Page 8 of Sweet Temptation
“No skanks hiding in the bushes tonight,” Linc jokes. At least, I hope he’s joking.
“Please tell me you’re not serious.” My face scrunches up involuntarily. “If skanks follow you home, I might have to rethink this living arrangement.”
“Like Mommy and Daddy are going to let you live anywhere else,” Lucky jokes, only it cuts a little too sharp.
“Poor little Beneventi boy. Is that your fourth G-Wagon we parked next to in the driveway?” I snap back and head for the stairs. A chill races through me as I look over my shoulder at theman standing still, staring back at me. “Pretty sure Mommy and Daddy bought the first three, so I wouldn’t go throwing stones.”
Lucky’s eyes narrow, and I smile way bigger than I need to.
“Damn, man. She’s got you there.” Linc hoists my bags. “I’m going to drop these in Lochlan’s room for the night since there’s no furniture in yours.”
“Thanks.” I turn back to Lucky, the boy who spent three years of high school tormenting me. Thankfully, he graduated before it could be four. The same one who still taunted me at Kroydon University. And thoroughly enjoyed driving me crazy whenever he’d stop in his mom’s bakery during one of my shifts. “Linc said you were okay with this.”
He sips his water, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob with his swallow. Can someone’s throat be sexy? Because something about the movement grabs hold of me in a way it absolutely shouldn’t. Lucky’s bright, baby-blue eyes drag over my body like a heavy-handed caress. One I can feel from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. One I want more of. “Course it’s okay, little Sinclair. You’ve always been one of the guys.”
And with that, he swings the other way and heads to the family room, while I stand at the foot of the stairs, cursing the sexy shit’s entire existence.
There was a time I would have done anything to get Lucky Beneventi to notice me. Reallyseeme. But he never did. Not as anything other than his best friend’s little sister.
Guess some things never change.
LEXIE
You don’t always need a plan.
It’s okay to close your eyes and breathe and trust that everything will work out.
—Lexie’s Secret Thoughts
Sleep isn’t something that’s ever come easily for me. A shrink would have a field day with my messed-up thoughts. Well... a new shrink. The one my parents took me to after my diagnosis was too stupid to realize I was keeping most of my thoughts to myself and feeding her what she wanted to hear because what kid wants to talk about their death.
Not me, that was for sure.
I still remember the sound of Mom’s sobs at night whenever I was sick. They’re burned into the molecular makeup of my DNA. You never forget the sound of your mom’s whispers to your dad in the hushed night as he holds her... crying thatyoucan’t die.That she can’t loseyou. That her biggest fear isyounot waking up.
Of course, my father, the former Navy SEAL with the strong belief he can protect us all from anything, promised her time and time again that he’d never let that happen. But we all knew it was a promise he couldn’t keep. What they didn’t know all those nights in the hospitals was that I was awake while they sat in the corner and talked in whispered darkness becausemybiggest fear mirrored theirs.
Endless darkness where I never wake up.
Forever caught in permanent night.
I know I’m going to die.
We all will . . . someday.
My someday will just be earlier than others.
Even the new miracle drug isn’t an option for me. Guess I’m one of the lucky few who’s allergic to something in the compound. Yay to messed-up genetics, for sure. Guess my aversion to sleep makes some sense.
Quietly, I pad down the long hall past closed doors, careful not to wake Linc or Lucky as I walk through the dark house. Muscle memory takes over, and hundreds of nights sleeping here when we were little come into play. My grandparents would always take us for the night or weekend or sometimes a week, if Mom and Dad were out of town or on a date. Late nights with scary movies and too much popcorn were always my excuse if anyone ever caught me in this kitchen, but as I make my way into it tonight, a smile tugs at my lips, because for now... this is my kitchen. No excuses needed for a midnight snack. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.
I step through the door and stop and stare at the bare-chested, big-bodied intruder of my peace as he closes the refrigerator door with a carton of orange juice in his hand. “What are you doing up?”
So much for no excuses.
“What are you doing half naked?” Okay, deflection is usually a better option than lying. I step around the wooden island and grab a copper-bottomed pan from the shelf. When we were little, and this was Grandpa’s house, I always thought the worn wooden beams along the vaulted ceiling and matching island were weird. They had dents and scrapes and didn’t match the cream cabinets. It didn’t matter to me that the open shelves were the same wood, or that the stone was imported from some far away place. What I now see as beautiful, I only saw as strange. I guess spending a year in Europe gives a very different perspective on beauty because now I see history and stunning artistry in each beam. I see my grandmother’s beautiful pots and pans she left for us to use as she and Grandpa travel the world. I see so many memories, and some of them include the ridiculously handsome man in front of me.
Lucky moves into the dim glow of the pendant light above the sink, his golden skin inked and shining against the quiet night.So much skin.His arms and chest and quads I can now see without the table blocking my view. The ones barely covered by black boxer briefs. The same ones with muscles bigger than my head. “Wasn’t expecting you to be down here inspecting my wardrobe, Lex.”
