Page 37 of The Tangle of Awful

I’m an idiot. An idiot because I can already imagine Aubrey dressed in something beautiful, arm looped with mine, as I take her to a fancy restaurant.

“Everything okay?” Aubrey asks as I toss my phone away.

“Campaign stuff.” I lean back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling. “A dinner with the opponent.”

“Ew. Why would you do that?” She sits up, turning toward me. “He’ll probably try and bait you or get you to make a fool of yourself.”

“That’s what Vance, my campaign manager, is hoping. Well, for Jeter at least. There’s just one problem.”

“Mom,” she says in a knowing tone. “Can we find her by then?”

I glance her way. “I’ve been trying to contact her for months, Love. Months. I’m not confident she’ll suddenly show up when I need her.”

“What will you do?” Her teeth worry over her bottom lip. “Can you deny his request for this dinner?”

It warms me knowing she’s concerned on my behalf. I reach over, patting her bare thigh and then resting my palm there. It’s inappropriate as fuck, but I can’t help myself.

“I want to bring you,” I admit, flashing her a smile. “That is, if you want to go schmooze with me.”

“Hell yeah,” she says, eyes glittering. “We’ll show that asshole you’re the better pick. We’ve got this.”

Her faith in me—in us—has my heart squeezing in my chest. Of course the universe would give me what I want in a package I can’t have.

She leans back on the couch, stretching her legs over my lap. We continue to watch the movie, neither of us keen on putting distance between us. No, it’s as though Aubrey takes great pleasure in shifting and fidgeting, her calves rubbing over my cock any chance she gets. I pretend to be focused on the movie as my hand remains on her thigh, tracing over the tattooed designs with my thumb.

I can’t fuck her, that much is for certain, but I can do this.

Cuddling with my stepdaughter isn’t against the law. We’re not making a big deal out of the way she makes my dick hard or how her skin is pebbled with goose bumps at my touch that strokes dangerously close to the hem of her shorts.

It’s nothing.

Harmless.

Something we can quietly do that won’t fuck up my world.

We haven’t crossed any lines we can’t come back from.

Problem is, it’s not enough, goddammit. It’s not enough and I wonder how long I can deny myself something I know will feel so fucking good.

Aubrey

The sound of my alarm rouses me from a deep, blissful sleep. I lie in bed for a moment, hanging on to the memories of last night that somehow worked themselves into my dream. Safe behind the veils of sleep, I was free to touch Hugo like I wanted, straddling him and fusing my lips to his.

My phone alarm continues to blare, disturbing my dangerous thoughts. I grumble as I reach over to turn it off. I’m wrapped in the blanket from the theater room. The soft chenille smells like Hugo and I inhale a deep breath of it. I have an overwhelming urge to touch myself and orgasm while I’m still saturated in all things Hugo.

But with thoughts of climaxing come thoughts of Spencer.

He dry-humped me last night until I came. It was exhilarating and horrible all at once. I didn’t want it at all but also wanted it more than anything in that moment. His hold on me is still ever-present, which annoys me to no end. Why can’t I just get over him once and for all?

As reality chases off the last dregs of sleepiness, a cold dread settles over me. I’m a terrible person. I already knew this because of my life back in LA, but I didn’t expect it to carry over to Park Mountain. All too easily, I dragged my baggage a couple states north and right through the Parks’ front door. My inability to use my moral compass has led me right to this moment.

I let my stepbrother dry fuck me and then, later, toyed with my stepfather, rubbing on him any chance I got.

I’m not innocent.

I’m a homewrecker.

I just never expected to be responsible for wrecking two of my homes. After this, I’ll have nothing left.

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