Cheater (Curious Liaisons, #1)(64)

I snorted. Unbelievable. I loved her mom—hell, I loved their entire family. But Kayla had a tendency to make everything about her, especially lately, and with the wedding so close she’d turned into a bitch. Especially to Avery.

Damn it. I was literally five minutes away from calling the entire marriage off. But people were already here for the wedding, and what was I supposed to do? Tell Kayla that it just didn’t feel right? That I didn’t feel the same way I used to?

That I felt more connected to Avery than to her?

That whenever Avery smiled at me, it made my day?

That when Kayla told me she didn’t have time for me, a giant weight lifted from my shoulders and my first instinct was to call Avery?

Yeah, I was sure all that would go over like a car wreck.

With a sigh, I opened the screen door and Avery came barreling into my arms, all snot and tears.

My heart sank when she started crying harder. “It’s not even that I was in love with him—but he cheated on me with Desiree! Austin saw them making out last night at Taco Bell.”

I smirked. Oh, to be in high school again. “Avery, do you really want a guy that makes out with some girl at Taco Bell, of all places?”

She pulled back and grinned up at me. “You know how I feel about food, Thorn. But Taco Bell?” She scrunched up her nose. “Where’s the decorum? The class? As in ‘No, you may not kiss my mouth while you eat that taco!’”

“That’s a girl.” I burst out laughing and pulled her in for a hug again. “I promise that one of these days you’re going to find someone that sees your true worth, and he’s not going to cheat on you.” My entire body tensed. Because it would never be me.

“Swear?”

“Swear.” I kissed the top of her head, itching to bring my lips lower. Her beautiful green eyes blinked up at me. She was so trusting, so unaware of the battle that raged within me.

Wanting to do the right thing.

When the wrong thing looked so damn good.

Time stood still in that moment.

Again.

Because I was touching her, and my body wanted more.

She clung to my shirt.

Just seventeen. She wouldn’t be eighteen for a few more days.

“Let’s hang out for a bit,” I encouraged—well aware that I was adding kindling to the already growing flame. And when she skipped ahead of me into my parents’ house, I saw her as more than a passing flirtation.

I saw her as my future.

The day before I was supposed to say “I do”—to her sister.




“Thorn!” Avery slapped me across the cheek. “Swear to the steak gods that if you snore one more time, I’m suffocating you with your boxers!”

My vision was blurry from sleep—and my breathing out of control from the dream I’d had. “Huh?”

“You. Dead. Steak gods. Boxers,” Avery grumbled, tucking her body next to mine. “And for the record, I’m only cuddling because you’re a coldblooded psychopath who clearly doesn’t believe in heat!”

I glanced at the clock. “Why? Why are you yelling at me at three in the morning? Is this what living with you is like? Waking up with screaming? About hell? Threatening talk about killer food?”

“Huh? Killer food?”

“Death,” I said in a gravelly voice. “Steak?”

“Go to sleep, Thorn.”

“I was asleep,” I grumbled. “Until a little hellion woke me up.”

She yawned. “Stop complaining. Now go back to being my human blanket.”

I fell asleep with Avery in my arms.

And a smile on my face.

It was a first because—though Avery didn’t know it—I never slept with girls.

I had sex with them.

I never slept with them.

I never held them and allowed myself to imagine anything past the twenty-four hours we spent together.

It was a first since Kayla.

But with Kayla it hadn’t felt this way.

Not at all.

I was . . . happy.




My alarm went off too early. I begged for time to go in reverse.

I rubbed my face and wiped the grit from my eyes, then glanced at a sleeping Avery. Her mouth was open, and she had one leg spread across my legs, the other touching the other side of the bed. Apparently, she slept like she ate—with abandon.

“Avery Bug,” I whispered, “time to get up.”

“Sleep.” She shook her head.

“I wish,” I confessed. “But we have to work.”

At the mention of work, she bolted out of bed and nearly fell backward against my window. She righted herself with the curtains, only to have them break and fall against the floor while she still clung to the fabric.

“Oops,” she whispered groggily. “Sorry, I don’t wake up well.”

“Obviously.” I pointed at my poor abused curtains.

She dropped the fabric, stepped over the rod, and nodded repeatedly at me. “Well, I guess it’s Thursday.”

“It is.” I tried not to grin. Why was she nodding so much?

“And”—she held out her hand—“I will now bid you farewell.”

I smirked. “Tell me how much you hate yourself for saying ‘bid’ and ‘farewell’ in the same sentence.”