Page 67 of Snow Globe Secrets

I started to tell Randall that I was going to go downstairs and help my mother with groceries if he wanted to sneak into the shower, but before I could get out more than, “I’m gonna, …” I could hear my dad yelling up the stairs.

“Randy? Aus? You up there?”

While we didn’t say exactly the same thing, we did look at each other and say something about how we thought Dad was working at the restaurant.

“Yeah, Dad,” I croaked out, and Randall’s eyes went wide.

“You’re in my room,” he whispered.

“Shit. Let’s get down there before he comes up here. It probably smells of sex in here.”

“Shit, Austin. We probably smell of sex. I’m so sorry about this,” he whispered.

I wanted to tell him he had nothing to be sorry about. I wanted to tell him how hot it was to think of him smelling like sex—sex with me. I wanted to whisper things about the cum drying on both of our stomachs, the tingle in my ass, and the way it had felt just to hold him and be held by him mere minutes ago. Instead, I opened the guest room door.

“Coming down, Dad. Does Mom need help with the groceries? I thought you were at the restaurant.”

Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the first step. I stopped a few steps above him, Randall behind me. Dad looked from him to me.

“Not too busy at the Three B’s. Preston has it covered. Mom stopped by to raid the kitchen, so I thought I’d hitch a ride and wash up for dinner.”

From behind me, Randall cleared his throat. “You know, I was thinking I’d do the same thing. If you boys don’t need me, I’m going to have a shower.” I could hear him turn around and head back up the stairs.

“Right behind you, Randy,” my dad said. “You’ll help your mom with the groceries?”

“Of course,” I said, trying not to freak out as Dad brushed past me on the stairs.

“Look at that, Randy,” Dad said. “I’d almost forgotten about that mark you used to get on your neck when you were angry or overheated. Reminds me of our old jogging days. You weren’t jogging in those jeans, were you?”

My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest, and I could only imagine that Randall’s was too.

His hand came up behind his neck as if he could hide the evidence as he turned to look down the stairs at Dad and me.

“Nope! Just a little frustration with work.” He looked at me while he said it, and man, how I hated for him to have to lie.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Randall

How was it possible that the most intense sexual experience of my life was followed by me lying to my best friend? Not that I would have shared that with him either way, but still, I had never been a big fan of lying, to the extent that I was genuinely impressed with the levels my ex-husband had gone to in sneaking around on me.

Standing in front of my old friend, I felt like I was surrounded by tiny neon signs that flashed the word SEX in rainbow-bright colors. I was sure that I smelled and looked exactly like what had just happened between Austin and me. Inside, I was smiling at the notion and the memory, sheer desire still thrumming through me. Not even almost getting caught could tame it.

And underneath all of that, Austin had set up our little scene as more than just a charged sexual encounter; he had done it as a show of support for my having to find time to work. In the few short days we had known each other, he had been more supportive of my career than David had been in fifteen years.

Foolishly, my hand found its way to the back of my neck, hiding the evidence too late.

I turned and continued up the stairs, Austin’s fading voice teasing, “Dad used to jog? I don’t believe it.” I turned once more on the stairs, but my laughing eyes found only Martin, Austin having continued on to the kitchen to help his mom. Luckily, Martin thought the eyes were for him. He patted his protruding stomach.

“Not much jogging going on here. I’ll trim up a bit in the summer; I’m on my feet at the restaurant for hours on end.”

“You look good, Marty. And the way Steph looks at you? Well, it’s just the way I remember her looking at you.” It felt good to think about the two of them back then and not think about how jealous and forlorn I’d been when we were in college. “You’re a lucky man, Martin. And I am happy for you.”

“And you look great, too, Randy. Like, really great. And you should be happy too! So …”

We were on the landing, and I tried to keep my distance from Martin and inch my way to the bathroom, but clearly Martin wanted to talk.

“So?” I asked.