Piper was standing at the backyard door holding empty beer bottles by their necks between her fingers, wearing a white tee and a pair of black leggings, just like me. Figures. It was all the reminder I needed that Rhyland hadn’t meant to kiss me. He’d meant to kiss her. “Rhy?” Piper demanded, her saucer-size eyeballs shifting between us frantically. “What’s going on?” “You can’t tell Row.” Rhyland’s flat voice was eerily scary.
