“We’re far from traditional, Beautiful,” I practically growl against her lips. “There’s no reason to start now.”

“Phoebe tapped the toe of her sneaker against the dock. “There’s only one good use for a man like Heath Champion.”“Here we go again,” Molly muttered. Phoebe’s lip curled. “Target practice.”

“He felt goaded by her impenetrability, by what clawed at him from within. He started to growl. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Are you growling at me?”

“And," Amber said, practically drooling as she ogled him, "it's tradition for new arrivals to help with the pep rally."Brooklyn quirked her lips in doubt. "Tradition?""It's a new tradition," Amber shot back."Clearly the deeper meaning of the word has escaped you.”

“I started to kiss him back, slower and clumsy where his had been sure, practiced. I was worried I was doing it wrong, but then a deep sound came from him, almost a growl and instinctively Iknew it was a sound of approval.”

“I really wish you hadn't worn that sweater,'he muttered into her ear.'It's good practice for you,' she replied,her lips moving against his skin.'Tomorrow,fishnets.'Against her side,warm and familiar,she felt him laugh.”