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“Fuck no.” I open my door and step out, slamming it behind me. I circle around and jerk open her door. “Get out of the goddamn car. We’re not done here.”

She stares at me but doesn’t move. I grab her by the arm and yank her out. She stumbles, but I hold on tight, keeping her from falling. “But he said no.”

Heis the greasy-haired guy behind the counter who took one look at Theodore Hart and denied his purchase.

“It’s time to man the fuck up,Theodore.” She flinches when I use the male version of her name. “It’s time to get in there and prove you can do this.”

“I’m not a—”

“You are tonight. And I’m not going to embarrass myself by not winning. Straighten your spine. Grow a pair of balls.” I grab her between the legs, squeezing the lump of socks. “Get in there and buy me a fucking bottle of whisky.”

She stares at me for a long moment, eyes wide and caught in some kind of battle. There are times I know Reagan is about to quit, where she’s about to get pushed too far. I’ve learned that her stubborn streak is higher than her need for self-preservation. Defiance flickers in her eye and she says, “Fine,” and turns stalking back toward the store.

I follow her in, and this time she doesn’t roam around, taking a minute to gather up her courage like she’s done all the other times. She goes straight for the bottle, snatching it off the shelf and slides it across the counter.

The clerk lifts his eyes from the magazine splayed on the counter before him. He looks like he’s in his forties, with gray streaks at his temple. A faded tattoo of a dragon peeks out from under his shirt sleeve.

“I’d like to buy this,” Reagan says, voice modulated lower.

“I already told you. No ID, no booze, kid.”

“I’m not a kid and I told you I left it at home.”

“Sure, you did. With your algebra homework. You look like you’re twelve.” He picks up a magazine on the counter and starts flipping through it. “Stop bugging me.”

I’m standing where she can see me, slightly behind the clerk, by a booze display. It has a sexy girl in a tight bikini holding a margarita. Reagan looks up at me and I give her a hard stare.

Her eyes flick to the margarita display, then back to the clerk. She straightens her shoulders and says, “I know I may look twelve, but looks can be deceiving.”

He lowers the magazine and smirks. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath and reaches for the hem of her shirt. “How many twelve-year-olds have tits like this?”

She lifts her shirt and the guy’s jaw drops, eyes unblinking.Istare at her chest, at the brown of her nipples and the faint, remaining tan lines from a summer on the lake. My fingers twitch, wanting to feel their weight in my hands, but she drops the shirt and pushes the bottle toward the clerk along with a twenty-dollar bill.

The clerk doesn’t speak, but he does take the cash and slides the bottle into a paper bag.

“Have a good night,” Reagan says with a cheeky grin. The overhead bell rings as she heads out of the store.

The clerk looks at me, the glaze slowly lifting from his eyes. “Did you see the tits on that one?”

“Yeah. And you know what?” I ask. “They taste as good as they look.”

Exiting the store, I walk up to the Jeep where Reagan stands outside the passenger side, bouncing on her toes, grinning wide. Without warning, she rushes me and gives me a hug.

“Oh my god, that was crazy,” she says, pressing those glorious tits against my chest.

I rest a hand on her lower back. “Unexpected for sure.”

“You never said I couldn’t show my tits.” She pulls back and smiles. “You said I should man up, but I’m not a man. I saw that display of the woman in the store, and I just knew my tits are as good as hers. I figured at the very least I’d stun him and steal the bottle.”

“I know for a fact your tits are better than that model’s, just saying.”

“Yeah?” She looks up at me with those bright eyes, soft and genuinely touched by the compliment.

I nod, unable to figure out what to say next. My heart thuds in my chest, energized by the scene in the store, the closeness of this sexy, wild girl. I want to push up her shirt and suck on those nipples right here in the parking lot. I want her tongue in my mouth. My cock swells at the thought of her—all of her. I’m not supposed to want Reagan like this. Not for real.

The rush of blood pounds in my ears, and I think that maybe I’ll tell her. I’ll just tell her that I want her, but then I realized the pounding wasn’t just my pulse. It’s the thud of bass from a truck barreling down the road. A truck I recognize as one of my frat brothers. I step away from Reagan and nod at the Jeep. “We’ve got an hour and four more to go.”