“I’m leaving pretty early, too.”

My hands cup her face, buried in her hair. My thumbs brush her jaw, back and forth, then over her bottom lip.

Pink nose.

Long lashes.

Deceptively sweet dimple.

She’s nothing like I thought she’d be that night I dragged her onto the porch, nothing like that girl running her sassy mouth, arguing to get back inside.

Man am I glad I kicked her ass out, because now this ass is mine.

“Have fun in Florida,” she says against the palm of my hand, miserably.

“Not possible.”

“Yeah right. It’s my dream vacation.”

“You’re my dream vacation,” I croon, trying my damnedest to sound sexy.

It has the opposite effect.

Sounds so fucking dumb that Scarlett starts laughing.

And not that cute, flirty little laugh I love so much—no, it’s the loud, obnoxious one that makes me want to tackle her to the ground and stick my tongue down her throat.

“I can’t.” She gasps. “I’m your dream vacation? Really Rowdy? Oh god, it’s so cheesy I can’t breathe.” She wheezes in the cold, white puffs steaming out her mouth.

“Okay, that didn’t come out the way it sounded in my head.”

“That was terrible. Don’t quit your day job.”

“Would you stop laughing?” I frown. “I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

“I know, I know, but come on…”

I shut her up the only way I can: pull her in until our lips meet and her saucy tongue is inside my mouth.

It’s cold, but she’s warm, and we stand like this on her front stoop, making out like I’m dropping her off at the airport.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her flush, our jackets making it impossible to get any closer.

“You going to start coming to my games when we get back?” Like a good girlfriend.

“Yes.” She’s breathless, raised on her tiptoes, kissing my chin. “And I know so much random baseball trivia, it’s going to knock your jock off.”

I don’t tell her she already has.

EIGHTH FRIDAY

FIRST FRIDAY OF WINTER BREAK

“The Friday Where I Try to Get Her in a Swimsuit.”

Scarlett

Rowdy: You know, I’ve been giving this sex thing a lot of thought. Like…a LOT a lot of thought.

My heart races at the sight of his name on my phone, as it does every single time he messages me or calls.

I sigh, content, tapping open his message, hunkering down deeper into my bedding. It’s freezing outside, winter in full force, the seven inches of snow that dumped on us last night lending a chill to the house. My father insists on keeping the house cool, so I’m always cold, and the weather makes it worse.

The thought of Rowdy warms my body considerably, and I smile, replying.

Me: That’s the LEAST shocking thing I’ve heard you say since meeting you.

Rowdy: I laid in bed last night, and it dawned on me: I get to be the first guy to bang you.

Rowdy: [GIF attachment: camel walking through the desert]

Rowdy: Get it? That was my sex camel reference.

Me: [GIF attachment: disappears into shrubbery]

Me: I got that, loud and clear, you goof…

Me: What are you doing right now?

Rowdy: Plotting

Me: Plotting what?

Rowdy: In due time, Ms. Impatient. Missing me yet?

Me: Yes—I was just about to message you to thank you for the present. It was so sweet of you to send me seashells, they’re beautiful. I can’t believe you got me a gift.

Rowdy: I went to the beach and picked them myself. My parents thought I was nuts.

Me: lol Why?

Rowdy: I haven’t been shell seeking since I was five, that’s why. And here I am, six two, bending over every two feet to pick shells up off the ground. Had to get there early to beat all the competition.

Rowdy: And the beach is an hour drive.

Me: Oh stop, it is not.

Rowdy: You love the ocean, Dimples. Of course I went to collect shells for you.

He is ridiculously thoughtful.

Me: I’d kiss your face so hard if you were here. I really miss you.

Rowdy: Promise?

Me: Yes. Right below your sexy mouth.

I love his lips.

Rowdy: You know how many times I’ve wanted to suck on your dimple over the past few days? Like two hundred.

Me: Uhhhhhh…I don’t know what to say to that, lol

Rowdy: It’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen besides your ass.

Suddenly, the FaceTime notification on my cell starts chiming, buzzing and ringing, and I fumble, knocking my phone to the floor.

I grapple for the charging cord, reel it in like I’m fishing, and scramble to click on the nearby lamp.

It’s Rowdy.

It’s ten o’clock on Friday night, eleven o’clock his time.

“Hey.” His handsome smile is a wicked, welcome sight.

“Hey.”

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, propping myself up by the elbows so I can study his face.

“So, this is what you look like when you’re in bed, eh?”

Oh god.

Shoot me now.

“That shirt is not what I thought you’d be wearing.”

I glance down at it: a tank top that says I licked it so it’s mine. My mother hates it, so I have to wear a sweatshirt over it when I go down to the kitchen every morning for breakfast.

“What did you think I’d be wearing?”

“I don’t know—one of those cat onesies?”

“Shut up.” I laugh, snuggling down deeper into my pillow. “I don’t own a cat onesie.”

My onesie is a sloth, obviously, but he doesn’t have to know that.

His broad shoulders are bare, tan collarbone smooth, and the way he has his phone angled does nothing to afford me a better view of his assets. Dammit.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Rowdy starts with no preamble, leaning against a navy blue wall in a room I assume is his bedroom. “You doin’ anything this week?”

Am I? I rack my brain, going through the plans I made for the rest of the month, pulling the baby blue cotton sheet farther up my chest.

“Just going through my closet and taking whatever I don’t wear anymore to the donation center.” Man that sounds lame. “That’s about it. My dad might want to go skiing at some point before I leave because we just got a ton of snow.”

Rowdy’s face scrunches up at the mention of snow. “What about next weekend, like, Friday?”

“Hanging out with some friends who are home. What about you?”

He repositions himself on his bed, bending an arm and resting it behind his head to prop himself up, my eyes roaming to his armpit—good lord, even his damn armpit is sexy with its patch of light brown hair.

The cords in his thick neck strain, and I get a semi-decent shot of his chest. I was right, it does have a smattering of hair…

“…so that’s what they’re doing this year instead of staying in town,” he’s saying as he moves the phone an inch and I get a clear shot of the television in the corner.

I didn’t hear a word of anything he just said.

Too busy staring at his sleek skin and brown hair and into his green eyes.

“I…um, can you please repeat that? Was that a question?”

He smirks. “Something distracting you, Scarlett?” Flexes his pecs and biceps. Even his collarbone is mouthwatering.

“I was telling you my parents decided to head out of town—they’re taking a short cruise.”

“Wait.” I sit up. “They’re leaving you home alone for the holidays? That’s so sad! And so very Home Alone of them.”

He is unperturbed, yawning. “My dad’s friend hooked them up with a killer deal. He works for the cruise line in their food service division, so I’ll be home alone, but hopefully not for long.”

“Don’t tell me—you’re going to throw a kegger while they’re gone.”

He doesn’t respond right away, instead staring through the phone into my eyes until he has my full attention. Green eyes, black sooty lashes.

“Come to Florida.”