I shake my head. “No. I just saw her in the hallway.”

“Hmmm …” she remarks. “I’m surprised she hasn’t introduced herself yet.”

My brows furrow. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re an FH.”

“You said that to me in the office, but I still don’t know what it means.”

She picks at her fingernail. “It’s what Dixie May refers to as a fuckable hottie.”

I can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. “You think I’m hot?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you already know that since you literally just had a girl chasing after you.”

My grin broadens. “I’m not asking if Katy thinks I’m hot—I already know she does. I was asking if you think I’m hot.”

Her cheeks turn pink. She’s blushing. Actually fucking blushing. And it’s by far the more adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re blushing,” I tease.

She glares at me, but she’s struggling not to smile. “Shut up. I am not.”

“You are,” I insist, reaching out and brushing a strand of her hair out of eyes. “It’s okay, though. It’s cute.”

She rolls her eyes again, but her cheeks are on fire. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s cute—you’re cute.” Id brush my hand across her cheek. I’m not even sure why I do it—why I keep touching her—other than maybe I want to see if her skin is as soft as it looks. And it is, if not softer.

A shaky breath fumbles from her lips, her cheeks tinting pink even more. “I’m not cute,” she breathes out.

“No. You completely fucking are.” I graze my knuckles across her cheek again.

God, I want to keep touching her.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m never like this.

When her eyelashes flutter, I almost kiss her, which I know would be a dumbass move, seeing as how she just befriended my loner sister, and I have a knack for only hooking up. Although, with how easily Raven blushed, I wonder if she’s not the hooking up type.

Thankfully, the waitress skates up before I can do something stupid.

I know her from school. Her name is Stella, and she’s a year older than me, having graduated last summer. She never went to college, which is kind of a typical thing for this town.

“Hey, Hunter,” she greets me with a smile as she skates up to my rolled-down window. “What’re you doing sitting in the passenger seat of your own car.”

“Harlow wanted to drive,” I reply, resting my arm on the windowsill.

“Right. She’s sixteen now,” she says as she digs her ordering pad and pen from out of the apron tied around her waist. “That’s crazy. I can still remember when she was little and used to color on everything.” She laughs softly. “Remember that one time in grade school when she colored all over the school walls.”

“I remember.” I try to keep my tone light, but the memory was so much darker than Stella realizes. When Harlow and I got home that day from school, the teacher had already informed my dad about what happened. He was livid and started screaming at Harlow to the point where I thought he was going to hit her, so I stepped and lied, saying I was the one who did it, and the teacher was just confused. He struck me so hard my ears rang. It wasn’t the first or last time he hit me. “Should’ve known back then that she’d get into art.”