I stand tall and wrap an arm around her waist, tugging her against me as I tip my head back and down the shot. I can feel her heart pounding against my ribs. She fits right under my arm, like that spot was meant for her. “Okay, my turn.” Emmett tries to step in, but I turn Summer away under the shelter of my arm. The thought of letting her go now is almost unbearable. To him, to anyone. Turn? This isn’t bowling, asshole.
