Page 97 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Wes came out a little bit later. He stood there staring at our house for a few minutes. I was fully braced for him to storm over and demand answers. But he just left. And I’ve spent the rest of the day waiting for the bomb to drop.

I sent Lola a few texts.

Reid: You still want me to come to the studio?

No answer.

Reid: Lo.

A few minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.

Finally:

Lola: Probably better if you don’t.

It wasn’t a hard no, but close enough.

Then she followed up with:

Lola: Wes saw me in your jersey this morning when I was coming back from your place. I told him I spilled something on my clothes.

Another one came right after it:

Lola: I don’t know if he bought it.

I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say?Thanks for covering?Sorry you had to lie?Maybe I should’ve showed up at the studio anyway. I don’t know. I’m no good at this shit.

Lola and I aren’t just hooking up. We’re in whatever the hell this is, and it’s already more serious than anything I’ve ever been in. And she’s Wes’s baby sister. I have no idea how we’re ever going to make this work.

I was too much of a coward to pursue Lola way back when. I can’t seem to tell her how I feel about her now without coming across like an ass. And telling Wes I’m not only fucking his baby sister, I’m sharing her with two of my best friends?

Yeah. That’s not fucking happening.

So where does that leave us?

I’ve spent all day waiting for Wes to storm through the front door and break my nose. He finally reaches out a little after six.

Wes: You home?

I run through a few possible responses.Nope! Forgot to tell you, I moved back to Chicago.Or Moscow. Or Mars. Anywhere that would stop him from showing up here to ask me questions I don’t want to answer.

I don’t want to lose our friendship over this. Wes has been my best friend for ten years. He’s family. But so is Lola and I’m not giving her up. Even if it means losing him.

Eventually I respond.

Reid: Yeah. Out back.

Dude was obviously laying in wait because he shows up two minutes later.

I know the second he sits across from me that this isn’t a friendly check-in. It’s an interrogation.

I am so fucked.

I lift my chin. “Beer?”

“No, thanks.”

He watches me, waiting to see if I’ll start the conversation. I don’t.