Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,252

Jill. One of the other girls and I aren’t even Facebook friends.

I toss the photo—frame and all—into the trashcan. Life goes on. I have plenty of newer pictures and memories with Jill. She’ll always be my best friend, but Becky and Holly are from another lifetime. I wonder what they’d think of my predicament, of the fact that I slept with Mark and now I’m sleeping with his brother.

It doesn’t matter what they think. I don’t even know what I think.

I clear some more high school memories off the top of my dresser as I think about Brian’s empty dresser in his bedroom. Is he that detached from mementos, or is everything just packed away, waiting for their permanent spots in his new home?

Even as I think to myself that these memories are from another lifetime, I don’t throw away the picture of Jill and me in the Best Friends Forever frame. I don’t throw away my class ring or the trinket box filled with notes—different ones from friends or boys I had crushes on. Someday I’ll let those things go, but right now these mementos offer a calming oasis in the arid desert where I’ve been residing for the past two months.

I sit on my bed, the same twin my parents bought me when I outgrew my toddler bed. The springs squeak when I sit, and I giggle to myself as I think about the time Eric, the boy I was dating in high school, came over and we made out. My parents were just downstairs. We were in my room “studying,” and we were supposed to keep the door open—which we did, desperately listening for footsteps so we could jump apart. We were trying to be as quiet as possible, and then the bed let out a huge squeal, totally giving us away. Eric froze, and I giggled hysterically because I was so nervous to be making out with a boy in my bed, but we were never caught. He jumped up and then we got some real studying done. We didn’t make out in my bed again—well, we didn’t make out in my bed again when my parents were home to hear us.

I lost my virginity in this bed, to a different high school boyfriend a year later, this one named Zach. The bed moaned under our weight. It wasn’t traumatic as some first times go, but I’ve definitely learned a lot since then.

The last boy I had in this bed was Justin, my ex. I brought him home with me to meet my parents, and when they went out to dinner, we had a fuck fest. I smile as I remember each of us tearing our clothes off the second the garage closed behind my parents, as soon as we were sure they were gone. We’d been teasing each other mercilessly behind my parents’ backs, and it was like some sort of hot foreplay. We attacked each other, and it was the best sex during our entire relationship—probably because it was naughty and illicit.

I’m just about to leave the memories behind me and head back down to my eager mother when my phone buzzes with a text notification—and a new memory that’ll burn into my reflections of this room.

Jill: Don’t be mad at me, but I gave Mark your number.

My heart races with those words.

Me: Why would you do that?

Jill: Because when he looks at me with those green eyes of his, I’d pretty much do anything he asked me to do.

I giggle.

Me: I get it. Can you give me more details?

Jill: He got my number from Becker and texted me.

Me: So he didn’t actually look at you with those eyes of his?

Jill: You’d be good at investigative journalism.

Me: So is he going to call me?

Jill: He didn’t say.

Me: When did you give him my number?

Jill: I texted it to him and then texted you to let you know.

My phone starts ringing with a number I don’t recognize with a 310 area code and the words Los Angeles, California.

Holy fucking shit. Mark Ashton is calling me.

I have Mark fucking Ashton’s phone number.

What is this life?

My heart pounds and my stomach drops out all the way to my toes.

Another text flashes from Jill, but I answer the call instead of checking it. “Hello?” I say tentatively, my heartbeat rushing up to my ears.

“Reese,” he says softly, and even if I hadn’t gotten Jill’s warning, I would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi.”

We’re both quiet as I wait