Without warning, I reached down and gave her ass a hard smack.
"That's for spray painting my car," I said.
Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress a smile. "You're such a caveman."
"Caveman? How about this?" I said, smacking her...
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ESMERALDA'S POV
"I can't believe you'd say such things to Trev's girlfriend!" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. My hands curled into fists at my sides as I glared up at the infuriating man in front of me.
Caleb Fergusson.
He barely flinched, his broad frame completely relaxed despite the tension crackling between us. His honey-brown eyes flickered down to his wrist, where I had grabbed him earlier to yank him away from the confrontation. He rubbed the spot absentmindedly before his attention drifted back to me, darker now, unreadable.
"Don't get involved in this, Cherry," he said, voice low, edged with warning. "It's not your fight. You'd never understand."
The way he dismissed me like I was some clueless child made something inside me snap.
"Girls understand each other," I shot back, lifting my chin defiantly, even though my voice wavered slightly. "She looked uncomfortable, Caleb. You went too far."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. And then—before I could process what was happening—he moved.
He closed the space between us in one step, his arms caging me against the cold wall behind me. My breath caught in my throat. His presence was suffocating, his body radiating heat, and yet... I felt something else beneath the intimidation. A thrill. A pulse of energy so unfamiliar and overwhelming that I hated myself for feeling it.
"That's the difference, Cherry," he murmured, leaning in, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "You're a girl. She's a woman—a deceitful one, but a woman nonetheless."
His breath was warm, his voice like a slow drag of whiskey down my spine.
A shiver ran through me. My fingers twitched at my sides as my stomach clenched, heat pooling in places I refused to acknowledge. I clenched my jaw, willing myself to push past whatever the hell this feeling was.
"I'm eighteen, a legal adult," I snapped, my voice laced with frustration. "I'm starting college next week, so don't you dare talk down to me like that."
His lips curled into a smirk, one that held more amusement than genuine interest.
I had the overwhelming urge to wipe that look off his face.
Fueled by irritation, I pressed my hands against his bare chest in defiance, feeling the solid, warm muscle beneath my palms. The contact was brief—just enough to push him back slightly—but the heat of his skin lingered against mine, searing into my fingertips.
To my surprise, Caleb backed off instantly. He straightened to his full height, towering over me, his expression unreadable before he let out a humorless chuckle.
