Page 81 of Chosen Boy

“What?” She frowns, looking confused. “Why?”

“Just trust me.” I shake my hand waiting.

Slowly, she takes her phone and slaps it into my hand.

Plugging it in, I open her Music app. Scrolling through, I smirk when I find the perfect song.

She and I couldn’t have more opposite taste in music if we wanted to. I listen to everything from country to a little rap and some old-school shit. She’s a Taylor Swift fanatic.

Hitting play, I grin over at her, trying not to laugh as a song that I’ve been forced to memorize starts to play. But even though I’m not a big Swiftie, this song isn’tthatbad.

I turn the volume up, and “Bad Blood” screams through my speakers just before I pull back onto the road.

“Come on, girl. Get it.” I wink at her, bobbing my head back and forth. “Get down with your T. Swift–loving self.”

When she’s hesitant to sing, I take one for the team and start belting out the lyrics. I take my bottle of water, holding it up like a microphone. Sutton laughs at first, covering her face in pure embarrassment for her man. But by the time the chorus starts, she’s singing along with me. Well, more like screaming out the words as we both act like complete morons.

She rolls her window down, letting the wind blow her hair around into a completely tangled disaster. Her cutoff jean shorts and blue tank top aren’t exactly fancy luncheon attire. Which is exactly why I told her to wear them. She could climb out of a dumpster, wearing a garbage bag, and she’d still be ten times the person her mother is. She’d also still be the most beautiful woman in any room.

The song ends, and she glances over at me. No longer looking like a scared puppy dog, shut in a cardboard box. But a damn warrior, ready to fight.

“Thank you.” She leans across the console, kissing my cheek. “I needed that.”

“I know.” I give her the side-eye. “I know when you’re in need of one of your T. Swift jam sessions. I’ve come to accept it now.”

“And I love you for it.” She giggles.

If I had to listen to Taylor Swift on repeat for the rest of my life to keep her smiling—my ears might bleed inside, and I might mentally lose my mind—I’d do it. For her anyway.

Sutton

Call me a gutless, codependent coward for needing Hunter by my side when I confront my parents. I don’t really care. There was no way my ass was walking into the devil’s realm alone. Hell no.

After Hunter gets us through the door, we walk to the outdoor area out back. But not before the hostess flicks her gaze up and down my body and gives my boyfriend a seductive sex-kitten look.

“She wants you,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “I feel dirty, just watching her eye-bang you.”

“Eh, well, I’m taken.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’m not really into redheads.”

“You’re not into anyone besides your girlfriend, asshole,” I hiss, nudging his side.

“Obviously, babe.” He throws his arm around me just as we walk around the corner and see the tables spread out on the lawn.

Big, fancy hats, suits, and designer clothes fill the yard as I glance around.

“Time for another jam session?” I gulp.

“Nope. Just a bitch session,” he utters, dropping his arm from my body. “To your left, third table over. Hideous blue dress.”

My eyes move until I find my mother and Sam sitting with two other couples. I pull a deep breath into my lungs, wondering if I need my inhaler.

No. I’ve got this.

Tipping my chin up bravely, I begin to walk toward them. My legs shake, and my heart thumps in my chest. I pray Hunter won’t grab my hand because my palm is probably slimy with sweat.

My mother looks past me first before she takes me in, and her eyes widen. There’s no mistaking the sheer panic on her face.

Does she deserve for me to pull her away from her ritzy friends and talk to her? No.

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