Lena.
The clock on the wall seemed to mock us. Mom’s plane had landed earlier than expected, and her text said she was already in a cab heading home. We had maybe forty-five minutes.
The house looked mostly normal on the surface — fresh sheets on the beds, windows open to let in the ocean breeze, surfaces wiped down — but the air still carried a faint, lingering scent of s*x no amount of cleaning could fully erase.
My body ached with exhaustion and leftover pleasure. Every step reminded me of the weekend’s excesses.
Julian paced the living room like a caged lion, his jaw tight. Oliver leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, trying to look casual but failing. Ava lounged on the couch in a modest sundress she’d changed into, though the wicked gleam in her eyes hadn’t faded.
“
