“Morning, princess,” he said. “You look like you’ve been up all night thinking about a girl.”
“Get off my swing,” I said.
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “It’s warmed to my ass. We’re bonded now.”
I shook my head and climbed the front steps—just as Ryder’s cruiser bounced up the drive, gravel spitting behind it. The light bar was dark, but the engine was complaining like it had been begging for mercy for years.
Ryder parked even more crooked than Jett, which was a feat, then got out in one long line of irritation. His sheriff uniform was unbuttoned at the throat, his badge was slightly off-center, and his gun was riding low on his hip. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
He stalked past Jett with a scowl. “If you’re eating Hayes’s food again, at least don’t touch the peach preserves.
