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3
Dani
Chrissy and I have had these sleepovers since high school, but it still feels surreal pulling up to her family’s mansion. I’m no expert, but if I had to guess I’d say it’s at least ten-thousand square feet. The manor has a brick exterior, ivy trellises, and white-shuttered windows that always gleam. Inside, it’s even more over the top. There are seven bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom, and a kitchen so big that it dwarfs my entire apartment. Of course, the Lindstroms have a guest house too, as well as a large in-ground pool and charmingly cared-for gardens.
Parking my car in the driveway, I take a moment to sit and stare up at the mansion. Chrissy has no idea how good she has it. My family lives in a tiny duplex on the other side of town, and growing up, I shared a room with my sister. Meanwhile, my buddy has always had her own bedroom, her own bathroom, and a walk-in closet that can easily fit a compact car. It’s insane.
After all, Dr. Lindstrom is a very successful dermatologist, so they’re able to afford a luxurious lifestyle. He’s gorgeous and frankly, resembles a soap opera doctor with his black hair, piercing blue eyes, and stern jaw. But he obviously knows what he’s doing professionally, as his wife has never had to work. Geneva always seems to be getting spa treatments or going out shopping, and I’ve never seen her with a hair out of place. She’s the ultimate lady who lunches, primped and pampered to the nines, although no amount of make-up can hide the wrinkles forming around her mouth.
But honestly, Geneva has a bad personality, and the term “mother” is one I would only loosely apply. For the most part, she’s disinterested in her daughter except for nasty comments directed at Chrissy to lose weight, which is ridiculous because Chrissy is gorgeous. Just because my friend isn’t five ten and as skinny as a rail, Geneva believes she’s gross. How can a grown woman, much less a mother, think this way?
But hopefully Geneva’s out tonight. Exiting my hatchback, I grab my backpack and toss it over a shoulder before making my way up the gravel path to the front door before ringing the bell. A minute passes, and then two, so I ring again before knocking firmly on the heavy double doors. Where is everyone? Chrissy normally opens up immediately, but for some reason, she’s not answering.
After another minute passes, I check my phone.
Where r u, girl? I text.
There’s no reply. Did I get the wrong day? But no, girls’ night is entered in my calendar front and center, so tonight’s definitely the night. Hesitantly, I try the doorknob, and to my surprise, it’s unlocked. Maybe Chrissy unlocked it because she’s in the back somewhere? God knows this mansion is huge enough.
Stepping into the foyer, I look around. The house is oddly dim and silent, and I frown.
“Hello?” I call. My voice bounces off the marble floors, echoing in the huge space. But then my eyes spy light far away, and I see it’s from the kitchen. Maybe Geneva’s in there pouring herself an aperitif. God knows that woman can drink like a fish. I don’t want to run into her, so I tiptoe in the other direction and up the stairs. Chrissy’s probably in her room with her headphones on. A new single from her favorite singer, Olivia Rodrigo, just came out so she’s probably rockin’ out at the moment, oblivious to the world.
But when I get to Chrissy’s bedroom, I’m surprised to find that there’s no light under her door. How weird. Regardless, I open the door and shout, “Boo! What up girlfriend? Surprise!”
But the room is completely dark and still, despite my loud call. At this point, I stop and turn on the light. What the hell is going on? Chrissy isn’t here, and neither has she responded to my text. Where could she be?
Sighing, I go back down the stairs and make my way to the kitchen. Might as well say hello to Geneva. After all, it’s extremely rude to enter someone’s house and not even greet the hostess. But as I near the kitchen, a low, masculine growl sounds, and I stop in my tracks. Is that Dr. Lindstrom? What is he doing home? It’s too early, right?
My heart races as I near the lighted area, and suddenly, the space between my thighs feels heated and moist. I’ve always thought Hunter Lindstrom was gorgeous, and now, I should say hello to the hunky older man. It is his house after all, and it’s only proper to greet the the alpha male himself.
4
Hunter
Fuck that. I take another violent swig of my bourbon, although why I’m angry, I’m not even sure. After all, my marriage has been a sham for years, and Geneva finally did it. Our divorce is finally done, and I stare at the scattered papers before me without seeing anything.
