Page 33 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
She folds her arms over her chest and shrugs. “I’m just saying, rosé and alfredo sauce don’t exactly mix. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well.”
Deflated, I sink deeper into my chair. Part of me wants to believe she’s right. It would be less painful than the alternative explanation—that Wolfie just isn’t interested in being physical with me again.
I must be staring into my hot cocoa for a little too long, though, because moments later, I feel the reassuring warmth of Scarlett’s hand over mine.
“I’m just kidding, P. Don’t overthink it. You know how weird Wolfie can be. But you said he opened up to you at the lake house, right? That’s a big deal. Especially for him.” When I don’t respond, she gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Hey, I bet you learned more about him in one night than the rest of us have over the last four years.”
“You’re right,” I say begrudgingly, softly squeezing her hand back. “He was just so vulnerable that night. So open and honest. I want to see that side of him all the time, you know?”
“I get it. And you deserve that,” she says firmly. “But maybe he’s not ready yet. Don’t force it. Just be your usual supportive self, and it will come.”
A low groan rolls from me as I bury my face in my hands. “Ugh, you’re right, you’re right.” I split my fingers enough to peer out at her. “Why do you always have to be right?”
Her laugh is soft and bubbly as she tosses her auburn hair over one shoulder. “I can’t help it. Being right is in my DNA. But so is being on time, and I do have a meeting with a potential client in ten.”
“Oh, don’t let me keep you.” I press to my feet, shooing her toward the door. “Get out of here. I’ll have plenty of drama to talk through another day.”
She cocks her head, barely holding back a smile. “You sure? I don’t want to pull a Wolfie and bolt right in the middle of something.”
My eyes narrow in disapproval, but I can’t help the smile pulling at my lips. “If this mug weren’t ceramic, I’d throw it at you, you know that?”
A mischievous grin breaks out on her face as she shoots me a wink. “I know. But it is, and you won’t. Let’s do this again soon, though, okay? I like this place.”
We return our empty mugs to the dirty dish bin and button up our coats, hurrying through our good-byes at the door so as to not keep Scarlett’s client waiting.
She makes a sound that’s some combination of a sympathy and a sigh, laying a hand on my shoulder like a proud mother. “You’re a rock star, you know that? Wolfie’s a lucky guy.”
I smile, but there’s a sadness behind it.
Here’s to hoping he thinks so too.13* * *WOLFIEWhen Connor walks through the door of our storefront on Wednesday morning, I hardly recognize the man.
First of all, he’s forty minutes late, which is entirely out of character. Tardiness has never been Connor’s style—first, because he rides his motorcycle everywhere, meaning that he can weave through all the traffic on Lake Shore Drive and handily beat any of us to work, bars, anywhere we’re meeting up.
Second, the guy looks like a ghost, and it’s not just the pale, haunted look on his face. His hair is a mess, and I’d put money down that he didn’t shave today, his overgrown stubble creeping down the front of his throat. No way am I letting this bastard wander into neck-beard territory. Somebody needs an intervention.
“Did somebody just dig you out of your grave?”
Connor doesn’t even respond, which is all the proof I need that something’s up. If he were in his right mind, no way would he let me get away with a comment like that.
But instead of hitting me with one of his usual digs, he just plods through the store, dragging his feet along the black tile. When he finally joins us behind the counter, he leans against the back wall with a defeated huff. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he needed the support of the wall to stay upright.
I look toward Ever, then Hayes, hoping one of them has an explanation for Connor’s behavior, but no dice. Hayes shrugs, and Ever just shakes his head.
Great. I guess I’ll be the one doing the detective work this morning. As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate.
When I turn back toward Connor, he’s staring down at the floor, totally zoned out. “Hello? You there, Blake?”
I wave a hand in front of Connor’s face, and he startles out of his daze, blinking at me with the kind of confused look he normally reserves for math or girls who turn him down.
