“I’m pretty sure I can’t feel my legs,” she murmured sleepily.
He chuckled. “I take full responsibility.”
“You should.” She turned her face into his skin, sighing deeply. “That was…a lot.”
“Best win of my life,” he said, stroking her back. “And I don’t mean the ring.”
Ali peeked up at him, lashes still heavy with sleep. “What time’s check out?”
“Late. Kallie made sure of it.”
She grinned. “Of course she did.”
They stayed in bed until noon, ordering waffles and fruit and enough coffee to caffeinate a small nation. Ali wore one of hisoversized Super Bowl shirts, the hem barely brushing the tops of her thighs. Dylan couldn’t stop touching her—couldn’t stop looking.
She was his. Finally. Forever.
And he planned on spending the rest of his life showing her what that meant.
We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
Ashley
The Georgia sun was already punishing, but Ashley didn’t slow her pace. Her oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes and her ponytail bounced with every step. Her go-to lavender latte was waiting for her when the run was done.
AirPods in. Volume up. Confidence on.
The screen lit up—
AliKat, FaceTime Incoming—
Ashley grinned, breathlessly answering as she slid her sunglasses to the top of her head.
“Okay, first of all—the proposal post?” she said, before Ali could even get out a hello. “Literal chills! Brant cried.”
Ali blinked on-screen, hair damp and coffee mug in hand. “Wait. Y’all were talking?”
“Keyword:were,” Ashley replied, flicking her wrist with flair. “We’re done. I mean it this time. I boxed up his sneakers and everything.”
“No,” Ali said slowly, brows rising. “You didn’t.”
“I did. Even the fancy ones that he never wore.” She sighed dramatically. “I finally figured it out—I don’t want someone who texts me when it’s convenient. I want someone who looks at me the way Dylan looks at you.”
Ali’s expression softened. “Damn right.”
Ashley hesitated, biting her lip before dropping her voice. “I actually…might have agreed to go on a date next week.”
Ali perked up immediately. “Oh?”
“Yeah, the oldest son of the Rise and Grind family—it’s fun. Light. No strings.”
But then her gaze catches on a too-familiar figure in a fitted gray athletic tee, cutting across the path with a perfectly smug smirk
Damon Scott.
The District Attorney. Her sworn nemesis. Satan’s spawn in running shoes.
She mutters into her phone, “Shit, I gotta go. The spawn just showed up.”
