car.
“You could have just said the one with the stupid expensive car in the driveaway.” He lets out a low, impressed whistle. “I think Porter might be the only other dude on the island rich enough to drive something like that.”
“Oh, that old thing?”
He lolls his head to the side, eyeing me. “Please. I guarantee that car turns you on more than I do.”
I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Sully.
“She is pretty, huh?” I check out the lines of the BMW M4 coupe my brother bought himself as a holy shit I made it into the NFL reward. “A whole lot of ponies under that hood.”
“Has he let you drive it?”
“I’m the older sister—he didn’t have a choice.”
“I like your style, Thea,” he says, mimicking my words from our day on the beach. He nods toward the house. “Ready to get in there?”
“No.”
He laughs. “Well, that’s too bad. Your parents are expecting us and I’m ninety-five percent sure your dad already hates me, so I don’t want to be late.”
“He doesn’t hate you…I don’t think.”
“So reassuring.”
“He’s just protective,” I say. “I’m his little girl, you know? It’s hard for him to let go of that.”
“Do I give off asshole vibes or something?”
“Not at all, but I’m pretty sure I could bring home a puppy and my dad would be wary of it breaking my heart.”
“He sounds like a good dad.” That’s something he never had, and I don’t miss the sad smile that flashes across his lips before he clears his throat.
“Ready?” I ask, changing the subject.
“To face the parents of my fake girlfriend? Sure. Why the hell not?”
The smile plastered on his face is fake, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s not looking forward to the act we’re about to put on, or because we’re still using words like fake girlfriend.
“Come on,” I say, shoving at his shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood. “It won’t be that bad. That’s why we’ve been spending so much time together, remember? To prepare for this. Well, that and I’m incredible at sex.”
“I knew you just wanted me for my body.”
“Please. You were supposed to keep your dangly bits to yourself, remember? You’re the one who couldn’t resist my lady loins.”
“Yes, Thea, it was most certainly your lady loins I couldn’t resist. Couldn’t possibly have been anything else.”
“Like what?”
He laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “Your confidence. Your complete disregard for trying to fit in. Your smarts, and not just your smart mouth. Your smile. That annoying half-wheeze, half-laugh thing you do. The face you make when you come. Your sweet tooth.” He blows out a breath. “Pretty much every-fucking-thing about you.” He looks over at me. “Does that answer your question?”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears.
I was not expecting that long list.
I wasn’t expecting every word he spoke to slide over me in warmth.
I wasn’t expecting to feel so goddamn happy.
Licking at my dry lips, I nod. “Yeah, Sully, that answers my question.”
“Good. Now, can we get inside before your father starts digging my grave? Something tells me he already has the plot picked out.”
“Do you want a refill?” my mother asks Sully for the second time. “We have more sweet tea, or there’s beer in the fridge if you’d like.”
“You never offer me any beer,” I pout. “And I’m your daughter.”
“It’s because you’re my daughter I don’t offer you a beer. You can go grab your own.”
Sully snickers at my mom’s response. “I’m good, Mrs. Schwartz. Thank you.”
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Letica? Mrs. Schwartz was my mother-in-law, and I do not want to be likened to her.”
“What?! Nana is a saint!” Jonas says.
“She’s a damn menace,” my dad pipes up. “Always sticking her nose in everyone’s business.”
“Well, Mom, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you are definitely just like Nana in that regard,” my brother says.
“I’m sorry, did you want to be locked out of the house tonight? Again?”
“Again?” I ask. “What’d you do now, Jonas?”
“He was being a shithead, so your mother—rightfully—locked him out.”
“Mom!”
“What?” She shrugs. “I didn’t lock his pregnant fiancée out, just him. He shouldn’t have kept trying to destroy our wedding plans.”
“Their wedding plans,” I correct her.
“Theirs, ours—whatever.” My mom huffs. “After he went ahead with the whole signed football idea with nobody’s approval, he called the vendor and changed the reception playlist.”
“To what?”
“Exclusively The Rolling Stones.” Jonas points at his fiancée. “They’re your