Forbidden Love Read Free Page A

Ride Home
    D YLAN rode in the back in silence. Amanda kept checking him in the rear-view mirror, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Robbie sat in the passenger seat, his face sweaty and his eyes unfocused.
    “I’m surprised you didn’t go home with Alison,” Amanda said to her brother.
    “Ungh,” he waved the question away. “Pull over.”
    “What?”
    “Pull. Over.”
    She stopped the Tahoe and let Robbie shove open the door. He spewed all over the asphalt, gagging and spitting.
    A cold wind whipped into the cab, making her shiver and bringing the sour smell of beer with it. “You need to pace yourself better.”
    His back heaved again. More beer splashed the road. Finally, he sat up straight and closed the door. “There a napkin in here?”
    “In the console.” She glanced back at Dylan. He was snoozing, or pretending to. It was hard to tell in the dark.
    Robbie wiped his face and crumpled the napkin. “I feel better. Thanks.”
    “So about that pacing yourself…”
    “I’m not that drunk.” He over-enunciated each word, as if to prove that he was more sober than he really was. It didn’t work.
    “You just puked all over dad’s running board. You’re fucked up, bro.”
    He leaned against the door, let his head rest on the window. “Party on, man.”
    “Robbie, do you do this shit in Afghanistan? You’re going to kill yourself before the terrorists do.”
    “Don’t drink as much. There.” He rubbed his face.
    “Well, maybe you should slow it down while you’re here.” Her voice softened. “I’d hate to see you hurt yourself.”
    He didn’t respond.
    She leaned over and patted his leg. He caught her by the wrist, held her hand there.
    “Robbie?”
    A grin twitched at his lips. He slid the hand up his leg a few inches.
    Her heart rate double. All the moisture wicked from her mouth. She should jerk her hand away. Shouldn’t let him keep sliding it up, one joyful inch at a time. She felt him then, through his jeans. Thick. Firm. His grip was gone, but her hand remained. I can’t do this. Not again.
    She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her fingers flexing white over the hard rubber. Outside, trees whipped past, a wispy fog between them. She held the wheel, focused on it, on the road. Ignored Robbie. Pretended she hadn’t just touched him like that. Pretended she didn’t want to do it again, that the first touch wasn’t enough.
    Her thumb found the stereo control on the steering wheel. Turned up the volume. Drowned out her conscience.

Morning
    H ER mom had left a note on the kitchen table about meeting for lunch after church. Fat chance that Robbie will be awake . Dylan had to help her drag him to his bed, then he hadn’t even made it back downstairs. He’d just collapsed next to Robbie. She’d had to take his blankets up to him.
    She scrounged up a bagel and a glass of juice, then went upstairs to get a shower. Something thumped in the hallway. Bedsprings squeaked. They were faint, but she followed them to Robbie’s door. The noise was definitely coming from his room. Had Alison snuck into the house? If that tramp was in there screwing around with Robbie and Dylan…
    She pressed her ear up against the door, listening for higher pitched moans. Apparently the little tramp hadn’t even latched the door, because it opened a few inches at her touch. The musky smell of sex filled the room. She peered in through the crack and dark room lit only by the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the blinds. A bare ass confronted her. Flexing. Thrusting.
    There was moaning, to be sure, and none of it feminine. She stared as her brother and his… boyfriend? fucked right in front of her.
    They didn’t seem to be in a hurry. The one on top took his sweet time, plunging in deep and nearly pulling all the way out before plunging in again. With each thrust his lips found the bottom’s shoulder and gave it a wet, smacking kiss.
    Amanda scooted backward, pulled the door closed.