Page 30 of Sinfully Yours

And neither does she.

The swing creaks slightly beneath her as the balmy summer night wraps around us, thick and slow.

And it takes everything in me not to reach for her.

But then, just when I think she might say something, might do something…

Her phone buzzes in her lap.

She blinks, startled, like she forgot she was holding it. The spell shatters, and I exhale through my nose, dragging a hand through my hair as she glances down at the screen.

"It's Emily," she murmurs, reading the message.

I nod, pushing off the swing, trying to shake off whatever that was. "We should head back."

Ava doesn't answer right away. Her fingers toy with the chain, like she's debating something. But after a second, she inhales, straightens her shoulders, and stands.

"Yeah," she says. "Okay."

We start walking back toward the house.

I don't touch her.

But I want to.

I want to reach for her hand, press my palm against the small of her back, let my fingers skim over the exposed skin at her shoulder. It's ridiculous. Reckless.

And I have no business wanting anything at all.

So I keep my hands to myself.

We're halfway across the lawn when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

I pull it out, glance at the screen, and immediately slow my steps because it's from Tyler. I click the message open.

This just got interesting. Call me ASAP.

7

AVA

Liam steps away, phone pressed to his ear, his expression darkening with every word Tyler feeds him on the other end. I watch from the porch, arms crossed, pretending I'm not dying to know what he's hearing.

The Bennett back yard is still buzzing with the last bits of the barbecue—lazy laughter, the clink of beer bottles, Nate and Ryan squabbling over something ridiculous, voices rising and falling like a well-worn routine.

Rows of string lights drape the porch in a soft, golden glow, flickering gently in the warm evening air.

Everything feels easy, like the night itself is sighing in contentment. It's cozy in that effortless way, the kind of moment that tucks itself into your heart, warm and familiar, like the scent of grilled food and the sound of people you love never quite shutting up. For the unbothered, it's perfectly cozy, straight out of a picture book.

We aren't the unbothered, Liam and me. Not with the way his shoulders have gone rigid.

Not with the way my stomach twists when he finally turns back to me, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable.

I push off the railing as he pockets his phone. "Well?"

Liam sighs wearily. "Tyler traced the texts."

My pulse kicks up. "And?"

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