Free Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) by Erin Noelle

talk shit nonstop, but they’re fiercely protective and would kill for each other. Spending the last year on tour with the two of them, we all got really . . . close.”
    She stops talking to retrieve a credit card from her wallet to pay for her purchases, but not before I pick up on a roguish gleam in her tawny eyes. Parting my lips to ask about her peculiar expression, I wisely close them before any words slip through. It’s none of my business what relationship or feelings she may or may not share with Levi.
    Two weeks of fun. That’s it.

    I manage to stuff my things into a full-sized suitcase and one rather large duffel bag. Narrowing down what clothes and shoes make the final cut is a tough, lengthy process, but eventually, at one-thirty in the morning, I close the last zipper, turn the lights out, and face-plant onto Hudson’s bed. Thank God my sister never stays at home anymore.
    Sleep claims me before I can finish my standard nightly prayer, and after what seems like only five minutes, the alarm on my phone is shrilling in my ear, yelling that it’s time to wake up. Pushing the covers to the side, I pop out of bed and head straight to the shower, eager to get on the road and see what the next fifteen days of my life will be like.
    After scrubbing and shaving every inch of my five-foot-nothing body, I let my hair dry naturally, long and wavy, then apply a light coat of mascara to my blond lashes. A healthy layer of shimmery coconut gloss on my lips pairs perfectly with the pineapple-scented lotion and body spray I’m addicted to. Living where subzero temperatures and blizzards are the norm, I infuse as much tropical beach vacation as I can into my life.
    Cutoff denim shorts that are longer than daisy dukes but not quite soccer-mom-appropriate hang low on my hips, inches below the belly ring I got on my sixteenth birthday. The small silver barbells through my nipples are concealed by a white cami with a built-in shelf-bra, which is all the support I need for my nearly-a-handful twin mounds. A bright orange, oversized tank top with the words “Do Epic” printed in white across the chest hangs loosely over the undershirt, perfecting the comfortable but cute outfit.
    Balancing my sunglasses on top of my head, I stuff my phone and wallet inside my fringed camel crossbody and grab my bags. I said my goodbyes to my parents last night, since they’d be over at the lodge this morning with the resort guests. And even though I detected a small amount of disappointment about me leaving as soon as I got here, they wished me a good time and reminded me to check in every couple of days so they wouldn’t worry.
    Grams, however, is waiting for me in the kitchen as I make my way down the hall, just like I knew she would be. There was no way I could get out of here without some piece of her always interesting advice. I honestly don’t know where she comes up with half the shit she says, but it’s never fails to entertain.
    “Morning, Grams.” I kiss her cheek as I open the refrigerator to grab a soda and an apple. “I think I’m just about ready to go. The bus is supposed to swing by and pick me up in about fifteen minutes. I left the keys to my Jeep in the key bowl if anyone needs them.”
    “Perfect, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing; just have a good time, like people your age should,” she replies, grabbing something off the countertop.
    Then, turning back around to face me, she hands me a giant Tupperware container filled with homemade cookies and brownies baked with her special form of TLC— THC —and a bag of disposable razors. “Chocolate, cannabis, and a cleanly shaved cunny are the way to win and keep a man’s heart, my dear Dakota. This should be enough for your trip, and when you get back, I’ll teach you the recipe so you can keep feeding him when he comes back for more.”
    I’m not sure exactly how to respond to her declaration. Instead, I simply nod and take the things she’s giving