Red.

The minute I see he’s here, with her, I see red.

And to add insult to injury, my best friend, who’s closer to me than a damn sibling, had her over for fucking dinner. I feel apocalyptic. Like my blood is molten lava running through me, eating me away from the inside out, ready to explode.

My eyes are narrowed to slits, watching, tracking their every movement. Taking note of how his hand possessively keeps contact with some part of her, as if she’ll disappear if they aren’t touching. God, how I wish that were true.

My breath stutters when he lowers them both into the same chair, his hand tracing mindless circles on her knee as she nestles into him like she’s trying to burrow her way inside.

My hurt and anger and regret are all bubbling to the surface so forcefully that I’m shaking. My lips are quivering, my hands are trembling, and my entire body is vibrating with rage. How dare he bring her here to basically parade her in my face?

Sensing that I’m about two seconds away from a meltdown, Myla Rose forces me inside. “C’mon, sister-girl, let’s chat.”

“I don’t have too terribly much to say to you, Myla.”

Myla Rose lays Brody down onto Simon’s couch and starts unbuttoning his outfit to change his diaper. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like that? Are you kidding me right now? How am I supposed to be after I find out that you, my best friend in the whole wide world, had the man I love and his new . . . whatever-she-is . . . over for dinner? Huh? How?”

She doesn’t answer me immediately. Nope. She takes her time, powdering Brody’s little behind, slowly snapping his outfit back together, and snuggling him to her chest before responding to me. “Azalea, I’m not gonna tell you how to react, because that’s on you. What I am gonna tell you is that not everything is as it seems, and I surely hope you know me well enough to know that I’d never, ever do anything to hurt you.”

“Then tell me what’s not as it seems, and why that trollop was at your house?”

“Because Drake brought her. And no, I will not tell you what isn’t as it seems. You just need to trust me, and you need to figure out a way to deal with your jealousy, or pretty soon, your eyes won’t be the only thing green about you.”

“A hint? Please?” I beg, my voice cracking.

“Ugh. Fine. All I’m gonna say is . . . maybe your jealousy is the goal.”

“Cryptic much?” I scoff, reaching out to take Brody from her.

“Take a minute and think about it, sister-girl. It’s not that cryptic at all. Now, we’re gonna go join the others, and you’re gonna hold your head high and be the graceful Southern belle your mama raised you to be.”

Nodding, I follow behind Myla Rose, pondering her words. Does she mean that Drake wants me to be jealous? Well, it’s working, because holy hell, I really am jealous. It’s been eating away at me. Thoughts of him with her have been almost the only thing on my mind. But why would he want to make me jealous? To hurt me? Or . . . to make me want him? Well, it’s working like no other, not that I ever stopped wanting him.

“Myles, wait!” I holler just as she begins twisting the knob to open the back door, causing her to withdraw her hand. “Drake’s totally just messing with me, isn’t he?”

Instead of answering me, Myla Rose just winks, but damn if that wink doesn’t change everything. Because I was about ready to back off the plan Seraphine and I came up with, but now, it’s so fucking on.

He can play his games, and I’ll play mine, and as long as I win, we both win.

Simple as that.

“So, Kasey,” I say, her name leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. “Are you new to the area? I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Yep, sure am. Moved here about a month ago, and lucky me, this handsome devil practically fell into my lap.” She nods her head toward my man, and I just about puke.

“Mmm. Lucky you, indeed,” I sneer back at her. I meant to sound sincere, swear I did, but my brain and my mouth never have been good at communicating.

The rest of the day passes like fucking molasses, and I can’t even enjoy spending time with my people because they’re all drinking the Kasey Kool-Aid. Thankfully, sweet little Brody knows what’s what, and he spends his time snuggled up with me until I finally can’t bear another second in their presence, and I cut out early, using my busy work week as an excuse. And praise be, no one calls me on the fact that Magnolia is staying even though she works with me tomorrow.

* * *

The thought that Drake wanted me to be jealous is the sole motivator that gets me through my insanely busy week at the salon. Monday through Saturday, I’m booked nonstop from 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. Southern women don’t play about their hair when it comes to holidays, and Lord knows, they gotta look right for Jesus at the Christmas Day church service.

But now, I’m done. Southern Roots is closed until January 2, and the only thing on my mind now—aside from my aching feet—is turning the tables on Drake. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I know it’s a tradition in his family for him to stay with his parents.

So, that leaves tonight for the plan Seraphine and I whipped up, even if Mags and Myla Rose think it’s a bad idea. I think it’s foolproof. It has to be. Especially since I know he isn’t really with Kasey.

After I get home from work, I take my time getting ready. Soaking in the bathtub, I lather and rinse my hair twice before applying a deep conditioning treatment. While it sits, I wash, scrub, and exfoliate before shaving my legs—and other areas.

Once the conditioner is rinsed from my hair, I wrap myself in a fluffy white towel and set to work lotioning every inch of my skin with my peach brûlée lotion—the one I know drives Drake crazy.

Two carefully crafted smoky eyes and one set of red lips later, my hair is next on the list. Dousing it with some texture foam, I flip my head and blow it out before taming my blonde strands into sleek waves with my curl bar.

Taking in my appearance in the bathroom mirror, I can’t help but smile. I look like pure sex, and damn if Drake Collins isn’t going to fall at my feet.

I glance at my phone to check the time and notice I have two new texts, one from Myla Rose and one from Seraphine. Tapping in my passcode, I swipe up my message screen and read their texts.

Myla Rose: Az, please rethink this.

Not liking hers, I back out of it and pull up Seraphine’s.

Seraphine: You got this, girl!

I smile at her message before locking my phone and heading to my bedroom to get dressed. After all, my outfit may just be the most important part of the plan. Carefully, I slide on the red lace, side-tie panties before slipping into the matching front-snap bra. I cover my lingerie with a black trench coat and lower myself to the bed to put on my sky-high ruby-red heels. The ones Drake said my legs look a mile long in.

Feeling confident and bold, I secure my phone inside my clutch, grab my keys, and as I head down the stairs, I’m once again hit with a strong sense of déjà vu, but this time when I say, “Ready or not, Drake Collins, I’m coming for you!” I mean it in a way I didn’t before. This isn’t some adolescent crush anymore.

This is me, taking back my future.