Tempted

There’s no place like home. Ain’t that the truth? Home for me would always be the smells of cigarettes and cheap hairspray, and the taste of greasy, kettle-cooked chips. I suddenly felt weepy, all at once, my emotions as much of an up-and-down roller coaster as the ride I’d taken with Alex the day before.

My mother, bless her, didn’t seem to notice. We had a lot of practice avoiding the discussion of sadness. I think maybe it had become habit for her to talk over the sound of surreptitious sniffles. She chattered on about some movie she’d watched and a cross-stitch pattern she was intending to try. I got myself under control by concentrating on finishing my sandwich, but it was time for me to go.

I wasn’t fast enough. The back door slammed, the way it had done a hundred thousand times when I was a kid. I heard the clump of heavy boots.

“I’m hooooooome,” boomed the voice of my father.

“Dad’s here,” my mother said, unnecessarily.

I stood. He came into the kitchen. His eyes were already red, his smile broad, his forehead sweating. He held out his arms to me and I went obediently, no choice but to suffer the embrace. He smelled like sweat and liquor, like maybe he sweated booze now. I wouldn’t have been surprised.

“How’s my girl?” My dad, Bill Byrne, stopped himself from knuckling my head … but only barely.

“Fine, Dad.”

“Staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, Dad” was my dutiful answer.

“Good, good. What’s for dinner?” He looked at my mother, who looked almost guiltily at our plates.

“Oh … are you hungry?” She began cleaning the mess like she was destroying evidence. She’d cook him a full dinner even if she wasn’t hungry herself.

“What do you think?” He grabbed for her, and she giggled, flapping her hands at him. “Annie, you staying for dinner?”

“No, Dad. I’ve got to get home.”

“Bill, she’s got to get home, of course.” My mother shook her head. “She’s got James waiting for her. And a guest. Alex … what did you say his name was?”

“Kennedy.”

My dad looked up. “Not John Kennedy’s boy.”

I laughed. “No, Dad. I don’t think so.”

“Not John Kennedy the president,” my father said. “John Kennedy who’s married to Linda.”

“I don’t really know.” Leave it to my dad to think he knew Alex’s parents.

“Ah, well. Doesn’t matter. What’s he doing in your house?”

“He’s James’s friend,” my mother put in quickly as she pulled the makings of dinner from the freezer. “He’s come for a visit. He’s been in Singapore.”

“Yeah, that’s John’s boy, then.” My dad looked satisfied with himself, like he’d sleuthed the answer to some great mystery. “Alex.”

It was useless to point out I’d already told him his name. “Yes. You know his dad, huh?”

My father shrugged. “I see him around sometimes.”

Around. I knew what that meant. At the bars.

“He’s James’s friend,” I repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “He’s just staying for a little while.”

“But you got to get back to him, I get it. Go on. Go.” My dad waved a hand. “Get out of here.”

My dad opened the cupboard and pulled out a glass. Another cupboard gave up the bottle. I loved my parents, both of them, but I couldn’t stay to watch. I made my goodbyes and stole away the photos of them in their youth, leaving them to what they’d made of their lives.

Chapter 05

Alex wasn’t home when I returned, but James’s truck was in the driveway. He couldn’t have been home for long, as he hadn’t even showered. I found him headfirst in the fridge, and I took the chance to squeeze his denim-clad ass.

“Hey, you—” He whirled, his grin faltering for a moment before he grabbed me around the waist. “What are you doing?”

“I should ask that of you. What are you doing home so early?” I slipped my arms around his neck and tipped my face for a kiss.

“I was waiting on a couple of the subcontractors to bring some stuff and they cancelled, so I came home.” He brushed his lips to mine. “Hello.”

I laughed. “Hello.”

His hands crept from my waist to my ass. “I’m hungry.”

“I thought we were going to go out for dinner tonight ….” The nip of his teeth on my jaw stopped me, and I wriggled. “Have a snack!”

“I know what I want for a snack.” His hand slid between my thighs and pressed upward. “Some of this, and a little of that …”

Any other time I would have opened my legs and my mouth for him. Today I pushed him away. I laughed as I did it, but it was still a refusal.

“If you want a snack get one from the fridge,” I said. “If you want something else—”

“I do.” He reached out, pulled me close again. Inside the worn denim of his jeans, his cock was stiff.

I didn’t yield. “James, cut it out.”

He got the picture. He didn’t let me go, but he did stop trying to feel me up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. But we can’t get busy in the kitchen, okay? In case you forgot, we have a houseguest who could come home at any moment.”

I pushed past him to open the fridge myself. The chips had made me thirsty. I pulled out a can of diet cola. As I was popping the tab, James grabbed me again around the waist, snugging me in close to him. He tucked his chin against my shoulder, his cock hard on my ass and his hands flat on my stomach.

“That will make it more exciting,” he whispered. “We’ll hear his car in the driveway, anyway. C’mon, baby. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“No!” I tried to sound stern, but his hands had begun roaming again. He cupped one of my breasts while the other hand rubbed my side. “James, no. Forget it. We wouldn’t hear him, he’d walk right in on us. It would be awful.”

“Why would it be awful?” His voice had taken on a familiar, seductive cadence, the one he used to get me to do pretty much anything.

“It would be … rude, at the very least.” I wasn’t winning this argument. His hands were too skilled. I wanted to please him too much.

“Alex wouldn’t care. Trust me.”