“Why. Are. You. Like. This?”

I shrug. “Probably because I had to live in my brother’s shadow my whole life.”

“You literally just got done telling me you’re your mother’s favorite.”

Hmm. She’s right, I did.

We arrive at Harding’s gate and I lean out the door to punch in the code since the gatekeeper isn’t in his tiny hut. House. Whatever you call the spot where he sits so he’s not bacon in the sun.

“You have the code?”

I won’t lie, my chest puffs out in pride at my own importance. “Pfft, heck yeah. Harding is my best friend.”

Hollis smiles out the window.

I get to show off again when we get to the second set of gates—Noah’s actual house—and I punch those numbers into that keypad, too.

“This is so pretty.”

That’s an understatement; the house is a McMansion—although, by Hollis Westbrooke’s standards, having grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, she’s probably used to giant homes like this.

Me? I was raised in your average neighborhood with starter homes, two point five kids, parents who both worked long hours, and we never took vacations. Tripp and I only saw homes like this in the movies—I don’t think there were any even remotely this grand within a fifty-mile radius of where I grew up.

And here I am, best buddies with a guy who owns one.

Not to say my house isn’t as nice, though it isn’t. I’ve been doing what Hollis has been doing: buying up shitholes, renovating in the offseason, then selling them for a profit. I haven’t told her that yet, mostly because for all the talking I do, I’m actually a private person, and right now, she doesn’t seem interested in getting to know much personal information about me.

Damn shame.

The garage door is open, and there is an empty spot, so I pull inside, much to Hollis’s horror.

“What are you doing! You can’t park here!”

“Why not?” I put the car in park, cut the engine, unbuckle my seat belt. “I always pull in if the space is open.”

“Oh my god.” Hollis burrows down in her seat, and it’s not bright enough in here to tell, but I’m certain she’s blushing.

“It’s no big deal—I told you, Harding is my best friend. He won’t care.”

Actually, he does care, because he bitches about me parking in his garage every time I park in his garage. But in my defense, it has plenty of room that he’s not even using, and if I can get my sweet ride out of the sun and into the shade, I’m gonna.

I leave the keys in the ignition.

Climb out, scuttling to the passenger side.

Hollis has unbuckled, too, and is pushing the door open when I make my way over, attempting to get out of the low bucket seat of my sports car. I offer her a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

But she doesn’t got it, can barely get out, the seat she’s in determined to keep her ass in it. Smart seat.

“Here, just let me help you.”

Hollis hands me the gift bag then attempts to heave herself up. “This is ridiculous. What a dumb car.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

She gives me another eye roll as she smooths out the fabric of her skirt, then a nervous smile.

But that can’t be right—what does she have to be nervous about? She’s the general manager’s daughter, for fuck’s sake. Everyone inside works for her old man.

That doesn’t mean I won’t try to keep making her laugh.

I let us both into the house, bypassing the side gate outside so I can set some things down in the kitchen—Hollis wasn’t the only one to bring a gift. I come armed with new grilling tools and a small cooler full of hamburger patties, a roast, and several pounds of lean chicken breasts, because I’m thoughtful like that.

And let’s not forget I spend half my time at Harding’s house, crashing the party of two out of sheer boredom and loneliness. There, I said it—I’m lonely.

“You brought them a housewarming gift, too?” Hollis looks on curiously as I punch in the code, hip-bump the front door open without knocking or ringing the doorbell, and help myself to Harding’s foyer.

“My mom taught me some manners.” We’re both all the way inside, so I close the door behind Hollis until it clicks shut.

“That was really nice of you. Very thoughtful.”

Yeah, it is, considering I practically live here and eat most of my friend’s food. Come to think of it, maybe I should actually move in. It isn’t the worst idea since I’m never at my own place, always wielding a hammer when I’m flipping a house, spending my down time on Noah’s couch flat on my back with a remote in my hand.

Things will probably have to change now that his girlfriend has moved in, but I choose to ignore the fact that he doesn’t want me around anymore.