Page 64 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

I slow down and consider just going directly upstairs to my room.

I don’t need to eat a real dinner, right? I can just slip away to my room and eat one of those nut bars I have in my nightstand. That’s totally enough to sustain me until morning. It’ll be fine.

I’m about to turn toward the stairs when I hear him. I can’t make out what he says, but I know that voice. Gigi laughs again, even louder this time.

My chest tightens before I even turn the corner.

And there they are.

She’s telling a story, all wide eyes and animated, and Reid’s watching her with this soft smile that doesn’t match the version of him I usually get. He looks…relaxed. Open.

It throws me off.

And then I see what she’s wearing.

A jersey.Reid’sjersey. It’s big and clearly been worn many times by Reid. The neckline’s tugged wide, slipping off one shoulder just enough to look accidental. It’s not. Nothing Gigi does is accidental.

I take a step back into the shadow of the hallway.

My heart feels like it’s in my stomach. I should go upstairs and just pretend I never saw this. But I can’t move.

Because I’m tired. And angry. And I don’t even know at what. Him, definitely. Her. Myself. The whole damn situation.

Reid says something that makes her laugh again. She reaches out to touch his shoulder, slowly trailing her fingers down his arm.

What Reid and I have was supposed to be nothing. It’s not supposed to feel like this.

Chapter 19

Reid

Gigi is still talking. I’m not really listening, not that she seems to care. She’s telling some story about a rooftop party in L.A., gesticulating wildly. Every word she says is too loud. Every time she laughs, it grates my nerves.

I keep playing along. I’m nodding when I need to, letting her voice roll over me while my mind is somewhere else. I even let her wear the damn jersey. It’s easier than telling her no. Much easier than thinking about why I came over in the first place.

Out of the corner of my eye I see someone standing in the doorway. Gigi doesn’t notice, of course.

It’s Lola.

Fuck.

She’s still in her studio clothes, leggings and a cropped tank. Her hair is pulled up tight with loose strands falling around her face. There’s a glow to her face and that little crease between her brows she gets when she’s tired.

Her expression tightens for a split second before smoothing into nothing the moment she sees me watching.

I don’t know what hits me first—the guilt or the shame.

Two days ago, it was that girl at the bar. And now I’m here, letting her roommate hang off me in the same damn way. She’s wearing my jersey for fuck’s sake.

I know what it looks like. And I still don’t say a single fucking word to explain myself.

Lola doesn’t say anything either. She doesn’t say anything as she marches past me to the fridge. When she turns back toward us, her eyes skim the counter but skip right past me.

Gigi keeps going, unaware or just uninterested. “Anyway, I told her if the bottle costs that much, it’s probably a scam. Of course she bought it anyway and swore it changed her skin overnight. Total scam, right?”

I nod again. I feel every inch of tension in the space between us, and Gigi fills it with another laugh that bounces against the cabinets.

Lola doesn’t react. She twists the cap off her water bottle and takes a slow sip.