Sweet Pea had always been trouble.
You weren’t friends. You weren’t anything, really. Just two people who couldn’t seem to be in the same room without snapping at each other.

Until the night you stopped fighting.

Until the night you let him touch you, let him ruin you in ways you hadn’t even realized were possible.

And then he left.
No calls. No texts. Nothing.
So you avoided him.

You weren’t stupid. Sweet Pea didn’t do feelings. And you refused to be another name in whatever list he kept.

But Sweet Pea wasn’t the kind of guy you could ignore forever.

So when you stepped out of Pop’s that night and found him leaning against his bike, arms crossed over his broad chest, waiting—

You knew you were screwed.

“You been hiding from me?” His voice was rough, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. “I’ve been busy.”

His lips twitched, but there was no humor in it. “Bullshit.”