I’d briefly forgotten that in addition to my call to my parents, my bestie knew about the marooned hottie in my bed, and of course she wants to be involved. I should have known she’d come over.
Annabelle appears in my bedroom doorway seconds later, a hot tea in one hand and a cookie in the other. She takes one look at the scene—Harris still bare chested in my bed, my parents standing over him like doctors, and me, looking like I’d ratherdiethan be here—and grins.
“Oh,” she drawls, stepping inside like she owns the place. “This is even better than I imagined it. No worries—I brought ice packs, Band-Aids, and snacks.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Annabelle holds up the cookie, breaks off a chunk, and pops it into her mouth, chewing like she’s savoring the moment. Likethis moment—one when I’m dying of embarrassment—is the best evening entertainment she could have possibly hoped for.
I groan, dropping onto the edge of the bed and pressing my fingers to my temples. “Annabelle, why are you here?”
She lifts her cup and sips from it. “Moral support. I was worried.”
Dad snorts. “She’s gonna need it.”
Annabelle grins. “Phil and Liz—just so you know—I happen toloveHarris. I give him my stamp of approval.”
Mom sighs dreamily. “Heisvery charming.”
Harris beams at them both. “Thank you, ladies.”
He raises his arms above his head like he’s going for a casual stretch, but the second his muscles tense, his face twists in a grimace.
I glare, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t get points for winning over my mom and best friend—they don’t even know you.”
I’m never telling Annabelle anything ever again, I swear!
Mom, thrilled by this disaster, hums. “We knowenough. He’s delightful, persistent, and—” She gestures toward his shirtless, rugged, hot body. “Very dedicated.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Mother!”
Dad sighs, rubbing his temples. “Are we actually going to stand here pretending climbing her trellis with the intention of breaking in was some noble, romantic gesture?” He levels Harris with a stare. “The man fell onto my garbage cans.”
Harris nods solemnly. “I’d do it again, sir.”
Mom actually gasps.
Annabelle clutches her chest. “Such a heroic thing to do.”
I shoot Harris a look. “Would you please stop flirting with them?” He is not doing me any favors.
Harris shrugs, all easy confidence. “Can’t help it, Luce. I’m just a guy doing romantic shit and making all of y’all swoon.”
I want to smother him with a pillow. Who is this guy? He’s hurt! What man turns into a total wicked flirt when he’s laid out on his back?He is leaving. He has no right to charm the pants off my mother.
Mom sighs wistfully. Annabelle fans herself, playing along, winking at me to let me know she’s teasing.
Then—when I think things cannot get any worse—there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door.
Annabelle perks up, her face none too innocent.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Why do you look guilty, Annabelle?”
She swallows, lifts her travel mug as if she’s making a toast, and adds, “Just let his buddies from yoga know that Harris was gravely injured. Plus Wally, Bill, and Kyle, but they’re not as concerned.”
I hate her so much sometimes.
My mouth opens—ready to unleash the full force of my outrage—but before I can get a single word out, the front door swings open with zero hesitation.
