Page 65 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

“Rough day, Lo?” Gigi’s voice drips with artificial sugar.

She answers Gigi with a hum that barely counts as acknowledgment. I open my mouth to say something—what, I have no idea. I never even get the chance. Lola walks out of the kitchen and disappears down the hall. The silence she leaves behind is louder than Gigi’s next laugh.

My stomach knots.

I don’t miss the smile curling at the edge of Gigi’s perfectly glossed lips. There’s nothing innocent about it. It’s not even subtle. This girl knows exactly what she’s doing. I hate that I gave her the ammunition she needed to hurt Lola more.

I excuse myself from Gigi, saying I need to use the restroom. She nods and immediately grabs her phone. I’m guessing she’s going to take a million selfies in my jersey. Damn it…

But I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I have something else I need to take care of.

Lola’s door is nearly shut when I reach it. I move fast enough to stop it with my palm. She turns the second I step in.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “Whatever bullshit you came in here to say, keep it to yourself.”

“I’m not here to fight,” I say.

She crosses her arms and gives me a look that cuts straight through my chest. “Then why are you in my room, Reid? Go back to your little fan club in the kitchen.”

“Can you not?”

Her mouth drops open. “Can I not? You really want to come in here and start with me after that performance?”

“That wasn’t a performance.”

“Right. Okay.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You know exactly what that was.”

“Oh, I do,” she says. “You get too close and then pull this shit so I’ll back off.”

I step toward her. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t constantly trying to win some fight I’m not even in.”

She snorts. “You’re always in it. You start it every damn time. You show up, poke at me, get me worked up, and then act surprised when I don’t take it quietly.”

“Oh, I remember you taking it very quietly at brunch.”

“Fuck you.”

I deserve that. I know I do.

“You don’t get to act innocent when you walk into my kitchen and let my roommate hang on you like that.”

“I didn’t ask her to touch me.”

“But you let her,” she snaps. “And you didn’t just let her, Reid. You leaned into it. You let her wear your fucking jersey.”

My jaw tightens. I hate the way she says it.

“You wanted me to see that,” she says. “You knew I’d walk in and you didn’t even flinch.”

“You think I planned that?”

“Please! Of course, you did.”

“Not true.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” she snaps.