And I don’t blame her, really. With every step we take forward, I wonder how I got here. Every inch we move forward, I tell myself, this is enough. I tried to convince myself to stop it there because we’re parting ways in mere days. And because I’m no fucking prize.

Winter deserves to be loved by someone who believes that love even exists. She needs to be worshiped and made someone’s number one priority. She shouldn’t take a backseat to anything, because Winter is everything. She’s what futures are made of.

But I’m a selfish son of a bitch and I want her. Like I said, while we’re here, I want everything. And everything I’m going to take. Then we’ll say goodbye. We’ll part on good terms, respectably. Because this is mutually casual—aside from us fucking no one but each other.

I mean, we haven’t talked about that, but I’m not fucking anyone else. Realization strikes, so I pull my phone from my pocket and shoot Winter a text, not wanting to say it in front of the group. The conversation has tapered off of us, and Winter’s cheeks are finally nearing a normal hue. She could use the break.

Me: Tell the dipshit surfer you’re mine.

Winter, feeling her phone vibrate in her jean jacket pocket, pulls it out, looks at the screen, and smiles. She sets her phone on the table, removes her jacket, and curls it over the back of her seat, taking her time as she does. When she unlocks her phone and reads my text, her smile falls slightly and the sight of her bare shoulders in that dress makes my mouth dry with lust.

Then her thumbs start to move over her phone screen.

Winter: Shit. I forgot about him.

Tensing my jaw, I grind my teeth.

Me: Here’s your reminder: Dump the shithead.

She laughs quietly. The waitress approaches the table, and as Winter orders everything on the goddamn menu, I flare my nostrils, impatiently awaiting her response. Hoping to god it will read, yes, sir.

Her fingers tap the screen, a smirk drifting across her lips. What the hell is she—my phone vibrates, alerting me to her—fucking hell.

Winter: What he and I share is none of your business.

I reach over and squeeze her thigh under the table. She jumps, yelping quietly under my bruising grip. I narrow my eyes, glaring at the side of her face. Her smirk widening into an amused smile. My fingers tap furiously at my screen.

Me: Winter, you’re skating on thin ice. Dump the douchebag. You’re mine now. Entered and claimed, remember?

Winter: I think it’s cute you think by “entering me” you’ve claimed me.

Me: I think it’s cute you think you’ve been anything but mine since we met. I’ve humored you, now it’s time to crack the whip. Dump him. Now.

Winter: No.

My teeth could snap under this pressure. Her shoulders shake in the seat next to me—she thinks this is funny. She needs a reminder…