Page 140 of The Most Perfect Wrong

Ryan and I decided to escape the Chicago cold for a long weekend with my dad. And while it hasn’t been exactly warm, it feels like summer compared to home. I sit in my favorite spot on my dad’s patio, facing the ocean, a smile plastered to my face. Life is good.

My phone buzzes.

Ryan:What are you wearing?

I laugh, shaking my head.

Cooper:Nothing.

Ryan:Damn, I better hurry. You alone?

My grin widens, stretching across my face.

Cooper:Yep. Just waiting for the hot guy to run by so I can flash him my boobs.

Ryan:Damn. He’s a lucky guy. If I run by, will you flash me?

Cooper:We’ll see. Have you been a good boy?

Ryan:Depends. Define good…

I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, grinning. It never gets old playing with Ryan.

Cooper:Are you running with a shirt on? Because that would definitely be bad behavior. Rude, really.

Ryan:Why don’t you turn around and see for yourself.

I spin around to see Ryan heading toward the patio door—from inside my dad’s house—pulling a shirt over his head.

“Hey, that's not very nice!” I exclaim as he walks over to me, grinning. “Take that back off.”

He smirks, clicking his tongue. “Maybe I need to make sure you’ve been a good girl before I show you the goods. Scoot up,” he says, motioning me forward so he can slide in behind me.

He settles onto the sofa, his joggers soft against my legs as my back presses into his chest. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and he kisses the top of my head. And it’s just like he said it would be all those months ago, back when everything was a mess, and we blurred the lines of right and wrong through text messages.

“I remember the first time I saw you here,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my neck. “You were beautiful… but you looked so sad.”

“I was sad… until I saw you running down the coast.” I fold my arms over his, squeezing his hand. “God, you gave me butterflies. I remember it like it was yesterday, thinking how pathetic it was that a random guy—a stranger—could make me feel things I hadn’t felt in so long.”

I shift, trying to get comfortable, my hands brushing against his thighs. “What’s in your pocket?” I ask, startled by the hard bulge.

He laughs, the sound vibrating against my back. “It’s nothing. Just my phone.”

“That is not your phone.” I reach for his pocket, but he’s faster, pulling out his phone with a triumphant grin.

“See? Just my phone. I’m surprised you’re not making a dick joke.”

“Well, I can feel that too,” I tease, narrowing my eyes. “But there’s something else in your pocket.”

He chuckles, reaching over the back of the couch to grab a small, gift-wrapped box. Settling back behind me, he places it gently in front of me, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “Got you something.”

I turn my head to look at him, my brow lifting. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

I scoot forward, twist to face him, and fold my legs beneath me. His knee bends against the couch, the other stretching out long on the opposite side. His expression softens, a serious edge to his smile as he gestures toward the box. “Go on, babe. Open it.”

I scrunch my brows together, curiosity flickering as a smile tugs at my lips. “Okay.”

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