Chapter Three
Rygaard
Tossing the basketball toward the hoop on the back of Rafe’s door, I watch it bounce off the rim and clatter to the floor.
Rafe bursts in, face stormy. His jaw clenched, eyes burning. Something’s got him tight.
“Dude, you just screwed up my shot,” I say, laughing as I snag the ball.
“Don’t start, Ry,” he snaps.
“What now?” I ask, already bracing myself for another Presley problem.
It always is these days.
Since she hit her glow-up, Presley’s been on every guy’s radar, and it’s driving Rafe insane. Not that I’m any better. I just hide it more.
“What happened this time?” I yawn, pretending not to care while my chest tightens. She’s out on another date, with some douche from school.
I know I shouldn’t care. But I do. Every single time.
Rafe paces, hands clenching and unclenching. “She does this on purpose. I swear, Ry. Just to get a rise out of me. Mom and Dad are too busy to notice she’s acting out. She wears these tiny outfits,” he adds, scowling. “Has this mouth on her, too. I swear she wants me to lose it.”
“She doesn’t dress that bad,” I mutter, already picturing the way her skirt hugs her hips. It’s not helping.
Rafe glares. “Today? White crop top. Pink shorts that say 'Juicy' on the back. Fucking pink heels, man. Makeup done to the nines. Telling everyone she’s got a 'hot date.’”
Yeah, he lost me after the word 'Juicy.'
I’ve seen her in jeans. Shorts? I don’t need the visual. But I get it. I really do.
“She thinks she’s grown,” Rafe growls. “But she’s still a kid.”
No, she’s not. Not anymore.
“Say less,” I say, grabbing my keys and heading for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To ruin her date, of course.”
His hand grips my arm. “You think I’m wrong?”
“Absolutely,” I smirk. “But you’re her brother. It’s what we do.”
Rafe opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. “Good thinking. She won’t suspect anything if I stay.”
He follows me out the door anyway, concern painted across his face. “Go easy on her?”
Oh, if only he knew.
“Sure,” I lie, sliding into the driver’s seat.
I pull up Life360 and track her location. The Multiplex downtown. Of course. Movie date.
I grip the wheel tighter.
“She’s just watching a movie,” I mutter, trying to reason with myself. “You’re not going in there to cause a scene. Just... observe.”
The theater looms ahead as I park. I slide my phone into my pocket, square my shoulders, and walk in.
I approach the box office. “What’s playing in Theater Seven?”
The clerk blinks at me, then checks. “Cheesy rom-com. It’s almost over.”
Figures.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, already heading inside.
I wait across from Theater Seven, arms folded, leaning against the wall. Minutes crawl by.
Then, giggling.
My head snaps up. She steps out, glowing. Laughing. Leaning into him.
His hand is on her waist.
She throws her head back, laughter spilling out, and he leans in, Did he just lick her ear?
That’s it.
I push off the wall, storming forward. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”
He blinks. “Who are you?”
“I asked you a question.”
“Ry?” Presley’s voice cuts in, sharp. She narrows her eyes. “What the hell?”
“You want to play, little Princess?” I growl, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away.
“Ry! Stop! You can’t do this to every guy I date!”
“Wanna bet?”
I pull her into a quiet hallway and pin her gently, gently , against the wall. My chest heaves as I drink her in.
She’s perfect. Petite. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Her outfit clings to her curves, and Rafe was right, she’s dressed to kill. But I see her. The real her.
She looks up at me, and breathes quickly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I step back, giving her space. Giving me space. Then, I step in again, close enough to smell her perfume.
“Because you look good enough to eat,” I whisper, letting my lips brush her ear.
Her breath hitches.
“You should get home,” I say. “Rafe’s halfway to a heart attack.”
She stares, lips parted. Eyes smoldering. Then, her tongue flicks out over her lips. Her hand runs through her hair. She steps closer.
“Looks like he’s not the only one I’m giving a heart attack to,” she murmurs, brushing past me with a smirk.
She walks off, hips swaying, hair swishing.
She knows.
One day, I’ll see how far she’s willing to go.
And if she’s really ready to play with fire.