Page 69 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

Sam’s head swings in my direction, and I shake my head in a silent gesture, letting her know I’ll take care of this. I know what Summer’s father wrote up that day he knocked on the window when I was with Sam, and I know how it looks. I just need to explain to Summer that it was the only way her father could keep me held at the police station.

Despite the fact that I snuck into a bar at eighteen to begin with. I would have only gotten a slap on the wrist, possibly fined. The lie he spilled only prolonged my stay.

“Can we talk about this elsewhere?” I ask Summer, keeping my tone as calm as I possibly can.

The last thing I want is to have this conversation in front of the band, not wanting to hear Samantha mock me for not listening to her about staying away from Summer in the first place.

James, Samantha, and Tyler are all silent. Their eyes ping-pong between Summer and me as if they are enjoying the show. The air is hot and sticky, scratching my throat in the most uncomfortable way.

Summer chuckles, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She crosses her arms at her chest and says, “There is nothing to discuss.”

Shaking my head, I step forward. “Pretty girl.”

She steps backward, pointing at me. “Don’t you fucking call me that! I’m not your pretty girl, and I’m sure as hell not your fucking sunshine.”

My heart lodges into the center of my throat. The pain and rage she is feeling is visible, so prominent I can almost feel it myself.

“Let me explain, please.”

“You know, Alec. I really thought you were different. I should have known better.” The pads of her fingers fail to dry her face before her arms fall to her sides. “Jokes on me.”

“Summer, please.”

She shakes her head, her lip pinched tight. “Fuck you, Alec Sokolov.”

Saliva propels from her mouth. I deftly sidestep, narrowly avoiding the droplet before it meets the floor beside my shoe. Fuming with frustration, she storms out of the studio.

My hand grips the nape of my neck, feeling the tension coiled tight in my muscles.

“Dude… she just spit on the fucking floor,” James says.

My jaw tightens, my eyes darting to him. I want to slam my fist into his face for a second, but I decide against it and walk out of the studio after Summer.

I have fucked up enough in my lifetime. I need to make things right with her.

I need to tell Summer everything.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Summer

“Summer, stop.”

Alec’s voice penetrates through my eardrums, dragging the pain in my chest into an endless pit. I ignore him and keep moving faster, but I’m not fast enough.

The second his fingers wrap around my wrist, I turn around, my eyes blazing into Alec’s. My teeth grit together so tight, they very well may have split in half.

“Jesus, Summer. Can you stop for one second?”

I tug my arm from his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I warn.

He raises his hands, palms facing me. “Please, just listen to me.”

Sympathy fills his features, and for a split second, I almost give in. But I remind myself of what he did—the lies.

My throat feels like it’s on fire. “There is nothing to talk about, Alec.” I ignore the way his dark eyebrows narrow. “Leave me alone, or I’ll have you arrested myself.”

His eyes harden. He’s quiet for a long time, studying me before his hand reaches up, scratching his temple. With a short move of his head, he turns around and walks away.

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