Page 5 of Reckless Temptation

“Six thirty,” I finished for my fellow artist, Diego. “Which was ten fucking minutes ago.” I shot him a look over my shoulder as I rinsed my hands off faster.

He chuckled, pausing from making out with the nude model he was supposed to be sketching, not trying to fuck. “Sorry, man. Got a little busy over here.”

From the looks of it, he’d be getting very busy all night long. The groupie—sorry, the “model”—already had charcoal smeared over her huge tits. I couldn’t imagine getting that up her cunt would end well.

I didn’t bother replying, leaving them to it. I had to get busy myself. That six thirty warning was what I’d been depending on to get to the Lorsen mansion on time for dinner. A “family” dinner. As if my new stepdad and stepsister would ever count as kin.

My mother, Leslie, would be there, though, and she didn’t deserve the worry about my being late.

Again.

I grabbed my keys from the counter of the studio’s entrance, leaving the moans and sounds of sex behind me.

Dammit.

There went my plans to come back here and try to fix my painting all night long. If Diego and his model were going to pretend this studio was one of the campus’s private spots to fuck until morning, I would need to find somewhere else to while away the time.

Staying at the Lorsen mansion was awkward. It wasn’t my home. It wasn’t my place to be. Since the first day Mom and I moved in there after her marriage to George Lorsen, I felt like an unwanted guest. That was over a year ago, and some things never changed. I had no clue what my place was anymore. I was untethered, not belonging anywhere.

Maybe Pierce will want to go to the Cricket again.

I stayed at that hole-in-the-wall until closing last night. But what the hell? Two nights in a row would be fine by me.

After I got on my bike and sped away from campus to get to the Lorsen mansion, I wondered how long I’d try to delude myself into thinking anything would be “fine” again.

Nothing seemed normal.

Nowhere close to good.

Taking every day one at a time hadn’t gotten easier yet, and I doubted it ever would.

I pulled in and parked my bike further from the garage. The shadier area closer to the pool house was where George had asked me to keep my bike since it was “loud”. No shit, it was loud. What motorcycle wasn’t?

Still, I humored the man. He was giving me and my mom a place to live, and I would never bite the hand that fed.

I sighed as I broke into a jog to get inside.

That doesn’t mean I need to like the guy.

George Lorsen wasn’t anything like my dad, but then again, David Grant was one in a million. Gone too damn soon, never to be replaced.

It seemed that my mom was trying to move on, though, following that stupid line of advice by remarrying and moving us here. And for that reason alone, I would try. For her, I would try to do what was expected of me.

I gave myself a quick glance, debating whether I should lose a few more minutes by running to my room to change or just show up now as I was and be punctual.

As a rule of thumb, I never cared about what others thought of me.

George’s opinion had to matter, though.

Don’t bite the fucking hand that feeds.

I compromised, taking off the button-down that bore paint splatters. As I jogged again toward the dining room, I tossed the shirt onto a chair in the hallway to grab it later. My undershirt wouldn’t look proper, but fuck it. It was clean. If Georgeseriously expected me to show up to dinner in a goddamn suit, he’d be waiting a long fucking time to see that happen.

“I’m sure he’ll be here—” My mother ceased speaking as I strode into the room. “There he is.” She lifted her face toward me, almost smiling.

By rote, I pecked a kiss on the top of her head. “Hey, Mom.” I nodded at George—in his immaculate suit—across the table. “Hi, George.”

“There he is, indeed.” George’s smile was genuine. Or maybe he was that smooth, that practiced. I never trusted lawyers and I doubted I ever would.

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