Page 44 of Flaunt
As much as I don’t want to—as much as it’s against everything I stand for on a daily basis—I need to be an adult about this. I need to do the right thing. I need to stop being a pansy and help my brother.
But, my God, what a mess this will make.
There are no two ways about it. There’s not a chance in hell that I get out of this unscathed. At best, she’ll leave marks down my back when she goes. At worst, we’ll be mortal enemies by the time her apartment is ready.
I say I hate her.I want to hate her. I want to be able to think of Sara and remember all the ways she gets under my skin and be happy she’s not around.
But the trouble is that when I think of her, I remember all the ways I wish she’d getunder me,and I’m irritated that’s not happened yet. I’m annoyed I want it to happen. I’m disturbed that I know how that ends—what a disaster this will be for Maddox and Ashley when Sara and I do loathe one another—and I still want it.Badly.
“Fuck it,” I say, giving in to the need that’s festered inside me since I walked out of my brother’s last night.
I pick up my phone, open my text app, and find Sara’s name.
Me: Are you bringing your car in today or not?
Her response comes immediately.
Sara: No.
Me: We close in an hour.
Sara: Enjoy your evening.
I sigh, blowing out my breath hard.
Me: Bring your damn car over here so I can reset the computer.
Sara: I’m busy trying to find a place to stay.
Me: Oh, okay. What are your options?
Sara: Right now, I’m sitting at Mugger’s and waiting on Brock to text me back.
Brock? The guy she lied about meeting yesterday?
My fingers fly over the keyboard.
Me: If you don’t get your computer reset, your car might not make it to Brock’s.
My insides twist, and I’m not sure if it’s because the thought of her staying with Brock pisses me off or if it’s that I just lied to her. Her car isn’t going to do shit if she doesn’t get it reset.
And who cares if I don’t know this Brock dude?I do know men like him, and they’re all assholes who shouldn’t get to touch Sara. Period.
Oh, well. Hard times call for desperate measures.I adjust myself.And I’m definitely hard.
Sara: That sucks for me. Although you said it would be fine to drive. So were you full of shit then or now?
“Stop being so difficult,” I mutter, typing out a response.
“You okay, Banks?” Tasha calls from her desk. “Sounds like you need a vacation. But not with me. You need your own vacation.”
Stop talking about a vacation, Tasha.“I’m fine.”
“You’re acting like a weirdo,” she says just loud enough for me to hear.
I ignore her.
Me: Muggers is a mile from my shop. Come here and let me help you.
