Krista Ritchie

Kiss the sky with me,” Connor whispers, a beautiful smile pulling his lips, “and don’t ever come down.”

He follows my gaze. “I won’t charge extra.”

His head jerks back in surprise. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Rose Calloway?”

“We’ll pretend,” he tells me. “Come on, love.” He taps my ass. “Into the car.” I barely stumble on his frequent use of love. In middle school, I told him how I thought it was the sexist term of endearment. And even though British guys have claimed stake to it, Lo took it as his own.

but the only girlfriend Loren Hale will ever treat well is his bottle of bourbon.

“In this moment, I’m yours.”

“And as your boyfriend,” he murmurs, “I really hate to share.”

“You know, in our apartment. That we share, as a couple.”

“You, shower. Me, pizza. Tarzan eat Jane.”

“You mean Tarzan likes Jane?”