Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

But I was sorry. No one told her what she could and could
not do.
Except maybe me.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, looking uncertain. “Let’s
just leave.”
“You want to dance?” I prodded. “I’ll get you anything
you want.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly.
She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was
joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the
most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time.
But she shook her head. “No.”
Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit
that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was
too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let
things slide.
“No one denies you,” I said.
“But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels
if I don’t earn it honestly.”
Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about
basketball.
But…
“She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I
pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.”
Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to
not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive,
and smug. I wanted to shut her up.
“I can probably have her fired,” I said.
But Winter just laughed.
I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?”