Her thumb hovered over the block button, but instead, she opened Spotify. She typed the song—the one from the hood of his Charger, the one he’d played like a sacred vow. She pressed play.
“Last week I wasn’t ready.” He stepped closer, close enough that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. “But tonight? Tonight I’m making you a Wiz Khalifa promise.” wiz khalifa promises
It was the summer the asphalt softened and the air smelled like magnolias and regret. Layla sat on the hood of her busted Civic, watching the sun bleed orange over the Georgia pines. Her phone buzzed. A text from Marcus: “Pull up. I got something to say.” Her thumb hovered over the block button, but