Page 28 of One Spicy Summer

“Don’t get cocky, Presley.”

“Me, cocky?” she grins. “Never.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“Good luck,” she whispers, pressing her lips to my temple. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“For you, Presley, I will.”

She starts to walk off.

“I’ll see you at the afterparty,” she calls over her shoulder.

“What the hell do you have on?”

She glances back with a smirk. “Well… mybrothermade me take off a friend’s jersey. So now I’m just wearing what I had underneath.”

Tight halter top, plaid mini skirt, and white knee-high socks. “Fuck me,” I mutter, rising to my feet.

Time to win this damn game.

Chapter Thirteen

Presley

Agatha and I walk hand in hand up the front lawn toward the party. A group of kids from school hangs out nearby, smoking weed, while a few others huddle in deep conversation.

“Did you see the way Rygaard was killin’ those players out on the field?” one of them says, catching my attention.

“Yeah, man. I don’t know what got into him after the half, but I’m damn sure glad it happened. Otherwise, they would’ve caught their first L of the season.” That’s Walter Meadows, the guy I’ve got fifth period Ag with. He’s grinning like he was the one out there making tackles.

Hearing that Ry’s playing in the second half turned it around for the team puts a stupid smile on my face, because I know I’m the reason why.I don’t want to think of myself as his lucky charm, his words, not mine, but here I am, doing exactly that.If he hadn’t gotten his hands on me before the end of the game, all hell would've broken loose, and I would’ve been in deep shit.

A few games ago, I had a recital and couldn’t meet him beforehand. He left me twenty-seven voicemails and texts, all saying the same thing: wehadto link up before kickoff.

I didn’t. There wasn’t time. So Ry told Coach he couldn’t play.

Football suicide?

Probably. But he didn’t care.

Later that night, he found me doing what I do best: flirting with Kenny. It pissed him off. But it also gave me exactly the reaction I’d been trying to get out of him for a long time.

Of all the things I could be thinking about right now,thisis where my brain goes. I stifle a groan and lean into Agatha’s side, letting her steer us inside.

Donovan Brandy’s place is huge. He’s a wide receiver, chill dude, and clearly rich. It smells like weed and alcohol, but what do you expect from a football team throwdown after a win? They earned it.

“Let’s get a beer,” Agatha says, tugging me toward a makeshift drink station set up behind the massive kitchen island.

The kitchen? Bigger than my entire house.Double-wall oven, plus a freestanding one. Stainless steel everything. Hidden, chef-style fridges behind wood-paneled doors. It’s adream.“What I wouldn’t do to cook in this kitchen,” I whisper under my breath.

“I mean, my parents wouldn’t mind. They’re never here,” Donovan says, stepping up behind me.

He’s close. Too close. Close enough that I can feel his body heat curling around mine.

Donovan is pretty-boy perfection. Vanilla skin kissed by Helios himself. Broad, tattoo-free shoulders. Dimples that could melt morals and crystal-blue eyes framed by golden-blond hair that grazes his shoulders like it’s in slow motion.

“Is that so?” I murmur, watching him nod. “Okay, I might just take you up on that, Dee,” I say, tossing him a wink.

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