Dead of Summer

by A.J. Merlin

“Oh, my god.” The words come out as a whisper as all the warmth drains out of me, into the ground below. “Not quite,” Kayde responds, still with that half-apologetic smile. “And if you’re really good for me, sweetheart, I won’t make you meet him tonight.”

“I hate you,” I whisper against his tanned, perfect skin, breathing in open-mouthed pants. “I hate you so much.” “I know, Summer.” His hands shift down to my hips, just to wrap around me again and hold me close in his embrace like he really gives a damn. “But if you didn’t, then this wouldn’t be nearly as fun for me.”