Page 42 of Moonlit Temptation

“Immensely.” He grinned. “Your brother now owes me a hundred bucks.”

My mouth popped open. “You guys bet on me?”

“He didn’t think you’d do it.” Saint shrugged, unapologetic. “I knew you would.”

Before I could ask, I heard the wheels of another board approaching. Expecting it to be my brother, I turned around to call him out on the bet, only for a small frown to form.

It wasn’t my brother.

But a stranger. A teenage boy who glared at me. “Girls don’t belong on boards.”

“Excuse me?” I said at the same time Saint stepped close, snarling, “The fuck?”

“Girls don’t belong on boards. Especially little ones like you in fairy skirts.”

My hands ran down my tulle skirt self-consciously. The frown deepened. I looked around the park and there were no other girls here. Just boys.

I went to step off the board when Saint’s hand gripped my shoulder, holding me in place. He shot me a look that dared me to move before turning back to the intruder.

“Leave.”

“Wasn’t planning on sticking around, man. Just thought I should inform your sister here she’s in above her head.” He went to skate away, going back to the group of boys who were watching us with laughter, but Saint reached out and snatched the guy by the back of his shirt collar. Pulling him off the board.

“I didn’t mean go back to your friends. I meant, leave as in get the hell out of the park.” Saint tossed him to the ground in disgust.

The boy scrambled up with a glare, only to cower from the frigid one Saint sent him back. He left the park with his board tucked between his legs, but even having him gone didn’t ease the wound he inflicted.

“Hey.” Saint gripped my shoulders. “Don’t let him do that. Don’t let him get in your head and win.”

He wasn’t. What was in my head was fire, fury. A desire to prove how wrong he was.

So I looked at Saint and asked him if he could teach me to skateboard.

He agreed with that same smile of mischief from earlier.

That was how he spent his summer before moving to London, teaching me the fundamentals and slowly working me up to tricks.

We practiced every day, sometimes for hours while others lasted thirty minutes.

Sometimes Archer would join us, but more often than not he was busy with his football clinic, so it was just Saint and me.

And when it came time to go back to the park to show the sexist boy that girls could skate, that I could shred better than them in one of my “fairy skirts,” it was Saint that supported the idea.

Saint always supported my ideas, even when everyone else put them down.

I always loved being around Saint, always had a hero worship for him. He always listened to me when I talked, treated me like I was an equal instead of a child. But it was during those hot summer days where it was just us that the worship took a turn into Crushville.

A crush that would last for years, growing with my age. I had a candle lit for him deep within my soul. It never went out, only grew stronger when we were around each other.

As I redressed, and the markings Saint left around my nipples brushed against my bra, I bit my lip in worry.

Sleeping together didn’t feel wrong to me. But what about Saint?

It was a different arena for him.

He didn’t just sleep with me.

He betrayed his best friend.

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