“Make it five minutes—I have to do something first,” she said, and he nodded with a happy smile.
Tina made her way home, and—determinedly keeping her eyes away from her laptop—she pulled off her slouchy long top en route to her bedroom. She replaced the top with a fuzzy cream sweater and dragged on her black peplum leather biker jacket over it. Back in the open-plan living area, she picked up her phone, which she had left forgotten on her kitchen counter in her rush to head next door and ask Harris about Greyson’s jeans earlier. She checked it, and her stomach sank when she saw that there were no messages from Libby.
A couple from Smith and another missed call from her mother, but nothing else.
She sighed and with a few sweeps of her thumb had Libby’s number up on her screen. Her finger hovered over the call button before she swore and swiped to hide her friend’s contact page. Instead she went to her messages and sent Libby a quick text. It felt safer—if a little more cowardly—than talking.
I’m so sorry about yesterday. I want to tell you about it. I want to explain. I do love Clara so much. But it’s really hard for me to talk about.
She sent the message before she could reconsider and then watched her screen anxiously. It remained unread. A glance at Libby’s details told her that her friend hadn’t been online in more than two hours.
Well, that was . . . interesting. She sent another message: I hope you’re making him unclog drains and plunge toilets. I love you. Chat later.
She put her phone on silent before tucking it into her jacket pocket. She dragged on her favorite high-heel, knee-length black leather boots; a fluffy ice-blue scarf with matching gloves; and an adorable matching tasseled aviator hat. She grabbed her huge purse on the way out.
Harris was waiting for her on the porch, looking mouthwateringly gorgeous. He had changed out of his sweats and was wearing distressed denim jeans, a red-and-black plaid shirt, and a faded denim jacket with a fur collar, along with leather gloves and a slouchy black beanie.
His eyes were returning her frank appraisal, a bemused smile flirting with his lips.
“You look stunning,” he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth and appreciation, and she grinned.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Good enough to ravish?” he asked hopefully, and she giggled.
“Shut up.” She dismissed him lightheartedly with a casual flick of her hand and then descended the porch steps, with him following close behind.
The rain had slowed to an annoying drizzle, and Tina stopped at the bottom of the steps, her eyes darting between her Lexus and his gigantic 4X4. It was such a masculine vehicle. She hated getting into those: her legs were too short, and she always hopped around inelegantly on one foot while gracelessly trying to drag herself up into the passenger seat.
She didn’t foresee it being any different trying to clamber into Harris’s beast of a vehicle.
“Why don’t we take my car?” she suggested, and he opened his mouth as if to argue before shutting again and nonchalantly lifting and dropping his shoulders.
“No skin off my nose. You know the area better.”
She didn’t know why, but she’d expected some manly debate about how he should drive. His easy acquiescence reminded her how laid back Harris could be about ceding control to others . . . well, not so much others. Usually Greyson. Harris had always been happy to sit back and let his brother—older by a mere five minutes—take the lead. Greyson liked to control most situations, and Harris was quite content to let him. But he could also be very vocal when a decision was made that he didn’t agree with.
It was a fascinating insight into his personality, and Tina considered it while they climbed into her car and dragged on their seat belts. She wondered if his willingness to let Greyson lead was less about Harris and more about the fact that his brother was a compulsive control freak. It was Harris’s way of keeping Greyson happy.
Which was kind of sweet, actually.
And all complete speculation on her part, of course.
“You look so serious,” he said, his eyes on her profile, and she turned to meet his deep-blue gaze.
“I was surprised you let me drive, is all.”
His brow furrowed at her words.
“What? Did you think I was going to go all alpha asshole on you and demand we go in my big manly truck?” She could hear the laughter bubbling away just beneath the surface of his question.
“Well . . . yes.”
“I’m not that guy.”
“I’m beginning to get that, yes. Greyson is.” She tacked on the last bit offhandedly and watched him closely for his reaction. The smile faded from his eyes.
“Greyson likes to be in control of everything,” he said quietly, confirming Tina’s previous suspicions. “His life, his home, his emotions. This whole situation with Libby and Clara has him spinning very far out of his comfort zone. I suspect—at some point—he’s going to go full asshole until he realizes that it won’t get him anywhere with Libby. I’m hoping he recognizes that he’s going to have to change a lot about himself if he wants to win her back.”