Dead silence.
Amelia’s head jerks back. “I’m sorry. He what?”
“He pulled back, and looked at me like I was some sort of fucking mistake, mumbled something about how ‘this can’t happen’ and just… left.” I groan, throwing my face into my hands again.
Layla slaps both palms against the table, rattling our drinks. “NO! Absolutely fucking not. He kissed you like that, made you soaked like a fucking water park and then dipped?”
“Yupppp. Said he was fucking sorry and ran off like I burned him.”
Amelia blinks. “Okay, now I am judging. Who apologizes after grinding on someone like that? That’s literal psychotic behavior.”
“I know,” I mutter, throwing the crumpled napkin on the table. “He texted me before I got here, like he didn’t just shatter my soul and run away like a coward.”
Layla’s already halfway out of the booth. “We’re egging his truck.”
“I stole his truck.”
Amelia grins. “Even better.” She chugs her leftover mimosa. “Anyways, he fucking wants you. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. He probably thinks he’s being noble, cautious or whatever bullshit excuse men come up with when they’re scared of wanting something they’re not supposed to.”
I slump deeper into the booth, my mimosa swirling in lazy, frustrated circles. “You’re right. I think I’m gonna give him a piece of my fucking mind.”
Layla perks up. “Oh, bitch, YES. Fucking ruin him. But like, gently. We still need his dick to function when you ride him into the goddamn afterlife.”
I nearly choked on my drink.
Amelia nods, tapping her black acrylics against her glass. “Just emotionally destroy him a little, sprinkle in some chaos. You know, Catalina-style.”
My lips twist into a devilish grin. “I’m going to make his life a waking nightmare.”
“Good.” Layla slams her mimosa down. “You know what you need? Glitter bombs.”
Amelia and I blink at her, confused.
She points toward the little gift boutique next to Maple and Magnolia, practically vibrating. “They sell them there. You fill ‘em with whatever you want—glitter, sequins, fake spiders, a letter that says ‘I hope you step on a Lego.’”
Amelia’s brows shoot up. “How did you know they sell glitter bombs in there?”
“I always know where the nearest weaponized sparkle is, babe.” Layla slaps money onto the table, and without hesitation, she grabs both of our hands, dragging us across the street.
The boutique is too cute for the shit we’re about to create inside it. There’s a table covered in pastel stationery, mason jars with curse words in cursive, and yes—an entire display of custom glitter bombs.
I pick two up, the packaging’s covered in pink and an ominous warning about messy consequences.
It’s fucking perfect.
Amelia grabs two. “One for Carter, and one just to have in case a man speaks to me without being asked.”
Layla’s already filling two of them with pink glitter and sequinned tiny plastic cows. “This,” she says, giggling as she seals them shut, “is for DaddyHayes.”
carter
. . .
Iwipe the sweat from my brow and hurl the shovel against the barn wall until it clatters to the floor. It’s loud as hell, but I barely hear it over the pounding in my chest. The summer sun’s high and merciless, heat clinging to my skin like guilt, and everything around me reeks of hay, dust, and poor decisions. I should be focusing on feed deliveries or the vet check coming tomorrow—but instead, my head’s a fucking carousel of her.
Catalina Ajemian.
Her lips, her moans. The way she whispered sweet nothings into my ear like she meant it with her whole soul.
