Summer Breeze Kisses - Addison Moore Page 0,93

the lake—who would have initiated an alcohol-fueled attack by the way. He had trouble written all over his neon T-shirt.”

Her lips invert as if holding back a laugh. Her dark hair falls into the stream of light beaming from the parking lot and catches fire. Scarlett’s hair looks black from far away, but the closer you get you realize, that much like her temper, it’s a bona fide flame. You get too close, you’ll get burned. I should know. It seems like Scarlett is forever trying to set me on fire. We’ve gotten along as well as oil and water pretty much since hello.

“My idea is”—she growls—“I was sort of hoping you’d have a very pressing football need and get us off that overgrown rock tonight.” She ducks as if I were about to toss a shoe at her.

So her weekend plans hinge on whether or not I feel like lying to my mother.

“You really are nuts. It takes an hour to get there with no traffic, and an hour to get back. It’s already almost seven. That leaves about an hour to spend time with our parents.” I think on this a moment. “It’s actually pretty brilliant, but still a hard no.”

“Why not?” Scarlett sounds a lot like Trixie when she whines. There’s something almost endearing about her—almost. I’m pretty sure it’s the inkling of my little sister I find endearing, not the redheaded spitfire sitting next to me.

“Because for one, my mother actually expects me to stay the weekend. And I happen to be a—”

“Momma’s boy?” She finishes the thought for me, albeit incorrectly.

“I was thinking responsible, respectful, and dutiful son.” And probably a momma’s boy when you get right down to it, but who doesn’t love their mom? I flick a finger up at the glittering lights of the dormitory tower. “Make it quick, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.” She scoffs as if holding back a laugh. “In fact, I bet you have that carved into your headboard.”

“I don’t have a headboard—too noisy.” An indulgent grin begs to take over, but I won’t let it. “I like all of my noise to come from the girls.”

She lets out an exasperated grunt as she opens the door.

“In fact, that’s the sound right there!”

“Ugh!” Scarlett jumps out, swinging both her hair and hips from side to side, and I try to pry my eyes away, make myself follow any other coed, but my gaze won’t stray. Crap. This girl doesn’t know the half of what she does to me.

We keep the conversation to a minimum on the rest of the drive. “Lake Avalanche,” I say mostly to myself. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“A good one,” she snipes back as if I took a personal jab at her family—her father primarily. Him, I actually might like to stab. Bradley Kent, asshole in arms. What a freaking douche. “I suppose your family is too good to have a cabin at Lake Avalanche. Tell me, Sexy Rexy”—she incites the nickname Cassidy sometimes taunts me with, and a dull smile curls the corner of my lips—“where pray tell do the Tobermans blow off steam? Oh, wait, you’re far too nouveau riche to do something as filthy as blow off anything.”

“That’s right, princess.” My blood pressure skyrockets right along with my irritation. “I save all my blowing for the bedroom.” Normally, I wouldn’t dream of talking to a girl this way, but she started this perverse flow of thought by invoking my imaginary headboard.

She grunts again. “Where does your family prefer to summer? I’ll take a wild stab at it.” A self-righteous grin blooms on her face. “The Hamptons? I bet you’re just chomping at the bit to catch the first private jet to Long Island.”

“My private jet happens to be in the shop.” True story, but I’m not entertaining this ridiculous conversation with her. “And we don’t summer in the Hamptons.” Anymore—but she doesn’t need to know that little tidbit either. Before my parents divorced, they were the “it” couple of the east end of that island. I can still smell the salt in the thick, warm air, feel the powder white sand clinging to my legs. That sand followed you home, and there wasn’t a damn thing you were going to do about it. “We have a cabin at Mirror Lake.” Mirror Lake is two hours from Hollow Brook, and that one extra hour of travel is the exact reason I think my mother opted