Page 41 of Lease to Love

Then I made the mistake of getting close enough to count those damn freckles.

They were always doing something to me when she was mad. But this close, this unguarded, this bare, they were doing something that had nothing to do with irritation.

Nigga on the screen was smirking, sure that my silence meant he won something. “You know Sunny?”

I looked back at the screen.

Fuck it.

I put my arm around her waist.

She was soft.

That registered before I could stop it from registering—the warmth of her skin, the give of her waist under my hand—and I hated that I noticed, and I noticed anyway, because apparently I was built the same as every other man who'd ever been this close to Summer Proctor and been ambushed by it.

I pulled her into my side and looked at the screen.

"Obviously."

The word came out lower than I'd intended. More possessive, too.

Something moved through Summer's body… Quick and subtle, a current from her spine outward.

I filed it in the back where I kept everything about her that wasn't my business and fixed my eyes on the screen.

"And who are you?" The possessive was still there.

I left it. It could do what it wanted.

Dude started to answer. I didn't care. "Yes, very nice."

I looked back down at Summer, who was staring up at me with an expression that was split evenly between shock and panic.

"Sunshine."

My own voice hit my ear like a stranger's.

I'd never said her name like that in my life. Not her name, not any variation of it, not in any register even approaching that one.

Summer was apparently thinking the same thing, based on what was happening to her face.

"Um—uh—" She cleared her throat. "Yes?"

"You got anything else you want to say to your friend?"

She glanced at the screen. Back at me.

"Uh... no?"

"Bet." I looked back at the man on the screen, who had the specific expression of someone watching a situation go somewhere they hadn't planned.

"Have a nice Sunday."

I took Summer's phone.

Exited the live.

Handed the phone back.