Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,54

here.”

“So you admit he’s a dickhead.”

“Yes.”

She sighs, reaching up to unlatch the chain, opening the door for me to enter. “Fine, you can come in.”

“What was the secret password?” I want to know, stepping into Hollis’s entryway, sliding my shoes off. I don’t know if that’s the rule here, but I don’t want to find out the hard way. Plus, it’s nice flooring and I’d hate to scuff it with my beat-up sneaks.

“Secret password?” Now the girl is acting perplexed.

“What made you let me in?”

“Oh—Hollis is in the bathroom, but we saw you drive up through the window. She told me to let you in to wait. She’ll be right out.”

What the fuck? Jesus, this girl is the female version of…

Me.

I have no interest in getting into a battle of wills with her while I wait for Hollis, hands stuffed into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt with the Steam’s logo emblazoned across the front. It has a comfy kangaroo pocket and that’s where I bury my paws.

“You can come into the kitchen,” she says, leading me into the next room.

My eyes dart around, drinking in the living room as we pass it. Learning Hollis’s style. Looking at the bold artwork hanging on her walls, the stark white color of them. The bright pink and blue pillows on her white couch. The red square rug on the hardwood floor.

“Hey,” the friend says, snapping her fingers. “Eyes to the front, pal.”

She doesn’t want me rubbernecking, staring off into Hollis’s place and I don’t blame her for not trusting me.

Hollis’s townhouse is standard, narrow and stacked and several stories high. Living room and dining on the main floor, kitchen probably on the second, bedrooms on the third.

I’m led up a flight of stairs, the wood stained a rich cherry, shined to a gloss, my hand dragging along the smooth wood as we climb farther to the next level of living space. As a contractor via side hustle, I can appreciate the details of the house and the architectural elements, and I wonder if Hollis bought the place this way or refurbished it.

I also wonder if she bought it with family money or on her own—then get my head out of my own ass for even wondering, considering it’s none of my fucking business. Who cares anyway? What difference does it make?

I’m just curious. Sue me.

The friend and I arrive at the kitchen. There’s a balcony overlooking a small, fenced-in courtyard and a view of the neighbor’s balcony. Views of the entire neighborhood and their backyards—it reminds me why I don’t live in the city.

No privacy.

I bet everyone knows her business all the time.

It’s strange that she’s not living in a more private, secure building, considering who her family is. They’re loaded. Hollis is ripe for kidnapping and ransom demands, and maybe the girls aren’t the only ones who are dramatic.

I clear my throat, feeling like a giant in this feminine space. Pull out a chair at the table, but then push it back in. I’ll wait for Hollis to come out from wherever she is before I sit or don’t sit, remaining rooted to the floor near the stairs we just climbed.

Her friend leans against the counter, arms crossed. As if I’m the asshole in this scenario.

Guilty by association, or just someone to take the brunt?

I’m about to find out.

Hollis appears from down a hallway, wearing jean shorts and an oversized white sweater, hair in disarray. Tiny and cute, I want to hug her—but also have no desire to be sacked in the ball bag by the bodyguard in the corner. Her stink eye is freaking me the fuck out.

“Hey.” Hollis crosses her arms and does that thing where it looks like she’s giving herself a hug. Or like she’s cold and trying to stay warm. She glances at her friend. “Did you introduce yourself?”

The friend raises a brow. “Oh, he knows who I am.”

My head shakes, half out of fear, half out of spite. She scares me. “I can’t remember your name, sorry.”

“How can you not remember my name? We met before.”

“I don’t think you—”

“Ugh,” she loudly groans. “It’s Madison. Madison! We met at that fundraiser.”

“I meet lots of people, sorry.”

“Whatever. What do you want to say to Hollis? Make it snappy.”

“Madison!” Hollis gasps. “Don’t be rude.”

“Um, I thought we hated men tonight.”

She glances at me, grimacing. “We do, but you don’t have to be rude.”

“Well,” I can’t help adding, “this is awkward.”

“Buzz, want to…go outside and talk? It’s still nice