“And how did that go?”
The corner of my mouth tilts into a smile. “She thought I was a scammer, and then she called and yelled at me.”
He angles his head, tiny creases forming between his dark brows. “And this makes you…happy?”
“Her voice gets all high and squeaky when she’s mad and?—”
“Oh, fucking hell,” he groans.
“What?”
“You like her.”
“I—what?”
“You fucking like her.”
I stare at him, my mouth on the floor as I process what he’s just said. “I do not. I barely know her. We haven’t seen each other since we were kids, and since then, we’ve shared a handful of texts. Besides, she’s Hendrix’s sister and?—”
“And what?” he challenges with a smug grin.
“And she has a boyfriend.” A really big asshole of a boyfriend. Even just thinking of him walking out on her that night at the bar makes me want to punch something.
If he worked for me, he would have been fired before his ass left the building. But he doesn’t work for me, and therefore, it isn’t any of my business—something Pres has made abundantly clear.
“So that’s the real reason then?”
I scoff. “No. I’m just stating a fact. Presley and I have never been more than friends. I’d never do that to Hendrix.”
“Do what to Hendrix?” he questions, looking exasperated. “’Cause I don’t understand the whole bro code of ‘I will not date my best friend’s sister.’ If I had a sister, I wouldn’t give a shitif you wanted to date her. In fact, I’d be fucking thrilled for her—’cause you’re a damn good egg. Not perfect by any means. You’ve got a few hairline cracks, but still one of the good ones.”
“Thanks?”
“Welcome,” he replies, then swipes my phone out of my hand. “Now, what did Presley Creed text us?”
“I don’t believe she textedusanything.”
He makes a show of typing in my password, making me seriously regret my decision not to change it after he gave me shit for choosing something as simple as 1234.
A moment later, I see his brow furrow.
“What?”
“You guys are boring.” He hands me back my phone. “There’s no sexting in here at all.”
“We’ve been talking for less than a week.”
“And?”
I roll my eyes and check her latest text.
Pres
Remember when Aimee Carroll asked you to the winter formal and I told you not to go?
I did remember.
The subject of the dance had come up on one of our chilly walks on the beach one night in December. Presley said she wasn’t going. She hated school dances.
