this grill like a pissed-off wasp since you got here. You don’t even care about the food.”

“Right. I definitely don’t care that you’re trying to feed me charred concrete.”

“I dropped one patty and it’s in the goddamn garbage! God, I cannot stand you. You think you’re better than everyone, but you’re just mean. And petty. And jealous.”

“Jealous?” He laughs again, this time louder. “Of what, exactly?”

I don’t answer. I’m too close to tears. And if I open my mouth again, I’m afraid I’ll scream or sob or both.

So I don’t.

I throw the spatula down. It hits the concrete with a sharp clatter. Then I turn, push through the stunned silence, and walk straight into the house without looking back.

I don’t stop until I’m safely in my room.

I shut the door behind me and press my back to it. I’m shaking as I push the hair back from my face.

I made a scene. In front of everyone. And for what? Because I let Reid push my buttons? More than that, I said something incredibly cruel to him for no reason. I deserved the retaliation.

I squeeze my eyes shut and tell myself to breathe. In. Out. Again. But it doesn’t help. I still feel like I’m going to explode. I’ve barely gotten my breathing under control when there’s a knock.

I swallow and open the door a crack.

It’s no surprise to see Jude standing on the other side. He has a beer in one hand, the other shoved into his pocket. He offers me a soft smile with absolutely zero judgement.

I almost cave and invite him in. But I think better of it.

“You and Reid have a history, huh?”

“Not the way you think.” I sigh. “Look, I’m sorry?—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. And it doesn’t have to be weird. Unless you want it to be.”

I nearly cry. Instead, I give a tight nod and mutter, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t try to come in, which I appreciate. Honestly, he doesn’t seem to expect much from me and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“I’m next door if you need me.”

I watch him head back downstairs. He pauses at the landing and gives me one last look. There is so much kindness and understanding in that gaze it makes my heart stutter.

That somehow makes all of this worse.

I close the door before I do something I can’t take back. Then I plop down on the end of my bed.

I want to wallow, but I need words of wisdom. So naturally I call Harper. I had texted her earlier about the shit happening over here and she insisted I call her when it was over.

She answers on the second ring. “You survived the cookout?”

“No,” I whine. “I didn’t.”

“Uh-oh.”

I take a shaky breath. “My one-night stand and my brother’s two best friends live next door.”

There’s a pause.

Then she laughs. Loudly. She’s laughing so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if she pees her pants.

“Harper.”

“What?” She giggles. “I’m still waiting on the punchline, because that sounds like the beginning of a really raunchy joke. Or, even better, the beginning of a really raunchy romance.”

I drop back onto the bed and throw my arm over my face.

“I’m going to die.”

“You’re not,” she says. “But if you do, leave me your shoe collection.”

I groan into my sleeve.

“It’s going to be fine, Lo-lo. And, if it’s not…well at least it will be documented on the socials by your airhead roommates.”

“That’s not helping!” I half laugh, half cry.

“Made you smile, though. So mission accomplished.”

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. My chest still feels like someone sat on it, but it’s a little looser now. Small wins.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” I mumble.

“You say that a lot,” Harper says. “I think you’re sleeping on an opportunity here.”

“Harper.”

“I’m just saying,” she says. “The universe dropped a buffet of emotionally complicated men on your doorstep. You could at least try the appetizer.”

I already have and she knows it.

I groan again. “Stop.”

“Fine. But I’m serious. You don’t have to do anything right now. Relax. Sleep. Panic again in the morning. You’re allowed.”

I nod again, even though she can’t see that either.

We sit in silence for a second.

Then I hear her yawn. “Okay, I’m gonna fall asleep with my AirPods in again and die of brain cancer. Call me tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight, disaster.”

“Goodnight, bad influence.”

I set the phone on my nightstand, then I press my palms into my eyelids and tell myself I’m fine.

It’s not true.

But maybe tomorrow I’ll believe it.