Page 5 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Harper snorts. “That’s the spirit.”

I hang up, and drag myself to the mirror. My hair’s a mess, my face is still a little flushed from the massage—and the “event” I won’t let myself think about—but I swipe on mascara and lip gloss. I pull on the first outfit that looks cute but feels comfortable. Stretchy jeans, a black bodysuit I forgot I owned, and boots.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the car, mind still low-key vibrating from everything I swore I wasn’t going to think about again.

I really wanted to stay in tonight. But Harper asked and I couldn’t say no.

And maybe I do need the distraction.

Two drinks in, and the tight band across my chest has finally loosened. As have my lips.

Harper has her chin propped on her hand, eyes locked on me with full attention as I lower my voice and tell her everything. Well, noteverything, but the parts I can say out loud in public.

The massage. The touch. The voice. The way my entire body short-circuited like a teenage girl grinding against her pillow (or her stuffed bear).

Her mouth drops open mid-sip. She blinks once, then stares at me. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Wait. Wait. Are you saying—did you actually?—”

I lift a finger. “I’m not confirming anything.”

“Oh my god.” She leans in closer, eyes wide with delight. “You got off during a massage?”

“Hush! Not so loud,” I say, looking around. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Harper bursts into laughter. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done. Ever. I don’t care how mortified you are, this is completely amazing, and I am here for it.”

I can’t help it. I start laughing too.

I feel warm. Loose. A little unhinged in the best way. I glance around again, but no one seems to be paying any attention to us. Still, I drop my voice another notch. “He didn’t exactly come out and tell me that he knew what happened. But he did stop the massage and say—let me know if you need a minute to come down.”

Harper chokes on her drink. “No. He did not.”

I nod and I feel my face go red again just from talking about it. She coughs and waves at the server for water, still laughing.

“Tell me more about this guy,” Harper demands.

I open my mouth to oblige…and then freeze.

Harper doesn’t notice right away. She’s still grinning into her glass, but my whole body has gone stiff.

“I said details, bitch!”

But I can’t answer. I’m not even sure I’m breathing at the moment.

Because he’s here.

The massage guy. Jude.

He just walked into Lucky’s, and I can’t fucking believe it.

He looks taller somehow. His hair is down, falling just past his jaw in lazy waves. He’s wearing a dark T-shirt and jeans, nothing special. But he looks so damn hot.

He starts walking toward the bar, but all of a sudden, he stops and turns toward me. Our eyes lock across the bar, and the rest of the room seems to drop away.

There’s an undeniable flutter between my legs that has no business showing up right now. But there it is, loud and clear.