1642734778_punk-57-pdf

feel like Misha’s just doing me a favor, coming along with the boys and me.
I don’t want to put him on the spot.
But surprisingly, he seems to enjoy this. Turning me around, he wraps
his arms around me and looks into my eyes, my mom taking a couple of
quick pics.
My heart is already thumping hard, and I stare at his mouth, feeling my
body warm up. I’d really just rather be alone with him tonight.
“Ugh, get a room,” Carson whines and turns around, heading back into
the living room.
I continue to stare at Misha.
“Ryen, be home by two,” Mom says.
“It’s prom,” I point out. “It’s kind of an all-night thing.”
“Two,” she repeats, looking between us, her warning clear.
But I argue anyway. “Seven.”
“Three.”
“Three, and Misha can come back for breakfast in the morning,” I press.
She nods easily. “Fine. But beignets. Not jalapeno bagels.”
“I know.”
I take the bag gingerly, careful not to make the cans bang into each
other, and whisper to Misha as I head past him, “Hopefully you’ll be here
extra early, because I’m not going to let you leave.”
He laughs quietly and opens the door, leading me out. He probably
doesn’t want to risk getting on my mother’s bad side now that they’ve met,
but he knows he won’t be able to say no to me.
We walk down the steps, and he takes the bag from me as I spot the
limo sitting at the curb. Walking over, I stop and let him open the door.
“Hey!” voices drift out.