The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“What is wrong with you?” I clenched my teeth, gritting out the words as quietly as possible.

He crossed his arms over his white T-shirt-clad chest, lips twisted. “I’m not following.”

I shot a million daggers at him, sliding my gaze to the erection tenting his swim trunks and giving a tiny nod toward it.

He didn’t follow my gaze. Why would he? He knew damn well what I was referring to. “I just left the bathroom where my wife was showering. But if you keep staring at it, you might have to take part of the blame … or credit. However you want to look at it.”

My gaze shot to his. I didn’t want to look at it in any way, shape, or form. Nor did I want it pressed to my back. I cleared my throat, hating the flushed feeling in my cheeks that Graham could see, that fed his ego. “Why is she showering before the beach?”

Graham wet his lips, rubbing them together for a few seconds. “She got into a … sticky situation.” He winked.

I cringed, fighting the bile working its way up my throat.

“Listen…” he adjusted himself “…all kidding aside …”

Kidding? That was his idea of kidding? Had Ronin seen him pinning me to the counter with his erection, it would have turned into a bloody fiasco, ruining friendships, and terrorizing the minds of my young kids.

Graham continued, “I’m glad you suggested this. Lila and I love spending time with you guys. You really are family, more so than my own family.” He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to do a better job of finding balance. Once my term is up, I’m going to get out of politics. As much as I don’t love the family business with my dad still having his hand in everything, it’s a good job. It would allow me to be home with my family more often.”

Family.

There he went again. Whiplash. He manipulated me in a way I couldn’t prove without taking the risk of ruining not only my relationship with him, but with my best friend. Graham played in the gray area, stepping out of bounds just long enough to say or do something inappropriate then falling back in line before anyone else noticed.

“So you’re planning on having a family?”

Again … AGAIN he did it—raking his gaze along my body like he had the right to do it. “I don’t know what the future holds.” He ogled my breasts, the breasts he liked to poke fun at. “But at the very least, I want to spend more time with Franz and Anya. Skiing, golfing … attending their plays and sporting events. You’re my best friend, Evie. I love your kids like my own.”

“Mommy, I’m hungry.” Franz ambled into the kitchen, holding a Lego boat. His blue eyes alight with pride and his hair messy like mine. Thankfully, he inherited some color to his skin so he didn’t have to go through life looking like his White Walker mom. It was my completely unbiased opinion—we made really beautiful children.

“You’re hungry? Hungry!” Graham scooped Franz up into his arms, buried his face into Franz’s neck like gobbling him right up.

Franz giggled.

It was endearing, as I’m sure was Graham’s intention.

Befriend me.

Make me indebted to him.

Marry my best friend.

Befriend my husband.

Spoil my children.

Remind me on a daily basis why I loved him.

Then … remind me on a daily basis why I had grown to resent and even hate that same friendship.

There were reasons why people said some gestures were too grand, making it impossible to ever be repaid. People like Graham and all the other Porters thrived on the eternal indebtedness of everyone else around them.

Graham set Franz on the counter. “I’ve got you covered, little man.” He retrieved a plate and proceeded to fill it with crackers, cheese cubes (that someone had piled neatly onto a tray in the fridge), grapes, strawberries, pumpkin seeds, and a few chocolate squares. “My nanny used to hide two little squares of chocolate beneath the healthy stuff on all of my snack plates.” He winked at Franz.

A nanny raised Graham. I wasn’t sure if that explained why he was such an asshole ninety percent of the time or if the nanny was actually the reason why ten percent of the time he wasn’t an asshole—a true friend to me, a kind husband to Lila, and the fun uncle who spoiled my kids.

“Mommy hides chocolate in her closet.” Franz outed me. Traitor.

Graham slid his gaze to me, quirking an eyebrow accompanied by a knowing smirk. “You still hide chocolate?”

“Yes, in her sock drawer,” Ronin piped up, carrying Anya into the kitchen.

“How do you know that? Are you snooping in my drawers?” I glared at Ronin.

He set Anya on the counter next to Franz and grabbed my face. “It’s called putting away laundry, babe.”