Page 18 of Wicked

I collapse my hand and polish an invisible piece of lint off my shirt. “I get that a lot. Thanks for the affirmation.”

Quiet laughter from her. “Okay, big guy. Let’s head inside. I want to get out of these clothes, get comfortable, and binge-watch a few Netflix shows, then call it a night.”

My thoughts exactly. We climb out of her car. Inside her small place, she sets her bag on the kitchen counter and checks her phone.

“I won’t be sleeping in after all. You’ll have to be out the door by seven.”

“Hot date?” I look around. Charcoal-gray sofa. Onyx coffee table. Black floor lamp.

“My friend is overprotective. He won’t like seeing a guy here when he stops by tomorrow morning.”

“Is he your real boyfriend?”

“A good friend.”

“A friend with benefits?”

“Shephard’s complicated. What we have is . . . It’s complicated too. Do you want something to drink? Water? Juice?”

“Got anything stronger?”

“Beer.”

“You having some too?”

“I don’t drink.”

“I’ll have water, thanks.” My words are harsh to my ears.

To hell with partaking in her boyfriend’s leftover booze. Yeah, boyfriend. I’m not buying the good friend response. And I didn’t miss the fact she didn’t clarify whether this Shephard guy is a fuck buddy.

She cocks that damn dark brow of hers.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, sprout?”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s your nickname for me? It’s lame.”

“Okay,WonderWoman.” I turn on the television, find Netflix, and flip through the new releases.

Why do I give a flying care whether she’s involved with someone other than I won’t be winning the bet if she is? Which begs the question, did my buddy Brett lead me astray, sabotaging my focus on playing ball by getting my ass handed to me by a girl’s boyfriend?

“Don’t what, Harper?” I ask again, sans nickname.

She hands me the glass of water and takes a seat next to me on the couch. “Don’t start giving a care about who is what in my life. Eventually, you’ll realize they’re all villains in their own small way.”

What does that mean? I guzzle my water. Set the cup on the table. This girl is speaking in riddles. But she just found out her father is dead.

“What was your father serving time for?” I turn off the television. I’m not interested in binge-watching anything when real-life drama is far more interesting.

“Murder.”

My eyes widen. “Murder?”

She shifts in her seat. “I—” Stares at her hands. “Never mind. I should shower and change. Head to bed. We both have early starts to our day.”

She gets off the couch. I stop her with my hand on her knee. “If you want to talk, I’m here. If not, I’m okay with that too. Your personal business is no business of mine.”

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