Rose pops open her clutch wallet and flashes her ID to the waitress.
“Thanks. I’ll get that right out to you. Anything else?” She fixes her Sombrero.
“Yeah,” I say, “a blow torch to defrost my girlfriend’s sister.” I smile dryly. “Thanks.”
“And I’d like a fly swatter so I can smack my sister’s boyfriend.”
The waitress opens her mouth, partially, but no words escape.
“A margarita is all,” Connor tells her with a warm smile.
She swallows. “I’ll have that ready in a sec…”
When she leaves, my phone buzzes on the table. I collect it and open the text.
See you tomorrow. – Daisy
I go entirely rigid.
I flip the cell over and notice the dark green casing, unlike my black one. I accidentally picked up Ryke’s phone.
Morality, ethics—I was taught to shit on them.
I don’t even hesitate. I just scroll through the messages quickly, reaching the top of the conversation. My fingers rise to my lips in anxiety, my rapid thoughts drowning out Connor and Rose’s French talk.
You left your shirt with me, you know. – Daisy
Keep it. – Ryke
What the fuck? I breathe heavily, dark emotions pooling into me from so many places. Some indistinguishable, others really clear. Daisy is only sixteen.
It’s all I can think right now.
Back in Cancun, I made a promise—to trust Ryke, to lay off him about their growing friendship. I’ve been seriously trying.
My eyes flicker to my brother at the bar. He works the brunette girl, her figure curvy and her hand on his arm as she laughs at something he said.
She’s working him just as hard too.
And I imagine Ryke messing with Daisy’s head—just like that. Like she’s another girl at a bar. Like he’s trying to fuck her one night or for a week, maybe a month.
Nothing more.
I imagine the teasing.
The flirting.
I don’t know what he’s playing at with Lily’s little sister, but it’s not right. He can sleep with any girl—why does he have to go after her?
Or is he just leading her on, with no real plan to do anything more?
Does he get off on that?
I’ll ask him, I think. It’s the only thing that stops my leg from jostling.
I return to the texts.
I can just give the shirt back to you when we go riding. – Daisy
Whatever you want. Just make sure to wear fucking boots this time and not flip-flops. – Ryke
They were sandals. I also just found your shorts. I’ll wear those the next time I see you too ;） – Daisy
Really?
Just wear the fucking boots, Calloway. – Ryke
You want me to ride naked? I usually don’t do that until after second base. – Daisy
I’d rather you wore my shorts. – Ryke
Does it turn you on when girls wear your clothes? – Daisy
I’ll see you tomorrow, Dais. – Ryke
See you tomorrow. – Daisy
That was the newest text.
“Are you okay, Lo?” Connor asks, off my volatile expression. Heat practically radiates from my muscles.
Rose twirls her straw in her margarita. I didn’t even see the waitress come by again.
“I’m great,” I say coldly.
Only a second or so later, Ryke returns to the table with a napkin. He sits right next to me in the free seat. “Got her number and her address.” He pockets the napkin with the scribbled info. Then he reaches over and grabs his water that’s near Rose.
“Does that girl know you just want to fuck her?” I ask, my voice coarse.
Tension spreads through the table, but remorse lies far off—in another realm of existence. In some good guy’s body.
“Yeah,” Ryke says, drawing out the word as he studies my expression. “I think she got the message when I said that I wasn’t into anything serious.” He pauses. “Did I do something…？”
I slide the phone across the mosaic-tiled table and set it right in front of him.
Since his chair is beside mine, he has to angle his body towards me. “You read my fucking texts?” He glowers.
“Why is she flirting with you?”
Ryke runs his hand anxiously through his thick brown hair. “It’s innocent, Lo.”
That’s not what I wanted to hear. “Does she know that?”
“Yes,” he forces.
“How? How does she fucking know that, Ryke? She’s sixteen, and you’re leading her on.”
Rose stops sipping her margarita. “Are we talking about my little sister, here?”