Page 28 of Hot Girl Summer

Sophia: Why?

Danny: My first pet, Trudi, was a Cav. She thought she was a Rottweiler, but that was all part of her charm. She was so happy and sweet, but so stubborn. They’re a good breed, though. And they love to be in a lap.

My mind flashes back to the place my eyes landed in his car. To those dimples and his golden-green gaze. To those hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

Three grey dots bounce on the screen, driving me wild with anticipation. Is he thinking the same things?

Danny: Do you like to be in a lap, Miss DeLuca?

Butterflies swarm my tummy with a resounding yes. Images run through my mind at lightning speed. Strong hands lock around my waist. Hips grind in the driver’s seat of his obnoxious car. Fire and hunger in my eyes reflect in mirrored shades.

I lose all control.

The last one cuts the fantasy short, and my mind flashes back further to all the fuckboys I’ve loved before. Whether I like it or not, I’m clearly determined to spoil Summer’s fun.

Sophia: So, what breed are you?

It takes a moment for the grey dots to reappear across the screen, and for a moment, I think I’ve blown it.

Danny: Dalmatian.

If anything, I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t pull me up on my obvious swerve of his thirsty statement.

Sophia: Cute.

Danny: They are extremely intelligent. Not to mention their unmatched good looks.

Sophia: Okay,nowI’m rolling my eyes.

I don’t have to ask to know they’re a dominant breed, and I find myself wondering about dog personalities, a subject I never thought would intrigue me. Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but I’ve never owned a pet. My parents never allowed it, and in all honesty, the responsibility scares me.

I think carefully about my wording for the next message, debating whether to even ask, but I have to know.

Sophia: Can I ask you something?

Nausea settles in the pit of my stomach as I continue to type.

Sophia: You said you used to be married. What happened?

In an attempt to offset the nausea, I sit upright, but it worsens. A moment passes before my phone chimes, and the thought crosses my mind that if I hadn’t blown it before, I have now. With my eyes closed, I focus on my breath, grounding myself before I pick up my phone again for his answer.

Danny: I’m separated.

Sophia: Why were you wearing a wedding ring the night we met?

Danny: It’s a deterrent.

Sophia: What?

Danny: Something that is intended to discourage someone from doing something.

Sophia: I know what a deterrent is, smartass. So you wear a fake wedding ring?

Danny: I would say that it’s supposed to prevent unwanted attention, but would you believe how many people don’t give a shit if you’re married? The truth is, I wear it to remind myself that I’m still legally married. I don’t want to mess anything up, and I won’t put my career on the line for the sake of a weak moment. We’ve been separated for almost two years now. It’s almost done.

Sophia: Why not just get a divorce straightaway?

Danny: Nobody wastechnicallyat fault. There were no grounds for divorce, so the best option was be to separate for two years, then go from there.

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