The Red Thread
It started with a lingering scent. That unmistakable combination of vanilla and smoke—the perfume she only wore for me. Except, it wasn’t me she was with anymore. Three years unraveled in three seconds when I saw her stepping out of his truck, a wicked grin on her face and an outfit I knew I’d picked for her but had never seen her wear. She looked up, caught my eye, and smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary.
The message was clear: I’ve moved on, and I’m not sorry about it.
My best friend. My girl. Together. My body boiled in a horny rage as my tumescence only grew stronger and out of my control throbbing with every racing heartbeat. All of the sudden there was no other choice in my mind. I was on a mission from that point forward, it was something darker, more unsettling then I had ever felt before.—a part of me that wanted to play the game she’d started.
The next morning, he called. Apologies dri
