Rike and Peyton fell in love in college.
A boy from the wrong side of the tracks, covered in ink and crooning in a bar is the last person a straight laced girl with a art major should fall for, but his rough edges made her jagged, alive, shaving away the coddled southern princess and revealing a soul wild and brilliant.
They fell in love, despite her family and his past and all the reasons why it wouldn't work--and with their best friends, they made a life. Everyone was supposed to live happily ever after.
They, more than anyone, knows that life doesn't go according to plan.
Rike and Peyton fell in love in college. A boy with a guitar, and a poet's heart, and a girl with freckles dusted over her nose, a perfect fucking fairy tale. But what happens when the fairy tale doesn't fall apart--but is forgotten?
“You’re girl was late,” Scotty rasps as we land on two stools at the bar. It’s late and the crowd of sorority girls has thinned to almost nothing, although a pair are nursing Cosmos and watching us speculatively.
Surprisingly, Scot’s ignored them completely.
“Need anything, boys?” Manda asks as she sways past, giving Scotty a flirty smile. He grins at her, letting his gaze sweep over her.
My best friend is a fucking slut. But with Manda, it’s all flirting and no action. She’d take him up on it—she’s made that very clear. But Scot doesn’t fuck where he works, and Barries has been too good for us to risk screwing it up for a quick fuck.
Which is good, because I’d have to kick his ass if he touched her. She might be a little too friendly and a little desperate, but she’s a cute kid and I like her.
"Bourbon, Manda," he says and she glances at me questioningly. I nod and she pours the drinks. Scotty glances at me. "What are you waiting on?"
I shrug and grit my teeth. Scotty twists and gives her a look over his shoulder. "Fine. Stay here and keep Manda company. I'm going to introduce myself to your siren."
I jerks him back by the collar of his shirt before he can take more than two steps and throw him back against the bar. "Back the fuck off, Scott." I growl.
He grins, a challenge and a taunt in that expression. "Then make your move, Rike."
I snatch the bourbon from Manda and take a deep breath before walking to her table.
For a long. Fucking. Time.
It takes almost a full minute for her to look up, almost long enough for my courage to fail. I'm almost ready to retreat when she blinks and looks up at me, her eyes widening a little as they find mine. She looks startled, and sleepy, and as gorgeous as she looked at a distance, is nothing compared to how fucking flawless she is this close.
There are freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and dusted over her nose.
I swallow a groan as she licks her lips and gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say, and then go blank.
Because in none of my fantasies did I ever consider we’d actually ever get to this point. And the smirks and smooth lines won’t work—not on her.
“What do you call a group of unorganized cats?” I ask and her eyes cloud, confused.
She gives me a pretty frown and I grin, “A cat-astrophe.”
For a second, all either of us do is stare, and then she giggles. “That is literally the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
I grin, “So you want me to leave?”
Laughter dances in her eyes. “Have a seat, jokes.”
About Nazarea Andrews
Nazarea Andrews is an avid reader and tends to write the stories she wants to read. She loves chocolate and coffee almost as much as she loves books, but not quite as much as she loves her kids. She lives in south Georgia with her husband, daughters, and overgrown dog.
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