“I’ve missed you so much.” He growls into my mouth. Fresh out of shower, he envelopes me in his pure masculine scent I love so much.
“I’ve missed you too.” I squeeze my legs around him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Dinner is ready.”
“I want the dessert first today.” He carries me to the bedroom and drops on the bed. “Oh, Alicia. I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”
I love when he comes home like this, all hungry and riled up. I like himfeeling, like he’s finally allowing himself to be happy. Just like I am.
I smile and crook my finger, inviting him to play.
* * *
Later, after dinner—I figured it’s better to ask Mark about anything after food is served—we chill on the couch. My feet are on his lap, and he’s massaging my toes.
He’s full, happy, and relaxed. Now is the time.
“Mark, do you want to come with me to my family’s Thanksgiving dinner?”
ChapterTwenty
MARK
Ever since she invited me over to her family’s house for Thanksgiving, uneasiness has settled over me. When she moved in next door, at first I thought she was a city girl, looking for a thrill and a new adventure. I thought she wouldn’t last a month. But she stuck around, making my grumpy dog fall in love with her. Making my team to fall in love with her. Making Rachel, a mother hen extraordinaire, fall in love with her.
Then she cracked my steel armor with her constant care, not asking for anything in return.
She became something more than a neighbor. Somethingother.
And now, three weeks since we started our little arrangement, which has clearlyalreadygrown into something else in a short period of time, I’m driving to her family’s house for Thanksgiving dinner, and I have a really bad feeling about it.
I mean, she’s got a family here, right? A family we’ve never talked about. Every time I’ve tried to bring them up, she says that they’re “always around” and diverts the attention to mine. Since I have nothing good to say about mine, the topic gets shut down. The one time I shared glimpses of my childhood was painful enough to never repeat it again.
“Turn left here,” she says from the passenger seat of my truck. I swallow and do as she says. We turn onto the “rich” streets—meaning the streets of people I try to avoid.
“So who lives here?” I ask casually as I grip the steering wheel tighter. The lack of air is getting to my brain.
“My family,” she answers, typing something on her phone. She’s probably talking to her friend Josie, considering it’s the only real name I’ve heard her mention.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Who exactly?”
“Oh, my mom and dad and brother.”
I feel like my life is about to turn upside down, and I take a deep breath before asking my next question, knowing deep in my bones that it’ll knock me down. “What did you say your last name was, Alicia?”
“What?” Her laugh is nervous and too forced. “Alicia Jericho.”
I humorlessly shake my head and glance at her. “Are you sure?”
She gulps loudly. “Well, it’s my middle name.” Another forced laugh. “I use it as a pen name, so yeah, I use that as a last name too.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, not liking where this is going.
“I mean, it wasn’t a lie.” Her voice flutters.
This time I turn to look at her. “But it wasn’t the truth either.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Not entirely.”
“Why?” I want to hear her answer, hoping to God it’s not some sick game.
