Page 7 of His Temptation
Ryan’s room was too much like a pig sty for me to sleep in, so I stole a pillow from his bed and went to sleep on the couch. The house was so quiet. Much different than mine. My mom usually always had a boyfriend over, and if I wasn’t getting into arguments with them, I was kept awake by the rowdy neighbors.
But as I lay on the couch and closed my eyes, there was no arguing, no loud music shaking the thin apartment walls, and no crying babies from the floor above us. I heard nothing but the soft whooshing of the ceiling fan.
Chapter 2
Emery
Ryan lay with one arm thrown over his face and his body hanging halfway off the bed. I took off his shoes and positioned him back on the mattress before tucking him in. A heaviness lingered in my chest as I looked down at him.
I missed the days when he’d smiled up at me like I was his hero. Like I was someone he loved. Now, he only stared at me with contempt and acted as though it was a burden to visit me. He’d only agreed to stay the night that night because his mom had asked him to.
My foot hit a bowl on the floor, and I bent down to pick it up, curling my nose at the sour smell of old milk. I grabbed some of the trash off his desk and turned off his bedroom light before going to the kitchen to dispose of the bags of chips and to rinse out the bowl.
How was it that he trashed his room so horribly when he only stayed with me a few days a month?
After turning off the kitchen light, I walked through the living room on my way to bed and stopped when I saw Cason. His muscled body was almost too big for the couch, but he looked peaceful as he slept.
Ryan had a lot of friends, but Cason was the most levelheaded of them all. Sweet-natured, intelligent, and responsible—he complemented my son well. Ryan was impulsive; an “act first, think later” type of guy. He needed someone like Cason to balance him and keep him on track.
Cason mumbled in his sleep and tossed to his other side. His shirt rode up, drawing my eyes to his toned stomach. I tore my gaze away and went to the hall closet that held spare blankets. I grabbed one and returned to drape it over him. Once he was covered, I tried not to stare at the sharp line of his jaw or the poutiness of his lips.
Of course I failed, and I loathed myself because of it.
I continued to my room and closed the door before sliding into bed. Sleep was far from my reach, though.
My attraction to Cason had started earlier that year, maybe February or March. A snowstorm had hit, unexpected because everyone had thought we’d have an early spring, and Ryan’s car had slid off the road not far from my house. His mom had been out of town at the time for work, so he’d called me. I’d gone to pick him up, finding Cason in the car with him when I got there.
The two of them had stayed a few days with me, and during their stay, I’d found myself paying close attention to the sound of Cason’s voice and the way his Adam’s apple moved in his throat when he swallowed. I’d then caught Cason’s eyes lingering on me too. As if maybe he felt that strange spark as well.
“Stop,” I muttered to myself. But then a memory sparked and went through me like an electric current.
When I had walked into Ryan’s room earlier and saw Cason undressing, it had mortified me. Mainly because of how much I liked seeing him that way: bare-chested, his long torso rippling with muscles, and the mouthwatering lines disappearing into his boxers.
Groaning, I grabbed my pillow and placed it over my face.
If I suffocated in my sleep, at least I’d be put out of my misery. Cason was only eighteen. The same age as my son. I shouldn’t have had those kinds of thoughts about him.
The next morning, I woke to the sun peeking through the open blinds and checked the clock beside my bed. Seven thirty. Ryan would probably sleep until noon as he usually did on the weekend, so it gave me time to decide what to do.
He’d broken curfew last night, but I wasn’t sure how much good a punishment would do. He would be going off to college in a few months. Did I really want to push him away even faster by being so strict? It would only make him hate me even more.
After showering, I dressed for the day and went into the kitchen.
“Good morning.”
Startled, I flipped around to see Cason sitting on a barstool, a cup of coffee in his hand. His light brown hair was messy, and faint pink marks covered his chest, probably from him sleeping so hard.
“I hope you don’t mind that I made some coffee,” he said, his cheeks flushing.
“Not at all.” I grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured a cup before joining him at the island. “I didn’t expect to see you awake already.”
Cason shrugged. “I’m used to getting up early. If I sleep too late, I feel like the day is wasted or something.”
I smiled as I lifted my cup to take a drink. We had that in common.
What else do we have in common?
No. Don’t go there.
