You're to Blame(43)

“Shut up.” She starts to walk but slows her pace so I can catch up.

“Well, were you?” My elbow bumps her ribcage.

This simplicity between us is something I’m afraid of losing. Besides Lydia, I don’t bother with female friendships. I’ve seen countless relationships ruined because a guy and a girl are too close for their significant other’s liking.

“Was I what?” When she looks over her shoulder, I see the innocence in her eyes. The only problem is right behind the angelic fa?ade sits a devil in waiting. Admitting it would be too easy, so she holds out.

“Ogling me.” I shake my head. “What am I talking about? Of course, you were ogling me.” I step past her, and her hand wraps around my bicep, pulling me back.

“Hardly.” Charlotte unlocks the door, and we step inside. She giggles when I press on the skin right above her hip. Her purse lands on the coffee table, and she shifts to tickle me back.

My spine stiffens at the sight of Rachel and Wes inside the kitchen. His eyes zone in on Charlotte touching my waist, and to ease the tension in the room, I step back, forcing her hand to fall.

Rachel pushes off Wes’s chest and busies herself with the dishes.

“What are you two doing here?” Charlotte asks. She walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room.

Rachel waves over her shoulder, dragging Charlotte down the hallway. I lean against the back of the couch, crossing one foot over the other. Wes’s stare burns into the side of my head until I address him.

“What’s up, man?” He’s irritated, and clearly, I’m the source of his discomfort.

“You tell me.” He shrugs. “You two look comfortable.”

“Charlotte’s helping me pick out furniture.” My shoulders square towards him. “Is that a problem?”

“Lydia busy today? Isn’t she your go-to girl?” Wes pulls a phone from his pocket and sends a quick text. He tucks it back into his jeans and turns to me.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is? He has a lot of nerve.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The sound of blood pumping whooshes in my ears.

“Don’t fuck with her. You two aren’t friends.” Wes’s shoulder collides with mine, then he walks out the front door, slamming it behind him.

Charlotte returns to the living room to find me alone.

Rachel sits down on the couch with a frustrated release of breath. She checks her phone and rattles off a text of her own. “Where’d he head off to?”

“I’m not sure.” I’m ready to escape before they turn to me for any real answers. How do you explain our weird, awkward conversation? “You ready to go, Charlotte?”

“Yeah.” She grabs her purse and checks in with Rachel. “Duke needs help picking out furniture.”

“You guys are picking out furniture together?” Rachel’s eyebrow perks up. A pleased smile crosses her face. “A new bed, I presume? The kind you can lay in all day, sort of thing.”

Rachel enjoys her best friend and me spending time together. Her reasoning is unknown to me, but joy lurks behind the sadistic grin aimed over Charlotte’s head.

“A couch,” Charlotte corrects her. The meaning behind Rachel’s question flies right over Charlotte’s head. “I’ll be home later.”

“I see what you did there,” I whisper to Rachel. She shrugs, an act of innocence I’m not buying.

I slip out behind Charlotte, watching her walk with a little skip in every other step. She’s a perfect mix of carefree and levelheaded. I don’t understand how she pulls it off, while the rest of us overcompensate to appear as if we have our shit together. Even if everything started to fall apart around her, she’s the kind of girl who could hold it together without asking for any help. Her strength may be the sexiest thing about her.

*****

“Hey, there.” The salesman’s crooked grin widens at the sight of Charlotte. “What can I help you with today?”

“Couches.” Charlotte dodges him, but within seconds, he’s practically crawling up her ass.

By the time I catch up to them, he’s showing her several L-shaped things, and I shake my head.

“Not into these, then?” The salesman searches the showroom for something else he believes may fit our needs. “What do you think your boyfriend will like?” He speaks to Charlotte like I’m not there.

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.” Charlotte’s jaw goes slack, and I’m half-tempted to close it for her. Did she have to answer him so damn quickly? Fuck. I’m not repulsive. Talk about bruising a man’s damn ego. “Just helping my friend pick out a couch.” Her hand skims the arm of the sofa.

“Well then...” He crowds her space and hands her a slip of paper. “Here’s my card. My cell phone is on the back, if you need help picking out your own furniture.” He walks away, leaving Charlotte dumbfounded and me rolling my eyes.

“Central has the best furniture, huh? The salesman only cared about the pretty girl who walked through the doors.” I sit down on a brown leather sofa. The material is soft under my touch, forcing me to envision what it would feel like to watch a football game on it.

Charlotte plops down beside me. Her fingers glide over the leather like butter on hot toast. “You called me pretty.” She clears her throat and drops her gaze to her lap. Her hair falls in front of her face, almost hiding the adorable blush on her cheeks.