Chapter 3 Who's That Idiot?!

The blare of my phone alarm cuts through the silence of the motel room, snapping me awake. I lunge across the mattress to silence the screen, pulling the rough polyester sheet securely up to my collarbone as I glance over my shoulder.

Arden is lying on his stomach with his face turned toward the window, completely dead to the world.

I let my eyes roam his body, trailing the broad expanse of his skin covered in dark tattoos that trace the hard ridges of his shoulders and spine, until I see the undeniable, impressive evidence of his morning arousal beneath the bedsheets.

I feel my panties dampen as the memories of the night hit me all at once.

I spent six months with Marcus feeling like an underwhelmed spectator, but last night, Arden completely dismantled me. I didn’t just have an orgasm; I lost count after three. It turns out I hadn’t been broken for the last year; I had just been dealing with substandard plumbing.

My phone vibrates against my palm and the screen lights up with a message from Riley.

《Did you chicken out and go to sleep or am I booking a first-class ticket to Nevada?》

A wicked smile spreads across my lips. I shift carefully on the mattress, sliding my legs out from under the covers while keeping my eyes on Arden’s sleeping form. I hold the phone up, framing his sculpted, heavily tattooed back and just enough of the rumpled bedsheets to paint a very vivid picture. I snap the photo, making sure the lighting highlights every ridge of his shoulder blades, and hit send.

《Vegas is on you, babe》 I text back. 《Consider the dare officially, thoroughly executed》

The three typing dots appear almost instantly. 《Holy hell, Ava. Who is that?? Tell me everything right now!》

《No time》 I reply, watching Arden stir slightly. 《I need to hit the road before he wakes up》

《Are you insane??? Avery Kingston, DO NOT leave that bed!》

I lock the phone and slide it into my purse quickly. If he wakes up, we'll have to do the awkward morning dance, talk about our feelings, and pretend this is something more than a brilliant, beautiful anomaly.

I quietly gather my clothes from the floor, wincing at the slight soreness between my thighs that serves as a highly satisfying souvenir, and slip into my jeans and t-shirt. I then spot a pad of cheap motel stationery resting near the ice bucket, grab the plastic pen and quickly scrawl a few lines.

《Thank you for a spectacular night. Take care of yourself》

I leave the note on the nightstand beside his wallet, take one last, lingering look at those loose brown curls buried in the pillow, and slip out of the room.

~

The second half of the drive up to Ravenwood should take three hours, but my brain is a completely disorganized soup of post-sex endorphins and mild exhaustion. I miss the highway turnoff twice, adding a massive four-hour detour through winding mountain passes that all begin to look identical.

By the time I pull my battered sedan up the long, gravel driveway of the address my mother sent me, my throat is parched, my head is throbbing from the lingering effects of the bourbon, and I feel a strange, hollow ache in my chest that I absolutely refuse to label as heartsick. It was a one-night stand. Cautious adults do not pine over men they met in dive bars.

I park the car and step out, my jaw dropping as I take in the view.

The house is a towering, three-story modern estate with a deep wraparound veranda, wrapped in dark wood siding and massive panels of glass that reflect the sparkling blue waters of the lake below.

It looks like something featured on the cover of an architectural digest, not a rental cabin for a bohemian artist.

On the veranda, my middle sister Lila is twisted into a ridiculously complex yoga pose, her blonde ponytail hanging upside down as she breathes rhythmically. She spots me, untangles herself with fluid grace, and steps to the railing.

“You’re late,” Lila says, crossing her arms over her designer athletic top. “Mom was convinced you’d crashed into a ditch somewhere near Salem.”

“I took the scenic route,” I say, stretching my aching back as I walk up the porch steps. “Where’s Clara?”

“Off in the woods with her camera trying to capture the emotional essence of pinecones or whatever,” Lila replies, rolling her eyes.

I look around the massive porch, noting the high-end outdoor furniture and the flawless stone masonry. “Lila, what exactly is this place? Mom told me we were staying at a lakeside cabin. This definitely isn’t a cabin. This is a multi-million-dollar compound. How on earth is she funding this?”

Lila shifts her weight nervously. “Vivian… has her ways. You know she’s had a very productive year with her gallery exhibitions.”

“Productive enough to rent a luxury estate for two weeks?” I challenge, raising an eyebrow. “This costs more than my annual salary.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about what’s been going on this spring,” Lila says, offering a evasive shrug.

Before I can press her for details, the heavy glass front door swings open and our mother, Vivian Kingston, bursts onto the porch like a whirlwind of colorful linen and silver jewelry. She catches me in a dramatic, fragrant hug that smells intensely of jasmine and expensive essential oils.

“Ava, my darling girl!” Vivian cries, pulling back to hold me at arm’s length. She examines my face and her eyes narrow as she takes in my appearance. “Look at you. You look exhausted, but… heavens, what is that light in your eyes? You have a post sex glow.”

I instantly smooth down my hair, trying to look as un-radiated as humanly possible. “Nothing happened, Mom. I’m just dehydrated and tired from the drive.”

“Mm, if you say so,” Vivian says, clearly unconvinced as she hooks her arm through mine and leads me into the house. “Come inside. You must see the great room.”

The interior is even more breathtaking than the exterior. The great room features soaring vaulted ceilings, a massive floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, and panoramic windows that make the lake feel like it’s spilling directly into the living space. The furniture is a perfect blend of warmth and modern luxury.

“Mom,” I say, stopping in the center of the room. “Seriously. We cannot afford to be here.”

“We aren’t paying a dime, sweetie,” Vivian says smoothly, waving her hand as if money were merely a suggestion. “The house belongs to John. He built it himself, from the ground up.”

I blink. “Who’s John?”

“An old friend from my high school days in Eugene,” Vivian says casually. “We reconnected a few months ago. He’s such a wonderful man, Ava. Very grounded, very protective. He insisted we use the property for our family retreat.”

I eye her suspiciously. “And he did that out of the goodness of his heart?”

She smiles, a genuine, blushing warmth coloring her cheeks that I haven’t seen since before Dad died. “Actually… we wanted to wait until the family vacation to tell you girls properly, but John and I are um… should I say… building a life together.”

I stiffen, feeling the beautiful room suddenly become incredibly small and suffocating. “Building a… Dad’s only been gone three years and you’re moving into a mansion with a man we’ve never even heard of?!”

“Three years is a long time to be lonely, baby,” Vivian says gently, reaching out for my hand, but I step back, avoiding her touch.

“I need some air,” I mutter, turning on my heel and walking back out onto the veranda.

Lila follows me out, closing the door behind her. I walk to the edge of the railing, my chest heaving as a hot wave of tears burns the back of my eyes.

“She’s erasing him,” I whisper, wiping a stray tear from my cheek before it can fall. “She’s just replacing Dad with some guy who fixes fucking roofs.”

“She isn’t erasing anyone, Ava,” Lila says gently as she steps up beside me. “You’re the one who’s still frozen in time. Dad died three years ago. We all miss him, but Mom was drowning in that empty house in Portland. John makes her happy again.”

“It’s too fast,” I insist, gripping the wooden railing until my knuckles turn white.

Our argument is suddenly cut short by a loud, mechanical roar echoing from the tree line.

I look up, squinting through the afternoon sun as a huge, mud-splattered yellow ATV bursts out from the woods, tearing across the green lawn at an aggressive, terrifying speed.

“What on earth?” I shout over the engine noise. “Who’s that idiot? He’s ruining the grass!”

“Oh, that’s probably one of John’s sons,” Lila says, watching the vehicle approach. “Mom mentioned that his boys help him run the property.”

The rider doesn’t slow down, steering the heavy machine directly toward the veranda. He cuts the wheel violently at the last second, executing a dramatic, spraying skid that sends a shower of dirt and loose gravel flying over us.

“Hey!” I yell, stepping to the edge of the stairs and glaring down at the figure clad in a heavy canvas jacket and dark jeans. “Watch where you’re going, you lunatic! You almost took out the porch!”

The rider looks at me for a moment more, then shifts the machine into park. He reaches up with both hands, unclasping the strap of his matte-black helmet, and pulls it off, shaking out a thick, messy mane of loose brown curls.

He turns his head, evaluating me with a pair of striking, familiar hazel eyes.

“Well, if you care about the porch so much, why don’t you pick up a broom and clean it up?” Arden Calder says, looking up at me as his dimple flashes in the afternoon light.