Page 14 of Unwrapped

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll look forward to it. Text me when you get home safe.”

The roads are shit. Plowed, but the new snow is coming down hard enough that the plow tracks are already filling in, and my headlights carve two narrow tunnels through the darkness. I keep both hands on the wheel and my speed under thirty. The last thing I need tonight is to wrap the Range Rover around a tree because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to pay attention to the road.

The lake appears on my right, a black expanse barely visible through the trees, and then comes the turn for our street. Almost home. All the houses on our cul-de-sac are dark, the windows lit up by Christmas lights. It’s quiet and peaceful.

My headlights sweep across the driveway, and I hit the brakes.

There’s a car parked in my space, dusted with snow. I have to squeeze in beside it.

Sophie didn’t mention having anyone over, and it’s almost eleven o’clock at night.

Who the hell is in my house?

Five

Sophie

Tyler Bowman is sprawled across my bed, looking very pleased with himself.

We’ve spent the last couple of hours catching up over a few beers, and it’s been surprisingly nice seeing him again. He's still good-looking, with his sandy-brown hair, blue eyes and that crooked smile that used to get him out of trouble with practically everyone, including me. He's filled out a little since high school, too. His shoulders are broader, and the t-shirt he's wearing fits him better than the baggy ones he practically lived in when we were dating. And he can still make me laugh at things I probably shouldn't find funny.

He’s also checked his phone about forty times, told me a story he thought was hilarious about someone vomiting at a college party, and mentioned a girl from his business program with a little bit too much interest twice.

So, mixed reviews.

But when he smiles at me, I remember why I liked him. We were good together for a while, and even though things eventually fizzled out, I can’t say I’m sorry I invited him over tonight.

Tyler’s never been upstairs at my house before, and he’s looking around my bedroom with obvious interest.

“Your stepdad’s rich, eh?”

“Subtle, Tyler.”

“What? I’m just saying. This place must’ve cost millions.”

“Probably. I’ve never asked.”

He laughs. “You’re such a smartass.”

“It’s one of my more appealing qualities.”

“Yeah, actually. It is.”

He grins, the same expression he used to get when we were alone together in his car, usually right before he’d lean across the console to kiss me. And I realize I wouldn’t mind if he kissed me now.

“Come here,” he says, reaching for my hand. I let him pull me down beside him, and when he kisses me, I kiss him back.

Oh, right. This part I remember. Whatever else has changed between us, Tyler still knows how to kiss me.

He rolls on top of me, his weight heavy, and his mouth moves to my neck. I tilt my head to give him access and his stubble against my skin sends a shiver down my spine. His hand finds my breast through my bra and squeezes, and I arch into it without thinking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against my neck. “God, Soph, I’ve missed this.”

I’ve missed this, too. I’d forgotten how nice it feels to have someone touch me, to know he wants me. And whatever happened between us after I left for university, Tyler always made me feel wanted.

His hand moves to the button of my jeans, and I don’t stop him. He gets it open, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my underwear, and I gasp when his fingers touch my clit, sending an electric shock through me.