Page 54 of Darlin'

Beau scoffs. "Just becauseyougo completely off the rails whenyoudrink doesn't meanIdo."

I freeze, internally wincing as Jesse slowly cranes his neck in my direction. "Savannah told me shedoesn'tdrink."

"Yeah." Beau snorts. "Anymore. I think she was traumatized on her prom night."

"Rad..." I close my eyes, praying he doesn't get into the details of that horrid evening. "Please don't..."

"Pleasedo." Jesse grins, glancing at his dad and uncle. "I'm sure it's not half as bad as the shit we've gotten into." He reclines into the booth, humor glowing from his evil features. "Story time."

"I'd rather?—"

"So it was Sav's prom night," Beau begins, ignoring me. What a turd! "She was dating this dude that my parents absolutely hated." My brother shoots me a playful smile. "Remember him? It was during your 'Fuck You, Mom' phase." I visibly shrink. Jesse does not need any more ammo. Dang it. "Anywho, this dude convinced Savvy to steal one of our dad's five-hundred-dollar bottles of scotch.Which she did." Jesse's grin spreads. "So, I guess they were having a little after-party at our place, and I come home from practice that night to find this girl"—he points this thumb at me—"passed out half naked in our momma's favorite rose bushes." Beau laughs as he reminisces. "And top it off, she pukedall over meas I carried her to her room. Remember all the thorns we had to remove the next morning?"

"How could I forget," I mutter, shivering at the memory. "I looked like a damn pin cushion for weeks."

"Savannah had to lie to our parents and say she went to a shoddy acupuncturist." Beau chuckles. "Momma almost made you drop out of Miss Greenville, remember?"

"I'm surprisedyouremember," I say, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. "That was a long time ago."

"I remember everything," Beau says with a shrug. "Good and bad."

"So, what Rad is essentially saying is that there's a wild side to you, huh?" Jesse licks his lips. "How do we bring her out?"

"You don't," I state, glaring at him. "She's locked and chained."

"Come on now. You're young, kid," Billy pipes up. "This is your time to be wild and free." He nods at his son. "Just don't be stupid like this fucking guy and pop a pizza in the oven with the cardboard still attached." Billy releases a hacking cough. "Fucker almost burned down his mom's house."

"He what now?" I ask, pressing my lips together to keep my composure despite the comical image. "How drunkwereyou?"

Jesse's face falls flat. "Evidently, very." He glowers at his dad. "That was unnecessary."

"Hey"—Billy shrugs—"you're the one that said story time. It's only fair."

"Thanks, Billy," I say, tossing Jesse's daddy a gratefulwink. "I agree." Okay, this wasn't as awful as I thought it'd be. "Alright, anything else, boys? I'm off in a couple of minutes here."

"Think we're good for now," Jimbo says, helping me stack the empty shot glasses on the tray. "We're pacing ourselves. Got a club meeting later. We all know how that goes."

"You need a ride home?" Jesse asks, checking his watch. "I got a few to spare."

"It's fine," I say. Do I need to be latched onto his tempting torso going sixty miles per hour for ten minutes? No. No, I do not. "Marlow's gonna drive me." Clearing my throat, I wave bye to the boys as I head back to the bar. "Hey, Mar, can you give me a ride home?"

"Jesus." Marlow rolls her eyes as she exchanges bills at the register. "He's just a human man, Savannah. He doesn't have superpowers." She points to an old, framed photo of a woman and a toddler hanging above the register. "That. You're scared of that?"

"Awe." I pout, looking at the photograph taken in front of the original Flying Hog. "Is that Jesse and his momma?" I lean in closer, squinting. "Was he blonde as a kid?"

"Maybe he'sstillblonde," Marlow teases. "Could always check under the hood, you know?"

"I hate you," I mumble, shoving past her to the back kitchen. "Let's go."

Not only doI hate Marlow, but I hate myself as well. While Jesse's been drinking all night with the boys, I've sitting in the same spot for hours, flipping page after page. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I enjoy suffering in the name of literature.Cliterature, that is. I can't stop. I can't stop reading. I'm well aware of the fact that bumping into a BDSM-inclined billionaire is improbable, and quite frankly, the man is far too controlling and uptight for my liking, but here I am, nearly slobbering onto the page like a famished beast.

Just as the characters are about to go at it, I hear the familiar rumblings of a bike.Shoot!Hating myself even more, I commit a cardinal sin and dog ear the page.

The front door creaks open, and my heart seizes. It's fine. Just be cool. Cool and chill and normal. I quickly place the book on the arm of the couch and sit up straight.

Be cool.

"Fuck, it's hot in here," Jesse groans, tossing his bike keys on the console table before strutting into the living room with an off-kilter gait.

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