He stifled a gasp.
Annalisa and Emily were making out on the bed. They were prone on the mattress, with Annalisa on top. Chuck’s erection pushed painfully against the fabric of his trunks as he watched the two women writhe and kiss. Annalisa didn’t have a top on, just shorts, and Emily was in that tiny white bikini. There was nothing tender about what he was seeing. They were kissing with such hunger, almost as if they were trying to consume each other. Chuck couldn’t believe it. The two were Zoe’s best friends, but he had been pretty sure they loathed each other. But you could never underestimate Emily. He was sure she was the instigator here. Yet he couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d seduced Annalisa.
Annalisa broke off the kiss and sat up, straddling Emily. “I wanna sit on your face.”
She unbuttoned her shorts and twisted around to shimmy out of them. Chuck swallowed a lump in his throat and fought an urge to reach into his trunks. Voyeurism was one thing, but he’d be damned if he’d risk someone catching him in the act of jerking off in the hallway. A thought occurred to him, something that made him frown. Why was the door open? Talk about risky. But it was obvious, wasn’t it? It had been done on purpose, probably by Emily. That’d be just like her. She wanted someone to see this.
He heard a voice from downstairs just as Annalisa began to position herself over Emily’s face.
Joe.
Chuck moved away from the door and hurried up the stairs to the third floor. Heart slamming, he headed to the bar. He needed a drink and he needed it now. The shower could wait. He stepped behind the bar and scanned the rows of liquor bottles, again silently thanking his father for thinking of everything. His dad had a very open mind on the subject of underage drinking. Which made sense, as he’d been quite the tippler since his own teenage days. Chuck had been sharing drinks with his father for years. Some would label the behavior child abuse. Dad just saw it as continuing a tradition.
Chuck dumped ice in a rocks glass and filled it to the rim with Johnnie Walker Black. He had half of it down by the time Joe came thumping up the stairs into the living room. He spotted Chuck at the bar and grinned. His trunks were wet and his feet were coated with sand.
Chuck nodded at his feet. “You’re tracking sand everywhere, asshole.”
Joe shrugged and came over to the bar. “Ain’t like we live here, man. Shit gets dirty, so what? The housekeepers can deal with it. Give me some of what you’re having.”
Chuck prepared another drink and passed it to Joe. “There. I should throw it in your fucking face, though.”
Joe’s grin faltered. “I do something, man? I didn’t do it, whatever it is, I swear.”
“So you and Emily didn’t screw around with Zoe the night I got the shit beat out of me at that bar?”
“At the bar? I thought it happened outside.”
“Never mind that. Answer the question.”
“What do you mean, ‘screw around’?”
“You know what I mean, motherfucker.”
“Chuck…come on. We’re friends. Don’t be like this.”
Chuck squeezed the rocks glass. Hard. Another ounce or so of pressure and it would shatter in his hand. He ached to release it and use his fist as a battering ram against Joe’s face. The need to lash out was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t new. A potential for violence had been simmering just below the surface ever since that night at the bar. He wanted revenge against the people who’d beaten him, but he couldn’t have that. He was too afraid of them. They were genuine sociopaths. Hardened criminals. Just the thought of ever confronting them again paralyzed him with fear.
But Joe was another story. He wasn’t afraid of him at all.
His grin felt ugly. Probably looked even worse. “When I came back that night, after nearly getting my ass fucking killed, I couldn’t find Zoe. I came over to your room, but I didn’t knock. I stood at your door and listened for a long time, Joe.”
Joe’s face began to turn pale. “Chuck-”
“Shut up. It was hard to tell what was going on in there at first. It was a lot of damn noise. A big fucking party, from the sound of it. I didn’t leave until I heard something I’d recognize anywhere. Wanna guess what that was, friend?”
Chuck waited a beat. Joe didn’t say anything.
“It was Zoe having an orgasm. She’s a loud one, isn’t she?”
Joe knocked back his drink and set the glass on the bar. “You know what, man? You can shove this high-and-mighty shit right up your fucking ass. Seriously, where do you get off? You think I don’t know you fucked Emily the same night?”
“What?”
Joe’s grin returned. “Yeah, she told me. Hell, she told me right after.”
Chuck seethed inwardly. What Joe was saying astounded him, yet he had no reason to doubt it. And if she’d told Joe, why wouldn’t she have told Zoe? Hell, maybe she had and Zoe had simply decided to let it go in light of the beating he’d taken.
“What the fuck is wrong with your girlfriend?”
Joe frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Why would she tell you about that?”
Joe laughed. “Man, she always tells me. We have an open relationship. It’s a whole swinging-seventies thing.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah. Why not? It goes both ways, you know.” He grinned. “Sort of. She gets to fuck whoever she wants, and I get to fuck whoever she tells me to fuck. And she’s such a freak that I wind up fucking a lot of people, man.”
“Nice.”
Joe laughed again. “No shit.” He picked up his glass. “Now how’s about a refill?”
“Get it yourself, douche bag.”
Chuck left Joe standing alone at the bar as he walked through the living room and then down the hallway that led to the big master bedroom he shared with Zoe. He shut the door, stripped down, and went into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on, adjusting the temperature to a point just shy of scalding. The water felt good rushing over him. The steam felt good, too. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of all the things that were pissing him off, because there were just too many of them. As he began to relax, his mind drifted back to his brief glimpse of Annalisa squatting over Emily’s face. A predictable physical result ensued.
His eyes snapped open when he heard the stall door open.
Emily peeked inside. She looked him up and down, smirking at the sight of his hand clenched around his erection. “Joe told me about your little spat. Said you could probably use some consoling. But, ah…” She laughed. “Here, let me help you with that.”
She started to step into the shower stall.
Chuck stared at her.
She was naked.
And she looked as enticing as ever. More.
He knew he should tell her to go away. But desire overwhelmed his better judgment. He reached for her and pulled her into the stall. She laughed as his hands pawed at her. That mocking quality he recalled from the encounter in the van was there again. A wave of self-hatred assailed him. His erection began to wilt. He stopped kissing Emily and gripped her by the shoulders, prying her off of him.
Her expression was a mixture of confusion and anger. “What the fuck?”
“You’re getting out.”
He steered her back toward the open stall door, turned her around, and gave her a hard shove in the back. She cried out as she stumbled out of the stall and fell clumsily to the floor. Her knees smacked the plush bathroom rug and she cried out again. She got up and glared at Chuck. “You son of a bitch.”
“Get out, Emily. Now.”
She made no move to leave. “You could have hurt me. That was assault, Chuck. I could call the cops.”
“I don’t give a shit what you do. Just get out.”
“You’ll give a shit when I tell them you tried to rape me.”
Chuck smirked. “You do that. And maybe they won’t laugh in your face when they find out what a gigantic fucking slut you are.”