Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,254

I’d easily pushed away with the old cliché out of sight, out of mind pours back over me.

“I miss you, too,” I say automatically. I do. I’m just not sure how much.

“I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, to kiss you…to fuck you.” His voice slurs a little on the s sound in the word kiss, and I realize he’s a little drunk. In the fairly short span of time we’ve been together, I’ve never seen him drunk.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

“Mm,” he moans, and a jolt of lust spears my stomach. “I’m going to make up for lost time.”

I giggle. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re gonna be walking funny for a few days.”

I don’t doubt it. I try to brush away the sinking feeling that I can’t quite identify in the pit of my stomach.

“I’m…uh…in Phoenix right now.”

“You are? Why?”

“I came home to visit my family.”

“I get in at five tomorrow. Go back to Vegas.”

“I want to, but I just got here today. I haven’t even seen my sister yet.”

“Invite her to Vegas, then. I need to see you.”

The rasp in his voice is pretty damn convincing. I have all this pent-up sexual energy, and my boyfriend seems like the right person to be the recipient of it.

“Fine. I’ll head home after lunch.”

“Come straight to my place.”

Mark’s place, you mean? “Are you sure?”

He’s never willingly invited me to his place knowing his brother might be around.

“Yeah. I miss being home, you know? Sleeping in my own bed. I need to unpack and get some work done, anyway.”

“Okay. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. Fly safe and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.”

We hang up without another sign of affection—no I miss you or I love you.

I fall into a sleep filled with strange, confused dreams. In one scenario, I’m with Brian, and in the next, I’m with Mark. It feels like my subconscious is trying to tell me something—trying to warn me of some impending doom, but I can’t quite decipher the real meaning.

I wake feeling guilty, horny, and hungry when the smell of bacon wafts to my nose. I don’t do anything to alleviate the horny situation, though, because Brian will be there to take care of my needs tonight.

I do, however, head down for some of that bacon after a quick shower, and I find my dad in the kitchen flipping pancakes as bacon sizzles and pops in another pan. “You smell the bacon?” he asks.

I grin. “You know it.”

“That’s my girl.”

I pour a couple of glasses of orange juice and then I hear a knock at the front door. My forehead wrinkles in confusion as I look at my dad, but he just smiles.

I go to get the door, and when I see who’s standing on the other side, my face breaks out into a wide smile. I throw my arms around my sister. “Rachel!” I squeal.

She giggles. “Reese!”

“What are you doing here?”

“Dad invited me to breakfast since I missed out on dinner. I can’t stay long because I have to get to work, but I thought a family breakfast sounded fun.”

“It’s so good to see you!”

“You, too,” she says, squeezing my arm.

We walk toward the kitchen. “You should come visit me soon.”

“You know what, I have a flex holiday I need to use in the next two months or I lose it.”

“Yes! Come stay with me.”

“And meet the boyfriend?”

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, by the way?” I glare at her, and her brows draw in.

“What?”

“You told Mom?”

She giggles. “Of course I did. She was badgering me for Reese news.”

“Who was badgering you for Reese news?” my mom asks.

“You,” we say together. Rachel and I glance at each other and burst into giggles.

My mom rolls her eyes. “So I care about my girls. Big deal.”

“You could just ask me, Mom.” I give her a hug.

“Like I tried to yesterday when you got me all riled up about Aunt Janice and her children that run around like little monsters?”

I lift my shoulders in mock innocence. “I have no idea what you mean!”

“Food’s ready, girls!” my dad interrupts, and we all sit at the table.

It’s like a scene from a picture-perfect movie, the whole family sitting together at the table, glasses clinking and silverware scraping against plates amidst the sound of conversation, recollections, and laughter. Part of me feels like I’m on the outside looking in as I try to categorize my feelings—as I try to interpret