“Yours?” I asked smoothly. “Bummer.” A tug on my ponytail. “Watch it.” His words were low and distracted. Warmth spilled into my chest, like I’d just gotten away with playing with fire. I wanted to do it again. Was this how people became addicts? “There are seven other televisions in this house, Russo.” Another tug on my ponytail, but this time he pulled it all the way back so I was looking at him upside down. His eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to wonder if this Sweet Abelli even exists.”
