Feeling at ease with Sabrina beyond what he’d expect considering the length of time they’d known one another—like a close friend with the perk of finding her smoking-hot, of course—Ryan now lounged on her living-room floor with her by his side. The final bits of their dinner sprawled across her coffee table, the radio emitted a low hum of country music at Ryan’s insistence—Mexican food required proper atmosphere. Sabrina fanned her mouth and reached for her large diet soda. “I thought you said this was mild,” she complained, hitting the icy bottom of her drink and grabbing his to take a long gulp. She set it down with a hard thud. “Good grief. This food is not even close to mild.” Ryan chuckled, finding her inability to tolerate even the mildest spice adorable and appalling. “You will never make it in Texas if you don’t learn to spice things up.” “If spicing up my life includes setting my mouth on fire,” she rebutted, and drew another long drink of his soda, “I’m going to reconsider.”
