remind myself. Which could be the point and why I’m working this so hard, when really, I should leave her alone and let the whole thing go. Unfortunately for her, she laughed one too many times at one of my stupid jokes, and because I’m thirsty for compliments, I’m not willing to walk away without a fight.
Or until I see the look on Marlon Daymon’s face when I show up at the party with Hollis Westbrooke on my arm.
If she’ll touch me, that is.
Er, probably not. Hollis doesn’t strike me as the overly affectionate type, and certainly not with me.
But she thinks you’re funny…
“Which apartment is yours?” I glance up through the window at the three stories, guessing she’s either the second floor or the top—in my opinion, no single girl should live on the ground level, for safety’s sake.
“Actually, I own the building.”
I cringe. The place is ugly as fuck. “Oh, that’s…nice.”
Hollis’s laughter fills the cab of my sports car, harmonizing with the rev of my engine. “It’s more of an investment property. I’m slowly renovating it and will eventually sell. I’m hoping next year.”
“So you’re into flipping properties?”
I’m into flipping properties, too.
“Yes, I love it. This is my second place—the last one didn’t take as long, but I really love this neighborhood. The outside might not look like much, but the inside has tons of charm.”
Charm.
A word only a chick would use.
“Nice car,” she says when I put it into drive, her nosey eyes scanning the front seat and then the back. Luckily, I tossed all the trash this morning before leaving to grab her.
“Thanks.”
“Is this your Sunday ride?”
“Mostly. I have a truck, too, for when I want to feel manly and do manly things.”
Hollis laughs, and my chest puffs out. “Manly things? Like what?”
“Chopping wood and stuff.”
My car is filled with more laughter, and I can’t tell if she’s laughing because she thinks I’m cute, or because she thinks I’m an idiot.
“That sounds oddly specific. Where do you find wood to chop?”
“My parents’ place—my brother and I usually have dinner there on the weekends we’re home.”
“Oh that’s right, you have a brother. He’s an athlete too, yeah?”
“Yes. He plays around with the old pigskin.” That’s one way of saying he plays football.
“Is he married?”
I give her a sidelong glance, only taking my eyes off the road for a split second. “No, he’s not married.” Is she feeling me out to find out if he’s single?
“Your poor mother, two bachelor athletes. I bet you were a real handful growing up.”
That’s putting it mildly. “I’m shocked she doesn’t have gray hair.”
“I can only imagine.”
“I’m my mom’s favorite,” I brag.
Hollis’s brows go up. “How do you know?”
“She told me.”
She rolls her eyes. “She probably told both of you that and I bet she did it so you’d behave.”
“No for real, I’m her favorite. She always sneaks me the last piece of dessert.” Though come to think of it, Tripp always leaves their house with leftovers and I don’t.
The last time we were there, he had two plastic containers in his hands on the way home.
Fuck!
“What’s that look for?” Hollis wants to know, but I suspect she already does.
“Nothin.”
“Oh, come on—mothers can’t have favorites. That’s the law.”
“She gave him leftovers!” I blurt out.
My fake date looks over at me like I’ve gone and lost my damn mind. “What on earth are you going on about?”
“Mom—she gave Tripp leftovers last time and all I got was the last stupid piece of fruit tart!”
More laughing. “Well maybe you should pass on dessert and she’ll give that to him. Then you can have take-home containers.”
“I don’t want leftovers. I want cake.”
“Then why are you complaining?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. Also, one year, they bought Tripp a football-tossing machine for Christmas and they never bought me a pitching machine, even though I wanted one, and I’m a better athlete.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
“My god, are you seriously complaining about something that happened over a decade ago?”
I grumble, “No.”
But I am.
I clamp my lips shut.
“Thanks for picking me up. It wasn’t necessary.”
I glance over. “If I hadn’t picked you up, you wouldn’t have come.”
That makes her chuckle. “True.”
“What do you have against me anyway?”
“Against you? I don’t even know you—I bumped into you once before you railroaded me at the fundraiser yesterday. You haven’t given me a chance to have anything against you.”
Valid points. Still, “So you’re saying, had we gotten to know each other better, you might have organically wanted to go on a date