Page 25 of Twisted Needs

I glance away toward the hallway. Family photos line the walls all the way down. School pictures. Christmas cards. Random snapshots of the kids covered in paint or Luca asleep on the couch with a baby on his bare chest. There’s evidence of life everywhere in this house. Real life that’s messy and loud and imperfect. I used to think Luca lost himself in all of this. Marriage…the kids. But now I’m not so sure. He just seems so much happier than I am these days. Especially because he’s married to possibly the best woman in the world.

“You’re doing the thing again,” Luca says, throwing another shell at me that hits me right in the forehead.

“What thing?” I scoff, flicking the shell back in his direction.

“The midlife crisis thing…you’re just thinking too much. It fuckin’ creeps me out, man.”

I roll my eyes. “Just got lost in thought.”

“And that’s fine,” Luca mutters. “As long as you don’t make that ugly fucking face.”

“I’m not making a face.”

“You’re making a face,” Emelie chimes in. “It’s…merde. You look like you’re five days constipated.”

“Well that wouldn’t be good.”

Emelie kicks my shin under the table. “You need a change. It’s like your life is boring in a way you’re so self aware about.”

“My life is great,” I scoff.

Before I can argue further, movement catches in the doorway.

Anders.

My stomach tightens immediately, and the fact that it happens so fast that genuinely fucks with me.

He’s wearing one of those thin tank tops he sleeps in and a pair of dark sleep shorts hanging low on his hips. Luca and Emelie keep the house unbearably warm all summer long, which means Anders spends most of his time walking around half-dressed and annoyed about it. This is my third night here, and every single night he’s wandered through the house looking effortlessly beautiful without even trying.

I shouldn’t have noticed that. I really fucking shouldn’t.

“Where’ve you been?” Luca asks him. “You shouldn’t hide in your room. We have guests.”

“It’s just Parker,” Anders says dryly as he walks into the kitchen. “Nothing special.”

“Liar,” I laugh, lifting my beer.

Anders turns toward me at the sound of my voice, and his eyes linger just a little too long before he looks away again.

Heat crawls slowly up the back of my neck.

Jesus Christ.

“Come sit with me, mon lutin,” Emelie says, stretching an arm toward him.

“Désolé.” Anders leans down automatically to kiss her cheek. “Je suis fatigué.”

“You’re going to bed already?” Em asks, sounding a little concerned. “Tu ne vas pas bien?”

“Non. Ça va.”

“It’s not even ten,” I point out.

“That’s midnight for us parents,” Luca says, sighing. “These little bastards wake up at seven every day like they’re clocking into a shift.”

“Don’t act like you’re the one getting up with them,” Emelie scoffs.

I barely hear the rest of the conversation because I can’t stop looking at Anders.