Wicked Sexy Liar (Wild Seasons #4)(45)

I end the call and fall back on my couch, swearing up a storm of frustration into a pillow.





Chapter NINE


London

WE TURN OFF University and make our way up the tree-lined Park Boulevard into Balboa Park. Lola sits in the driver’s seat of her new Prius, singing along quietly next to me, her hair tied back with a green and white scarf. Mia is in the backseat, looking up something dance-business-related on her phone.

I’m trying to be cool, bouncing along to the music. But inside, I’m sort of a mess.

Harlow said she’d meet us at the park.

This is the first time we’ll all be together since my phone call with Mia, and since I found out Harlow was upset about me being with Luke. Lola insisted we should take advantage of this shared day off. She insisted what we all needed was girl time. She insisted it wouldn’t be weird.

But let’s be honest: I’m sort of a novice when it comes to intimate girl friendships, and Harlow’s temper is legendary. It’s totally going to be weird.

It’s a perfect day: the sky is blue with only the fluffiest, most innocent clouds overhead. The air is warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and wherever we go it’s heavy with the scent of salt water. I want to believe there isn’t any further drama to be found here but even I, a staunchly anti-drama advocate, can’t imagine we’ll all just pretend that nothing happened.

“Everyone’s okay, right?” Lola says, breaking the silence.

I can’t tell if she’s asking me, or Mia.

“I’m good,” Mia says from the backseat.

“I’m good, too!” I chirp.

I can feel them both look to me. We pull up to a stop sign and the Prius falls so completely silent, I can practically hear the brightness of my answer echoing through the car.

“We’re all best friends, you know,” Lola says, but she waves her hand in a circle, clearly including me. “I think that’s just why Harlow flipped. She’s cool.”

“Good,” I say, grinning over at her and determined to not apologize again. I appreciate the gesture she’s made, of helping me feel as tight in the group as the rest of them, so I try to focus on that instead of pointing out the obvious, that I wasn’t around four, three, or even two years ago when Luke and Mia would have been working through anything. Besides, it’s moot anyway, and the more we talk about Luke, the more it becomes a thing.

It’s so not a thing.

When he’d called me last night, I’d been in the middle of an order and had to double-check that it was actually him on the line, and not some random guy who’d managed to get my name off their receipt . . . though admittedly none of them call me Logan.

Was Luke really calling to ask me out? Luke Right now I’d be terrible at anything more Sutter? Fred watched me with the most amused expression and I had to turn my back to him, because the look of surprise on my face would have been enough to have him questioning me for the rest of the night.

Luke sounded so sincere that, for a moment, I’d been caught off guard. I like Luke—which is actually part of the problem.

So I’d lied, telling him I had to work when I could have simply said I already have plans.

Which I do.

I hate lying.

I’ll call him later, I decide. I’ll admit that I panicked, that I wasn’t prepared for him to call me at work. But I’ll make it clear—without being harsh—that the best he and I can ever hope for is friendship.

We pull into the lot and everyone piles out of the car, stretching limbs and turning faces up into the sun. Balboa Park is an enormous park in the center of urban San Diego. The zoo is one of the best in the world, there are more gardens and museums than can be visited in a single day, but we usually come for the giant stretches of lawn beneath the brilliant blue sky.

We find a shady spot under a towering tree, and spread out a blanket. I slip off my shoes and revel in the cool grass slipping through my toes before I plop down, hoping to shut my brain off for a few hours.

Lola opens the picnic basket and tosses us each a bottle of water before brandishing a small box of cupcakes. “We’re eating dessert first.”

“I do not need a cupcake,” I groan, stretching out on the blanket. “I polished off an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s when I got home from work last night.”

“At Fred’s?” Mia asks, bending to straighten her side of the blanket. Her dark hair is cut shorter again and skims her jawline as she leans forward. It’s a cut most people could never hope to pull off—angular, maybe even a little harsh—but with her delicate features and creamy skin, I’m pretty sure she could be wearing one of those hats with the beer cans on it and still manage to look gorgeous.

Mia is of course lovely, but it’s moments like these where I can really see her and Luke as a couple: beautiful, petite, porcelain-doll Mia, and Abercrombie & Fitch Luke who has better cheekbones than any woman I know.

“Yeah, Fred’s.”

“I can’t keep track of your schedule,” Lola says, handing me a cupcake anyway.

“Because she works too damn much,” Harlow says, startling me as she seems to appear out of nowhere. She sits down next to me. “Hey, everyone.”

We all return the greeting . . . and when she looks over at me, yeah, it’s weird. Her smile is tight, and mine is probably too wide.