Page 5 of Dating Her Brother's Best Friend

I let out a groan, rubbing the back of my neck. I’m betting the drone in question is from the top-secret lab at Sawyer’s company. “Tell me nobody’s in the hospital.”

“No casualties,” Caroline says with a dry chuckle. “But you’ve got a classroom in shambles and a gerbil with PTSD.”

The faint pull of a smirk tugs at my lips despite the mess. “How much do we owe the school for repairs and therapy for the gerbil?”

“I don’t think there is anything to replace, but he’s going to have to come in early a few days to work it off.”

My hand drops to the table with a slight thud. “That boy is going to kill me one day,” I mutter.

“He’s trying,” Caroline interjects, her voice losing its earlier lightness. “He needs guidance and maybe something to occupy his mind.” She pauses, staring into my eyes. "I really need you to talk to Sawyer about this, Jeremy. If Harmony has to call him one more time because he isn’t taking her seriously, she may actually strangle your brother, and then I’d have to help her hide the body."

I nod, the truth of it settling heavily on my shoulders. “You’re right. I’ll have a talk with my clueless brother. We need to find some outlets for him to work off his excess energy.” My brother has been burning the candle at both ends, trying to fulfill his duties as CEO of Head Aviation and a struggling single father, but he’s going to have to figure out how to give his son the attention he needs.

“Good,” she says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “And please, be gentle. He’s shaken, too. Seems he’s more worried about fixing the gerbil’s habitat than your brother’s wrath.”

“I’m always gentle.” I wiggle my eyebrows, watching as her stunning gray eyes widen. Something I can’t quite define flashes through her gaze before she blinks it way.

Her phone buzzes in her purse. “I’ve just got to check this email really quickly,” she says, more to herself than to me, eyes flittingacross her screen. I nod, reaching for another fry without any real thought, letting her dive into whatever universe her email holds.

I watch her as she reads, noticing the obvious change in her. Her brow furrows, and her lips part slightly as her body tenses. Then, the telltale glisten of tears gathers in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over. I’m thrown for a loop wondering what the fuck made her this upset.

She quickly blinks, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, and forces a smile so fragile it could snap. “I need a moment, okay?” She stands abruptly, leaving her phone on the table and hurrying toward the bathroom.

It’s just me now, staring at her retreating back and trying to process what just happened. My gaze flits to her phone. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t. Yet, like a moth to a flame, I have to know what hurt her.

“I’m going to hell for this,” I mutter under my breath, gingerly retrieving her phone. It’s still open to the last email she read. I hesitate, gripping it until my knuckles blanch, then peer at the screen.

My stomach churns in a way that has nothing to do with skipping lunch. It’s my email, the one I sent rejecting a date with my anonymous admirer. The realization slams into me with the force of a freight train.

Everything suddenly connects like a snapped puzzle in my brain. Fucking hell. I can’t believe I was right about that goddamn anonymous email. Why the fuck didn’t I think this through before sending my response? She’s got goddamn feelings for me, and she thinks I’m in love with someone else. Sitting alone at thetable, I’m overwhelmed with how spectacularly I’ve managed to fuck up this situation.

“Hey, Jeremy. Where’s Caroline?” Asa asks, glancing around the table like she’s going to pop up from under it.

I tilt my head toward the back of the pub. “Bathroom,” I say, trying not to let my face show that there’s more to the story than that. A steady breath in, a steady breath out. I don’t want to tip him off until I’ve had time to fix my fuck-up. I’m trying to stay composed here, the way a giraffe might feel while tiptoeing across a frozen pond.

Asa raises an eyebrow, probably sensing the undertone, but doesn’t press. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

“Nope,” I lie, trying to figure out how the fuck I’m going to fix this situation. Goddamn it.

Before Asa can question me more, our waitress swings by for our orders.

“What can I get y’all tonight?” she asks, her bored Texan drawl cutting the tension surrounding us.

“I’ll take the bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles,” Asa says, barely giving the menu a glance. He’s consistent in his questionable pickle preference.

“And I’ll go with the classic chicken wings. Spicy,” I add. My stomach is going to hate me later.

“Got it,” she says, jotting it down. “Anything to drink?”

“Whatever’s on draft.” Asa sits back in his chair.

“I’ll have the same,” I add, knowing full well I’ll need it to keep my nerves in check for the next conversation. “Can I also geta grilled chicken Caesar salad and diet Coke for my friend who stepped away from the table?” Okay, so I’ve paid attention to what she orders. I’ve been following her around like a lovesick puppy for as long as I can remember.

Just as I finish giving the order, Caroline reappears. She moves slowly, tentatively, her eyes red-rimmed and her expression subdued. Instantly, the noise of the surrounding pub fades to a dull hum, my entire focus now trained on her.

I stand, ready to offer some comfort or at least a few words to bring back her smile, but she beats me to it. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice wavering but holding a quiet resolve. “I’m not feeling well. I think I need to head home.”

The sentence is barely out of her mouth before she’s grabbing her things, trying to slide past me. Instinctively, my hand reaches for her arm, a gentle plea to stay or at least to talk, but she’s quick, and before I can even register what’s happening, she’s breezing through the pub’s wooden door.

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