Page 46 of Hating On Riot

A loose-fitting white T-shirt draws my eyes to his sun-kissed skin. Muscles line his arms. I look lower. Giant, muscular legs. Hairy legs. I almost squeal with delight. Gray cotton shorts. Gray shorts on a guy are like gray sweatpants. They tend to show the obvious—the bulge between a guy’s legs. And boy, his is big.

I blush from my hairline to my toes and quickly drop my gaze to my laptop. But Riot notices and chuckles. My head snaps up. I’m irritated that he’s overjoyed by my embarrassment.

Dark strands of hair fall into his eyes. Doesn’t he find them distracting and hard to see the screen? I reach across and swipe them aside. Large fingers wrap around my wrist and tug. I fall forward and would’ve faceplanted into his crotch—how mortifying!—but he somehow has the speed and dexterity to move our laptops out of the way and twist me as I tip toward him, so I land on my back with my head in his lap.

“This is better.” He stares down at me and smirks. I look up into green eyes that darken in the dim bedroom light.

He tucks my hair back behind my ears and drapes the strands over his bare knees. “Now, answer my question. Who the fuck is thirsty at this hour?”

His jealousy is a pain in the ass to deal with, but I also find it adorable and endearing. The guys in the house laughed and pushed him around like he was a punching bag whenever he gave them the stink-eye or grumbled about them taking up all my time when I helped with their assignments or kept the house clean.

Riot called it ribbing. It’s more bro talk, and I love hanging out with guys my age rather than with my older brothers all the time.

My brothers never let Laney and me talk to any of the guys in our neighborhood or at school unless they put them through a vetting process that included asking very personal questions—not sure what these were; I was too scared to ask—driving by their homes, and the final step, speaking with their parents.

The first time it happened was humiliating, and Laney and I avoided guys at all costs.

Then Riot purposefully ran into me in the hallway at school, whispered, “Be brave,” his breath warm on the shell of my ear, and suddenly, I realized I could be that for him.

Riot saw straight into my heart, and it was so nice to be seen by someone other than my twin. But my bravery cost me Riot and Laney.

“I’m not sure,” I answer Riot’s question from eons ago.

“Check. What if it’s an emergency?”

“It’s not. Or else they’ll call.”

“Want me to check?” He reaches for my phone.

Panicking, I grab Riot’s muscle-lined arm with both hands and try to bring it back to where it was, resting against his side. He doesn’t budge, and my upper body lifts as he grabs the phone with the lit-up screen.

It’s amazing how strong Riot is. Were we in a life-or-death situation, I would appreciate how hard he worked to build his muscles, but right now, I don’t.

However, I did like it when he effortlessly scooped me into his arms and carried me from the field to his truck, first cradling me to his chest, then repositioning me so I had to wrap my arms and legs around him as though he were rescuing me from a raging, flooded river.

When his hand is close enough, I snatch my phone from his grip and smile triumphantly. “No need to check,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

It might not be Sean.

It could be my brothers or my mom with an emergency at this hour, but they would call. Maybe it’s someone from the federal prison in Ravenna, calling about my dad. But my brothers would get the call first.

Though Steven Kim isn’t either of my brothers’ father, Mom didn’t want anything to do with him after his sentencing, and she designated Tony and Cameron to be notified first if anything happened to him.

He’s serving a life sentence for murder. Ever’s father is also in Ravenna Federal Prison for the same.

I put my face to the screen. Notifications pop up right away.

There’s a bunch of messages from the girls and Sean. Riot leans forward. Before he can read them, I tuck the phone under my butt. With quick reflexes, he reaches under to grab it, but I shift onto my side, putting my full weight on the bed to keep him from it.

“Arie,” he growls in frustration. “You hiding something from me? Is it a dick pic from Coop? Is that bastard asking you for a boob shot? Is he sending you dirty messages?”

His voice rises with each question. I shrug one shoulder. “Just a game I’m testing for Hope.”

“Hope as in Emily’s best friend?” He narrows his eyes.

Hope grew up with us until she moved to Montgomery, four hours away, when we were in middle school. She and Emily stayed friends.

“Yes,” I squeak. Everyone who grew up with Hope knows she’s meddlesome.