Ramirez Gonzales.
“Noah can’t see us together,” Ariel says, in a hurried whisper.
I’m not done arguing with her, but I bite back the words. She’s already slipping out of the car, checking around like we’re fugitives. I want to grab her waist, pull her back, and sniff her vanilla-laced collarbone. Just one more kiss, just one more second of her warmth. But she’s fast—too fast—ducking out before I can make a move. Disappointment burns under my skin. Since when do I crave something as pathetic as a hug? I’m a damn mafia, a south snake, not some needy fool. Get a grip, Ramirez.
“You can come by after I’ve gone in, okay?” she says, glancing at me from under her lashes. I nod, but I’m not okay. Not even close.
From the rear-view mirror, I watch her dash towards the house, her figure disapp
