Page 46 of Trailer Trash

11

Killian

Inside the restaurant, the scent of garlic and fresh bread saturates the air. We’re led to a table, and I pull out Harlow’s chair — not that she deserves it.

She sits and says thank you softly before giving a weak smile.

I hate it.

She isn’t the same defiant girl. She pities me now. She knows she just knocked me sideways.

A date.

A fucking date.

He’ll buy her dinner and get to fuck her. I hand her a better-paying job, and I’m a mistake.

I can’t believe it.

We order drinks, and I slump in my seat, brooding. Feeling is overrated.

Her gaze drops to my clenched fists.

“You okay?” she whispers.

I glare at her. “What’s this Jaxson tool got that I don’t?”

She doesn’t need to think. “A job.”

“A job! I’m fucking richer than him. I guarantee it.”

“Killian.” She says my name like I’m the problem. “I love that he is ambitious, like me.”

“I can be ambitious.”

She purses her lips, holding back her words.

I hate that even more. This pity shit is unbearable.

“Hi, River. Hi, Nina,” says a woman.

I know that voice from anywhere. Frida.

Fuck. My. Life.

I force myself to look up. My stunning Puerto Rican ex stands beside the table, wearing one of her countless spandex dresses that hug every line. Her flowing brown hair is perfect, along with her makeup, her nails, everything. Like always.

And I couldn’t care less.

I hold back a groan and stand, waiting for her to rush around the table to give me a hug.

She does.

“Killy! Look at you.” She sucks in a breath through her teeth as she studies my new scars. She saw them before, but I guess it still bothers her.

“Sit with us,” says River, as if this wasn’t planned.

Why are my brothers trying to hook me up with this woman? They need to let it go.