Chapter 122 (2/2)

“Maybe another night this week?” I offer with a smile.

“Sounds like a plan.” The corner of his mouth rises into his famous half smile, and we continue the trek to his building.

With a quick goodbye and a friendly hug, I climb into my car and immediately reach for my phone. I’m frazzled with anxiety and desperation, but I shove those feelings back into the darkness. Nine missed calls, every single one from Hardin.

I call him back immediately, only to get his voicemail. The drive from Trevor’s apartment to Kimberly’s house is long and tedious. The traffic in Seattle is terrible, bumper-to-bumper and noisy. Honking horns, small cars whipping from lane to lane—it’s pretty overwhelming, and by the time I pull into the driveway, I have a massive headache.

When I step through the front door, I see Kimberly seated on the white leather couch, a glass of wine in her hand. “How was your day?” she asks and leans over to place her drink onto the glass table in front of her.

“Good. But the traffic in this city is unreal,” I groan and plop down on the crimson chair next to the window. “My head is killing me.”

“Yeah, it is. Have some wine for your headache.” She stands up and walks across the living room.

Before I can protest, she pours the bubbling white wine into a long-stemmed glass and brings it to me. Taking a little sip, I find it’s cool and crisp, sweet on my tongue.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile and take bigger sip.

“So . . . you were with Trevor, right?” Kimberly is so nosy . . . in the sweetest way.

“Yes, we had a friendly dinner. As friends,” I say innocently.

“Maybe you could try answering again and use the word ‘friend’ a few more times,” she teases, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m just trying to make it clear that we’re only . . . uh . . . friends.”

Her brown eyes shine with curiosity. “Does Hardin know you were being friends with Trevor?”

“No, but I plan on telling him as soon as I speak to him. He doesn’t care for Trevor, for some reason.”

She nods. “I can’t blame him. Trevor could be a model, if he wasn’t so shy. Have you seen those blue eyes of his?” She exaggerates her words by fanning her face with her free hand, and we both giggle like schoolgirls.

“Don’t you mean green eyes, love?” Christian says as he suddenly appears in the foyer, causing me to nearly drop my glass of wine onto the hardwood floor.

Kim smiles at him. “Of course I do.”

But he just shakes his head and gives us both a sly smile. “I suppose I could be a model as well,” he comments with a wink. For my part, I’m relieved that he isn’t upset. Hardin would have flipped the table over if he caught me speaking about Trevor the way Kimberly was.