Page 92 of The Love Playbook

“Then do it for me!” I say, my anger rising like the floodgates of hell. “Because I can’t quit on her; I won’t.”

The muscle in Dad’s jaw twitches, the resolve in his hazel eyes hardening to stone. “Fine. I’ll help her out for the last time, but on one condition.” He holds out a finger. “You have to do something for me in exchange.”

Here it is, the bargaining chip I knew he so desperately craved.

I sneer up at him, hurt that I’m not reason enough to help. “‘A lot of guys don’t do favors for free,’ huh?” I say, throwing his words back at him. “Guess I can lump you into that category, too.”

He blanches. “That’s not fair, Charlotte, and you know it.”

I cross my arms over my chest, lifting my chin in defiance. “Whatever. Name your stakes.”

“I’ll write your mother a check every month until I get married, cover all her expenses while she . . . gets well and back on her feet, and in exchange, you’ll happily go dress shopping with Barb like she’d hoped, then come March, you’ll be in the wedding. No complaints. No arguments.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?” My father’s brows rise. Apparently, he expected more of a fight, when he should have realized I know him well enough to expect this.

“Yes, fine. I’ll go dress shopping with a smile,” I say, plastering one on my face for show, “and I’ll even be in your farce of a wedding.”

If he gets that far. With any luck this will all just go away.

“Okay, then. Send me what you need and when, and I’ll have Barb text you about the fittings,” he says, his voice hesitant, almost like he expects me to change my mind.

“Can’t wait,” I say, and then I spin on my heel and walk away.

Chapter 21

CHRIS

My phone buzzes in my hand again, and I know it’s the guys giving me shit for ditching them. They’ve been sending me messages ever since I sat down with Charlotte and her father at Chachi’s.

I ignore the text notification, leaning against the side of Java the Hutt, the local coffee shop and roastery, to the side of the road where Charlotte’s old Honda sits.

Is it weird I’m basically standing guard by her car, waiting to intercept her? No.

Is it giving stalker vibes? Maybe.

When my phone buzzes again, I sigh, sliding it from the pocket of my hoodie, knowing if I don’t respond, they’ll never shut up.

DAMON:

I can’t believe you ditched us for a chick.

BRANDON:

You’re more whipped than Jace.

JACE:

Hey! You’re one to talk, always jumping to attention every time Tatum even so much as breathes your name.

BRANDON:

That’s totally different. She’s my best friend, you fuck.

JACE:

Mm-hmm, yeah, sure. Heard that one before. *Whispers* Graham.

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