Date = 23 November
Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)
POV - Damion
The Jeep’s parked crookedly near the house. The girls stand around it in a loose semicircle, arms crossed, expressions carved from stone.
Uh-oh.
As I swing off the bike, my body protests loudly — knees tight, shoulder screaming, leg throbbing where the scrape’s starting to smart.
Before I can straighten properly, Mel is in front of me.
She doesn’t say a word. She just looks at me.
And something in her eyes — dark, bright, furious, scared — tells me kissing her right now would be a very bad life choice.
“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping closer. Too close. I can feel the heat coming off her, smell sunscreen and ocean and pure, unfiltered emotion.
“Yeah,” I say quickly, flashing my most disarming smile. The one
