Page 1 of Catch You


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HARLOW

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brooke, my best friend and roommate, asks when she discovers me sitting on the couch with a blanket over my lap, a tub of ice cream in hand, and a rum and Coke on the coffee table.

“Err … Friday night in?” I say, my brows drawing together, trying to figure out if I’ve forgotten something. The look on her face and the way she’s standing impatiently with her hands on her hips sure points to that.

She’s had a long week at work, so I was expecting her to take up residence on the other couch with a glass of wine while we caught up with her favorite trashy reality show.

“It’s Milo’s birthday,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“Right …”

“We’re going out. We’re meeting everyone at Club 52 in”—she pulls her cell from her back pocket and looks at the time—”in like … an hour. So we need to get our shit together.”

Before I have a chance to argue, she’s standing before me and pulling the ice cream from my hand.

“Come on, H. Move that sexy ass and go and find a hot little dress to wear.”

After depositing the tub on the coffee table, she rips the blanket from my lap and attempts to pull me from my hibernation spot on the couch.

“Really?” I sulk. “Milo won’t care if I’m there or not. I barely know the guy.” We might work for the same organization, but it’s not like we spend any actual time together, other than the odd charity event.

“I told him you’ll be there,” she says, wiggling her brows, clearly excited that she’s going to get to hang out with the team tonight.

“But you didn’t think to tell me,” I mutter before eventually going easy on her and standing.

“I could have sworn I’d mentioned it.”

“When could you? You’ve hardly been home this week.”

She shrugs. “Well, you know now. It’s going to be a great night.”

She ushers me out of the living room—thankfully after I rescue my drink. I have a feeling I’m going to need it.

When we get to my room, she at least affords me the decency to get ready alone, which is a relief. The last thing I need tonight is a Brooke makeover.

Thirty minutes later,after smoothing down my silk top, I add a layer of gloss to my lips and slip my feet into my court shoes.

Brooke’s still sitting in front of her mirror when I join her in her room.

“How are you ready al—no, no, no. You can’t wear that,” she says, looking at me in the mirror. I glance down at my skinny jeans and black blouse.

“Why not? It’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, for an afternoon with your aunt.”

Minus the height of my heels, I can’t argue with her.

She spins on her chair, and I get a look at her dress—if it can even be described as such. It’s fire-engine red; I swear I’ve got underwear that covers more skin.

I run my eyes over her, suspicion stirring in my stomach. “This isn’t just a night out for Milo’s birthday, is it?”

“His cousin’s coming.”

And now, it all starts to make sense.

“The British one?”