Page 45 of Desiring an Angel

Ash had always been a romantic, and I’ll admit he’d rubbed off on me enough I actually appreciated a few of the books he kept in our small library. He tended toward gay romance while I preferred where a woman joined in the fun. But I’d always enjoyed women more than Ash ever had.

We had been together from such an early age that neither of us had dated a woman alone before, and the only pussy we’d come into contact with had been as a threesome.

Fucking one without me, I expected, wouldn’t appeal to Ash at all, but the idea definitely intrigued me. While the thoughts of attempting to connect emotionally with a woman churned unease in my guts, the fantasy of losing myself in her soft clutches stirred my blood.

It always had.

Ash sat silent in the passenger seat as I drove us home from the airport, but I could feel his nervous energy. I’d been unable to hide my disappointment from my voice the night before after learning he’d brought a woman into our house without discussing it with me.

We rarely made decisions without consulting the other, and the step he’d taken hadn’t been as light as choosing what we would have for dinner that night.

A stranger had taken up residence in my house, a woman Ash had mentioned within seconds of groaning while coming undone beneath me the night before.

A muscle ticked in my jaw at the memory, and I forced myself to relax, determined to keep an open mind—to trust Ash regardless of how I felt sure his excitement might have driven him past red flags.

I cursed the timing of Mom’s stroke and death. Hated the sense of unburied shit building inside me.

We’d said goodbye to my dad earlier that morning, a mere handshake that was as uncomfortable as fuck. Like strangers without a care for one another, we separated without promises to keep in touch.

Even though a slew of emotion ought to have roiled deep inside me, hollowness haunted me. Emptiness toward all feelings attempted to occupy my mind.

But I had other shit to contemplate.

I thought about our arrival at home, imagined every scenario possible concerning the supposed redheaded beauty who waited for us and what steps or things I might say to quietly test her personality.

Had I more time and not promised Ash to allow organic progression with Skylar, I’d have done that background check I always did before agreeing to meet up with women Missing Link had matched us with.

I hated not having my ducks in a row.

Loathed the unknown—and the fact I couldn’t plan for situations in advance without some sort of assurance of truth to back up those decisions.

Turning onto our street, I noted Lionel’s Landscaping’s truck pulling away from the front of our house.

I slowed, and Wyatt did the same with his work truck and rolled down the window as we drew abreast of one another.

“Rhett. Ash.” He greeted us both with a grin while turning down his radio. “What’s going on?”

“Just getting back from Florida,” I told him.

“Vacation?” he asked.

“My mom passed.”

His grin faded. “Shit. Sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks. How are Garrett and Haley?” I asked, having no wish to linger on any condolences.

Wyatt had been in charge of our lawn care for years, and we’d shared more than a couple beers on our back patio. He and his two partners had even exchanged vows on the beach behind our home a few weeks earlier.

It’d been a lovely, small wedding but depressing as fuck for Ash.

“Never been happier,” Wyatt stated, a huge grin on his face.

“Did you happen to meet Skylar?” Ash asked, leaning forward to better see Wyatt.

“Skylar?”

“Our houseguest.”

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