Page 54 of Small Town Firsts

"Need some help with that?" I waggle my eyebrows and shoot her a lascivious smile.

"Sure, why not?"

She tosses me the bottle, and I have to chuckle. "SPF 80, Myla?"

"Do you see my skin? I'd rather not be burnt to a crisp, thank you very much," she says as I situate myself behind her.

I squirt a dollop of the cold lotion into my palm before working it into her soft, freckle-kissed skin. I massage it into her shoulders, working her tense muscles long after the lotion has absorbed. I trail my fingers down toward her chest, slipping them under the straps of her swim top, running my fingertips in small, feather-light circles.

"Feels so good," she moans as she leans back into me. Burying my face in her neck, I press a small, open-mouthed kiss right below her ear.

"Well, aren't you two cozy?" My eyes pop open, and Myla Rose shoots away from me as if she's been scalded.

"T–Taylor. I thought you were off at school?"

"M–Myla," he mocks. "It's called summer break. Surely, you aren't that dense? Then again, you are a high school dropout." His words hang heavy in the air, and when Myla Rose dips her head in shame, my blood boils.

This beautiful, strong, stunning woman has nothing be ashamed of, high school diploma or not. And fuck this ass-clown for trying to make her feel like less.

"Taylor, just go. I mean, good Lord. Don't you have better things to do?"

He gestures to a few yards away where a buxom brunette is standing, watching us like a hawk. "Sure do, Myla." He turns to head back over to her, but calls out over his shoulder, "By the way, you're a little . . . big to show that much skin, don't you think?"

Myla Rose fumbles around for her cover-up, trying several times before finally getting it over her head.

I’m so done with this idiot. "Now, you wait one fucking second. I don't like the way you're talking to her."

"And I don't recall ever asking your thoughts on the subject. I'll talk to her however I damn well please." He puffs out his chest and squares his shoulders to intimidate me.

Please. The only person this douche is capable of intimidating is his own shadow.

I stand, rising to my full height, making sure he has to look up to see me. "You need to go."

He bristles at my tone and takes a step back. "Yeah, whatever. Have fun with my leftovers, dude."

I rear back, but the little fuck turned and tucked tail before I could swing.

CHAPTER 29

MYLA ROSE

With all of my heart,soul, and body, I hate Southern stereotypes. Mostly, I guess because I am one. I'm a young, single, pregnant dropout. Just the kind of girl youdon'tbring home to mother. Maybe Taylor was right when he told me I wasn't a forever kind of girl.

I start stuffing my belongings back into my beach bag, desperately trying to keep my tears at bay. I'm not usually some weepy, shrinking violet, but these stupid hormones have sure turned me into one.

I cry at the drop of a damn pin, and I get mad even faster. And don't even get me started on the angry tears. Those might be the worst, because then I'm mad that I'm crying—because I'm mad. It's a mess . . . I’m a mess.

I can hear Cash and Taylor exchanging words, but I have no plans to stick around to see the disappointment on Cash's face. It's fight or flight, and I'm ready to hightail it outta here.

"Myla Rose." Cash grabs my wrist. "What're you doing? Where are you going?"

"Home." I slide my sandy feet into my flip flops before hefting my bag up and onto my shoulder.

"Why?" He looks so genuinely perplexed, like he truly doesn't get why I'm leaving.

"Cash, be real.”

"What, because your ex is a jackass?"

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