A Sketch Away From Perfect
I can barely focus on the road, and by the time we pull into my driveway, I’m half ready to take her in the car.
But then I see the figure on my porch.
Carmen.
“Shit,” I mutter, my hand tightening on the steering wheel.
Harper follows my gaze, her expression wary. “Is that…?”
“Sí,” I say tightly. “Stay here.”
Of course, she doesn’t.
The moment I step out, Harper’s door opens, too, and she’s right behind me, her bare shoulders straight, chin lifted… my brave, beautiful girl.
“Ah, the little whore is here, too,” Carmen slurs, a wine bottle dangling from her fingers. “How perfect.”
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