Unsure if I should knock, I hesitate at the front door.Technically speaking, it's Dad's house. His name is on the mortgage, but he shares it with his third wife. She moved in a couple of months after they started dating and pretty much took over the place, making it her own. Ever since then, it hasn't felt like my house. I'm treated more like a guest, which sucks, but there's nothing I can do about it. If I want to have a relationship with my father, then I need to paste a smile on my face and pretend we're one big happy family.Decision made, I rap my knuckles lightly against the wood and hold my breath. When the door swings open, I'm relieved to find my dad standing on the other side of the threshold.His lips lift into a smile when he sees me. "Hey, why didn't you just walk in?"I shrug. My father enjoys living in a little place called denial. He wraps it around himself like a warm cloak. It's not worth the trouble it'll cause to insert reality into this situation. Espec

Once Skye's attention is locked on me, I jerk my head to the side, away from the busy pathway as people rush past, jostling us as they flee the building. "Let's talk over here."Jaxon's feet stall as he stares at me with curiosity. Out on the field, Jax and I are always in sync. Clearly, that's not the case since he doesn't budge from Skye's side.Why that should irritate me, I have no idea."Alone," I add pointedly.Instead of taking his cue to leave, Jaxon pokers up and shifts his stance. "What do you want with Skye?"I'm not used to my teammates questioning me. Out on the field, I'm the one in command, calling the plays. Everyone else falls in line."That's not any of your concern, bro," I snap. "Move it along."His eyes narrow before he gives Skye a considering look.Tension fills the silence between the three of us before she clears her throat and her hand flutters to his thickly corded forearm.I glare at the place where her fingers settle."It's okay, Jax." She gives him

I pull up the long gravel driveway on the outskirts of town. Even though it's after eight o'clock in the evening, I bypass the house my brother and I grew up in and head straight to the garage. With the amount of time Mason spends there, he should set up a cot and just be done with it already.I step through the wide door and into a space large enough to hold three vehicles. There's a car hoisted on a lift and another with its hood popped open. My brother slides out from beneath the cherry-red Camaro when he hears my approaching footsteps."Hey, what are you doing here?" he asks, voice filled with surprise. There's grease smudged on his cheek, and his fingers are covered in it. Even when he scrubs them at the end of the night, they never get completely clean. Guess that's one of the occupational hazards of being a mechanic.I shrug and head to the dinged-up fridge off to the side and grab a beer. "Want one?""Sure. I've put in a twelve-hour day. I deserve it."I pull out two

With my phone in hand, I glance at the text message to double-check the address. It wouldn't surprise me if I ended up at 622 E. Prospect Avenue instead of 622 W. Prospect. Being directionally challenged is an ongoing struggle.But, nope...this is it.I'm not going to lie. I kind of wish I was standing in front of the wrong house. From the loud music and boisterous voices pouring from the windows, it sounds like there's a party going on inside.Nerves eat me alive as I walk up the front porch steps. Rotted wood siding and peeling paint mar the façade. At one point in time, this house must have been gorgeous but that's no longer the case. There's a neglected air that surrounds the property. It's sad to see such a beautiful house in run-down condition. Most of the student housing near campus is in similar states of disrepair. Landlords do the bare minimum to keep rent flowing in.As much as I would like to prolong this moment with a thorough assessment of the house, I don't bot

A guttural groan rumbles up from his chest as I arch my body into his hands. His thumbs strum my nipples through the thin cotton of my shirt until they're hard little points that beg for his attention. I moan as he tweaks each stiffened bud between his thumb and forefinger, inflicting enough pain to flood me with pleasure.In the past, when we made love, Hunter's touch was gentle and full of reverence. As if I were made of spun glass. His hands are no longer worshipful."Do you like that?" he rasps, his mouth following the path of his fingers until his lips close around one hardened tip before drawing it into his mouth. Not a stitch of my clothing has been shed, but that doesn't stop me from feeling the pull of him down to my core. Each tug ripples through my body like a stone that has been thrown into a calm pool of water. Before releasing the little bud, he bites down on it, and the arousal smoldering deep in my belly bursts into flame.Time away from him has done nothing to d