Scored (V-Card Diaries 1)

It also makes it even weirder that he goes so long between girlfriends. Maybe he’s just picky. But I would think a guy like Derrick would pull mad tail based on his looks alone, and he’s also actually a very nice guy.

He saves the bossy stuff for his little sister.

I’m just lucky that way, I guess.

“So busy,” he says. “The new PR team is in my office every ten minutes. They seem to think fixing the team’s reputation is my job, even though we made it clear when we hired them that we need them to run damage control.”

I wince sympathetically. “I’m sorry. Hopefully the team-building camp will help. My session with the guys yesterday actually went really well.”

“Yeah, I heard,” he says, casting another curious glance at my drawing before his focus returns to my face. “Upper management is very happy about that, by the way. I’m pretty sure you’re off probation.”

“Oh good. That’s great news.” I shift a few inches to my left, hoping to block the drawing from Derrick’s view. I googled pics of Ian to get inspiration for that hand. On the off chance my brother has the shape of his best friend’s fingers memorized, I’d rather he not study it too closely. “Is that why you stopped by?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “No, sorry. I just wanted to check and make sure you had a gift picked out for Dad’s birthday weekend. If you don’t, I can order some extra paving stones when I order mine and we can say the gift is from both of us.”

I nod. “Yes, please, would you? I’ll pay you back. I just never know what to get him. He’s the hardest person to buy for.”

“He is,” Derrick agrees, glancing down at his feet. “But he doesn’t seem to have seen the video from the other night. Or the meme. So that’s good. Hopefully it will all blow over before he’s in the mood to get back on social media.”

“Fingers crossed,” I say, my shoulders feeling lighter. It would be nice to skip the drama with Dad regarding my public meltdown. Knowing Dad, we’ll get around to fighting about something or other before his birthday is over anyway, but the less fuel for the fire, the better.

I expect Derrick to say his goodbyes, but he lingers, his gaze still fixed on his shoes.

“Is there something else you wanted to talk about?” I finally ask.

“Yeah, I… I also wanted to…” He shifts closer before adding in a softer voice, “Did Harlow say anything to you? About last night?”

“No, she didn’t. Why?” Propping my hands on my hips, I ask, “Did you do something awful? I know you two don’t get along, but she’s my best friend, Derrick. I need you to be nice to her.”

“She calls me Satan,” he says, but not in the frustrated tone he usually uses when discussing Harlow. “And all I did was save her from getting pounded by a pair of meathead assholes at a bar. I think you should be lecturing her on being nice and not going to bars alone.”

“She should be able to go wherever she wants alone. It’s the meatheads that were in the wrong, not Harlow,” I add before pushing on, “And if you’re so innocent, why are you asking me if she said anything to me about last night?” I don’t mention the fact that I saw him carry Harlow out of the bar or that she might be pissed that he scooped her up like a sack of potatoes first and, knowing Derrick, bothered asking her if that was okay much, much later.

He assaults his hair with his fingers again and gives a rather unconvincingly innocent shrug. “No reason, I just… I’d like to bury the hatchet with her. This feud or whatever it is has gone on long enough.”

“Agreed,” I say, softening toward him. Derrick’s such an overbearing, self-assured person that sometimes I forget he also has a soft side.

But he does. When I was little, I always had beautifully wrapped presents waiting for me beside a big stack of pancakes when I woke up on my birthday. And my dad sure as hell never did anything to help. Every stuffed animal and collection of art supplies was selected, paid for, and wrapped by my big brother.

Derrick was also the one who watched over me when I was sick and made sure I had Children’s Tylenol every six hours when I was fighting a fever. He’d get up in the middle of the night to check on me, even when he was exhausted from hockey practice and had school the next day.

Warmed by the old memories, I give his shoulder a squeeze. “I can talk to her for you if you want. Let her know you’d be interested in a fresh start?”