Page 52 of The Unexpected

He hugs me, squeezing tight, then holds me at arm’s length, his hands heavy on my shoulders. “Too short. How’ve you been? I thought you’d be out with friends.”

I shake my head, blond hair falling in a loose sheet over one shoulder. “No, because Hunter’s been keeping me on a short leash.”

Hunter grins, flashing all his teeth. “I take my role as the responsible adult very seriously,” he says, blue eyes flat as ice.

My father turns from Hunter and then, for the first time, really looks at Lachlan. The big pastor rises from the sofa, shakes my dad’s hand, and introduces himself as if nothing is out of the ordinary. I watch my father’s eyes linger just a half-beat too long on Lachlan’s hands—on the creases in his shirt, the slight red mark on his neck, a patch of sweat on his temple.

Lachlan extends a hand. “Mr. Moreland. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” The handshake is firm, but my father holds it a second longer than custom, his fingers turning the gesture into a contest of micro-aggressions.

“Yes, I think I’ve seen you at Trinity, assisting Pastor Pamela,” my father says. His face is neutral, but the force of his focus is a physical thing.

Lachlan doesn’t blink. “Yes, Pastor Pam is a mentor of mine. Has been, since the day I arrived. It’s been a blessing to serve the congregation.”

“Wonderful.” My father reclaims his hand, then turns to Hunter. “How’s the Bidwell project going?” It’s a test, to see if Hunter can remember what he claimed to be doing while he was here.

Hunter doesn’t flinch. “Smoothly. We’ll finish renovations next week. It’s not a big deal. It’ll be a massive moneymaker, per usual.”

Thomas lets the silence spin, just long enough for all three of us to sweat. “Excellent,” he says, at last.

I can tell he’s cataloguing every detail: the three whiskey glasses, the Bible open but not actually read, the faint, sour tang in the air that is absolutely not incense. My father’s gaze lands on my bare feet, on the bruises at my knees, on the stripe of mascara I missed when I tried to clean up in a panic. Then, for just a second, he looks me in the eye, and I swear he knows everything.

But he doesn’t call me on it. Not yet.

“Pastor O’Toole,” he repeats, then glances at the Bible on the table. “You’re not converting my daughter, I hope?”

Lachlan chuckles, all surface. “Just making sure she’s staying out of trouble, sir.”

I clutch the Bible to my chest like it’s a Kevlar vest, willing my face not to combust. My brain has gone into full blackout mode, and I am suddenly convinced that my dad can see every secret, every sin, written across my forehead in permanent marker.

There’s a long, hot second where no one moves.

Then my father sets his bag down, surveys the whiskey glasses, and gives a slight nod. “Glad to see you two keeping her occupied. She can be a handful, as you know. I don’t blame you for the alcohol.”

Hunter raises his glass, and the smile never touches his eyes. “No harm, no foul. It’s just a bit of Bible study. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

My father nods at Lachlan. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime. And Hunter, make sure she behaves.”

I nod, mute, as the men trade more pleasantries. I’m only half-listening, because the only thing I can focus on is the fact that my panties are still tangled somewhere under Hunter’s massive thigh, probably soaking wet. If he moves the wrong way, they’ll tumble out onto the floor!

But after a minute, my dad turns and says, “Well, I should get unpacked. Andie’s talking on the phone right now. She’ll be happy to see you.” He gives me another quick hug, and as he leaves, he glances back at us. Just once. The door clicks softly behind him.

We all exhale, almost in unison.

Hunter sets his glass down, then leans forward, elbows on knees. “That was close,” he says, voice soft.

Lachlan grins, and it’s the first time all day he looks a little rattled. “Too close. I think we need to work on our exit strategy.”

I let the Bible slip from my fingers, onto the cushion, and pull my knees up to my chest. I can still feel both of them inside me, phantom pressure, the soreness a live wire under my skin.

But the main thing I feel is this: I want to do it again. I want to fuck in this room, in every room of the house, just for the thrill of nearly getting caught. I want my father to walk in on us, see me split wide open, owned by two men. I want him to know.

This is so fucked up, but I don’t care. The risk just makes it hotter.

I lean back, the sofa still warm from before, and watch as Hunter and Lachlan start bickering about something or other. For all I know, they could be talking about the Minions and I wouldn’t care.

I close my eyes, the taste of sex and danger still hot on my tongue, and wait for whatever happens next.

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