Axl enjoyed her kisses, but he decided not to share that in case she did it again, and her touch prompted more action, the kind where he’d turn around and dis his mother on dinner.

They drove the rest of the way, back in their comfortable silence.

Until he pulled into his parents’ side drive.

“Holy crap,” she whispered.

As they passed by, he studied the sprawling house with its red brick, black shutters, white woodwork, and curved portico.

The green lawn was perfectly manicured. The front hedges flawlessly clipped. The dual elms on either side of the front of the house mature and towering.

An opinion on something Axl had never considered hit him with a surety that surprised him.

He hated his parents’ home.

It was classic, pompous, had zero uniqueness, no personality, and the best things you could say about it were that it was big, it was sturdy, and at a push, it was stately.

But it was boring.

If you had to guess who lived in that house, you’d probably say conservative, elderly and uptight.

Except the elderly, all true.

He drove around back to the huge area that included four garage doors, an archway covered in some flowering plant that didn’t quite hide the pool and tennis court beyond and the small detached mother-in-law house where his mom and dad’s assistant/housekeeper lived.

And he hadn’t felt the feeling he was feeling as he parked since his dad reamed his ass in front of his teammates and coaches for coming in second in the hundred-yard dash in regionals his sophomore year.

But he knew what the feeling was.

He was embarrassed.

“Okay, so your dad isn’t like, a successful attorney. He’s, like, a super-duper, mega successful attorney,” Hattie noted.

“We’ll just say his firm does the very least pro bono work they can do and not look like complete assholes rather than total assholes. Every hour is a billable hour. And he works a lot.”

“Axl,” she called, her voice searching, soft.

He turned to her to see her gaze the same as her voice.

“Are you okay, honey?” she asked.

Shit.

He wasn’t.

“We do it, it’s done,” he said.

She let her seatbelt go that time, came in and touched her glossed lips to his.

She pulled back, still staring into his eyes.

“There’s one thing I already know I’ll always love about your parents. They made you.”

Fucking fuck.

Another punch right to the sternum.

She read his intent before he did what he intended.

He knew it when she ordered, “Don’t mess up my lip gloss.”

“I’m gonna mess up your lip gloss, beautiful,” he warned.

And then he did.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as she reapplied.