Page 47 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

I can still feel the way her shoulders shook last night when I held her. And all I could think was how badly I wanted to take care of her.

I knock softly, hoping it’s loud enough that someone will hear me. It’s not long before the door opens.

It’s Lola, thank fuck. She looks like she just woke up. Her bun is unraveling, with half her hair falling down over her face. She’s drowning in an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder. It doesn’t look like she’s wearing anything else.

I can feel myself getting half-hard just looking at her.

She blinks at me, clearly not caffeinated yet, and I just stand there like an idiot. Even sleep rumpled, she's still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

All I can think isI want to wake up next to this girl every morning.I can’t tell her that, though. That’s insane. We’ve only slept together once and she has successfully pretended it never happened. Now is not exactly the time to tell her that I believe in soulmates and I’m pretty sure she’s mine.

“I come bearing gifts.” I lift the smoothie. “Want company?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking down to the cup, then back to my face. Then she steps aside without a word.

She leads me into the kitchen. When she takes the smoothie, she doesn’t say anything, just sticks the straw in and takes a sip like she’s on autopilot.

I let a few seconds pass before I speak. “Did you sleep?”

She shrugs.

“Little? Or not at all?”

Another shrug. She takes another sip. It doesn’t look like she’s even tasting it.

I try again. “You know, this is the part where most people say thank you. Okay, let’s do this. If you blink twice, I’ll assume it means ‘thanks, Jude. You’re a god among men and I want to worship at your altar.’”

She huffs. It's not quite a laugh, but it’s something close.

I wish she would tell me what’s going on with her. This isn’t the beautiful girl who went home with me that first night. This one is shutting the door again, and I hate how helpless that makes me feel.

She’s in the room with me, but barely. I can feel her pulling back, and it makes my chest ache. I don’t want distance. I wanther.

I may not know her that well, but I’ve noticed that she bottles everything up inside. She needs someone to lean on and I want that someone to be me.

I keep my tone easy. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to play the silent game. I have to tell you, I’m not very good at it.”

She glances up for the first time, eyes dull. “I’m not.”

It’s the first thing she’s said since letting me in. I wait for more, but she looks away again, fingers tightening around the smoothie cup.

I pop the lid off mine. The smell hits instantly—raw greens and regret.

She wrinkles her nose. “What the hell is in that?”

“Dirt.” It tastes worse than it smells, but it’s good for the body. It offers all kinds of benefits I just can’t say no to. “And suffering.”

She watches me, quiet for a second, then lifts a brow. “Did you blend that yourself with your lawn mower?”

I snort. “Could have. Spirulina, kale, lemon, ginger, and cayenne.”

She pretends to gag. “You drink that on purpose?”

“Every day. Builds character.” I take a long sip to prove it. It’s disgusting. I grimace, and she finally cracks a smile. “Want a sip?”

Her eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.”

“You sure? Tastes sooo good.”