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Good girl.

As I slipped my phone into my pocket, I couldn’t shake the grin on my face. She’d make me pay for that tomorrow, and for some reason, I couldn’t wait.

TWENTY-ONE

ARIELLA

ALL VALID QUESTIONS

I sat on my cousin’s bed and stared at the text from him for far longer than appropriate.

Good girl.

Why am I breathing heavy?

Why are my chonies wet?

Where the hell is my vibrator?

Why could I hear that in my head with his voice…

And the most important question of all…

Why the fuck did I want him to call me that again?

TWENTY-TWO

ARIELLA

I LOVE WATCHING MEN GET HUMBLED.

Dalton’s car rolled up right on time, his familiar, easy grin greeting me as I opened the passenger door and slid in, feeling the same jolt of nerves I tried to ignore whenever I was around him.

“Morning, Sunshine.” His voice was warm and casual as he pulled away from the curb.

“No coffee today?”

I tossed my bag into the back seat, trying to avoid eye contact, afraid that he’d take one look at me and somehow figure out I’d spent half the night dreaming about him—dreams I couldn’t forget even if I tried. My saving grace was that today I was making them do something I could almost guarantee none of them had before.

I’d probably be so busy laughing my ass off that I wouldn’t have time to think about how his shorts always bunched at the crotch, giving me way too clear of a picture of what he was working with.

“Earth to Ariella.” I yelped at the sound of Dalton’s voice, my cheeks heating at being caught thinking about his junk. “Distracted much? Look in the cupholder.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to grasp onto the new subject before he could ask what I was busy thinking about. Sure enough, there was an iced coffee in the holder, and it was the perfect color, too. “You’re a godsend.”

“I know.” I swore he puffed out his chest at the compliment. “Always iced coffee, even if we’re in a blizzard. But you’re from California. You have no clue what cold weather is like. I bet you rethink that whole no hot coffee, even in winter thing.”

“I bet you I don’t.” I held up the cup, examining it. “Where did you get this? It’s the best coffee I’ve had since getting to Dallas. They made it perfectly…” My voice trailed off as I searched for the name on the cup and found none.

He looked over at me warily. “Uh, it didn’t come from a coffee shop. I made it this morning.

“You…you made it?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the fact that my favorite coffee didn’t come from a shop, but from him, and that he’d taken the time to make me one before picking me up.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Technically, my mom made your coffee.”

That comment made me choke. Great, even white boys have their moms do everything for them? Oh god, did he say who the coffee was for?

Dalton was utterly unaware that I was spiraling and kept on talking. “She needed help getting down some containers, and apparently that project couldn’t wait ’til I saw her on Sunday, so that didn’t leave me enough time to run and get you a coffee. I tried to do it, but she told me I was ruining her fancy machine.” The tips of his ears were tinged pink. “I did add the two coconut sugars and half-and-half ’til it was…well, whatever shade of brown that is,” he said sheepishly.