All Chapters of In Love With My Son's Best Friend: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

JUNE’S POVThe dryer kept thumping behind me, a dull, steady rhythm that should have been ordinary, but everything felt too loud inside my own skin. My palms pressed flat against the washer, still warm from the spin cycle, and the heat soaked into my hands while my thighs shook so badly I thought they might just fold.I could feel myself slick and open, aching in this deep, relentless way that made me bite the inside of my cheek just to keep from whimpering out loud.His taste was still on my tongue. Not just his mouth, but me on him, after he’d slid those fingers out and kissed me like he wanted me to know exactly how wet I was for him. I kept replaying it, the way he’d looked at me while he licked them clean, eyes never leaving mine. Like he already owned every secret I had.He hadn’t moved away. He just stood there, close enough that I felt the hard length of him resting against me, not pushing, just there. Burning through the fabric. I could feel him pulse once, like his body was

JUNE’S POVLuca crossed the kitchen to the coffee pot like nothing in the world had shifted overnight. An easy roll of his shoulders, that loose confidence he wore so well. His voice came out calm, almost bored, like he was commenting on the weather.“Couldn’t sleep. My head was pounding like never before. Needed to clear it, so I went for a swim.”A swim. In the dark. Alone.The lie was so neat, so reasonable, delivered with such steady ease that my knees nearly gave out from the relief of it. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, a soft rush through my chest, like I had been holding my breath longer than I realized.Adrian didn’t hesitate. He nodded, already convinced. “You should’ve texted me. I would’ve joined you.”“Next time,” Luca said lightly.He poured his coffee and only then turned around, settling back against the counter. His eyes skimmed over me, polite, distant, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Or choosing to.“Good morning, Mrs. Wallace. You look lo

JUNE’S POVYou know that sound of your husband’s key in the door after a trip? It used to be a relief, like an anchor dropping back into place. That night, it was just a noise, a signal that the next act of a play I was too tired to perform was about to start.He came in smelling like stale airplane air and that cologne he has worn for years. He dropped his suitcase with a solid thud. “God, what a week,” he sighed, already shrugging out of his jacket. Before I could even muster a hello, he pulled me into one of his standard-issue hugs. It was firm and quick, his mind clearly still back in some boardroom.And that’s when I saw it. Over his shoulder, in the hall mirror. Stark against his white collar. A smudge. A rosy, pink, can’t-miss-it lipstick smudge.For a second, the world didn’t spin. It just snapped. Everything clicked into this sickening, high-definition focus.Karen.The name hit my gut like a fist. His secretary. My lovely twentieth-anniversary present. I could still see his

LUCA’S POVThe silence from my phone felt louder than any reply could have been. I just stared at the screen, watching it go dark, her words left burning in the gloom.“I’m in the blue guest room.”It wasn’t a text. It was a grenade with the pin already pulled. A simple statement of fact that changed the entire geography of the house, of this whole screwed-up situation. She wasn’t in her room with him. She was down the hall, alone, in that stiff little room that always smelled like old potpourri and regret.And she had told me.I sat on the edge of my bed and listened to the springs creak under my weight. My first instinct was pure, stupid impulse: to get up, to walk the twenty steps down the hall, to see if her door was unlocked.But that’s what got us here, wasn’t it? Impulse. Reacting without thinking. I had already played the jealous fool with Chloe, and look where that landed us. We were in a deeper, messier trench than before. I couldn’t do that to her again. Not tonight.Frankl

LUCA'S POVThe next few days settled into a new, brittle rhythm. Franklin left early for work, a permanent crease of distracted irritation between his brows. June moved through the house with a purposeful quiet, sleeping in the blue room, speaking to Franklin only when it was necessary. Their conversations were logistical, a co-parenting dialogue about bills or schedules. The chill between them was a physical presence, a third occupant in every room.Adrian felt it. He’d give me these sidelong looks over breakfast, his brow furrowed. “You think they’re okay?” he’d mutter under the sound of the morning news. “They’re just… weird.”“Parents are weird, man,” I’d shrug, my voice carefully light. “They have their own stuff.” It was the truest lie I’d ever told him.June and I existed in a series of charged, mundane moments. A shared glance as we both reached for the same coffee mug in the morning. Her asking, “Will you be home for dinner?” as I headed out the door, a question that was a co