Page 13 of One Spicy Summer

Presley’s eyes widen like she’s about to argue. I raise a brow. She knows better. “Ag, let me call you ba- ”

I snatch the phone from her hand and hang up.

“Ry, why did you do that?” she asks, but I’m already closing the space between us.

“What exactly did that motherfucker say to you?”

She swallows hard. Hesitating.

She doesn’t want to say it because she knows how I’ll react.So I switch it up.

I cup her face, gently pulling her closer until my lips are brushing her ear. My voice drops low. “Tell me what happened. Because if you don’t, I’ll find out anyway… and my methods?” I pause, lips brushing her skin. “You might enjoy them a little too much.”

Then I press a kiss to her temple, lingering before stepping back.

Her eyes are wide, breath caught. I see the flush in her cheeks before she whispers, “Wh-what does that mean exactly?”

“You need to talk,” I say, my voice firmer now. “And you need to start talking now.”

She clears her throat, still flustered. “I don’t know what consequences you mean, but if I tell you, you have to promise not to go full big brother and fight him.”

“Don’t even ask that of me. Not in my blood, baby girl. I’ll do no such thing.”

“Ry,” she says in that warning tone that makes me want to doeverything. “Promise me or I won’t tell you. And Iwantto tell you, because I want ice cream. And you’re taking me.”

You bet your ass I am.

“Presley,” I say, settling on the edge of her bed. “I’ll take you for ice cream after. But I’m not promising shit. I already warned that dirtbag to stay away from you. He didn’t. So now? He’s going to pay.”

Her expression softens, eyes dreamy, lips parted, brows arched like she’s trying not to fall under a spell.

She’s not afraid. She knows I stand on business.She just needs to decide if she’s ready to tell me, or make me take it from her.

“Goddamn it, Ry. When you look at me like that and threaten me...” She trails off.

“You what?”

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. Then, “Nothing. He’s basically telling people we slept together on that weak-ass date. I mean, I let him haveit, but it still pisses me off. Like, ew. No. I only went out with him to make the boy I really like jealous.”

What.

She slaps a hand over her mouth like she just realized what she said.

“Shit. Omit that last part. Ignore it. Pretend I didn’t say it.”

She hops off the bed, trying to flee.

“Oh, hell no. Where do you think you’re going?” I’m off the bed in an instant, grabbing her gently around the waist. She spins around, flushed, eyes darker than usual, like melted hickory.

We stare for a beat before I say, “Who do you have a crush on, Presley Renée?”

Her gaze dips to my lips. I wet them deliberately. She rises onto her toes and kisses me.

Soft. Bold. Mine.

I wrap my arms around her, turning my head to deepen it, letting the pressure build, every breath, every sigh, every unspoken truth, spilling out between us.

Her lips are fine like wine. Her tongue is smooth like silk. And I’ve wanted this longer than I care to admit.

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