Page 1 of The Love Ambush (The Sullivans #1)

Gentry

S ometimes, dreams change.

When I was twelve, I wanted to be a marine biologist and live on a boat, even though I’d never seen the ocean. When I was sixteen, I just wanted one day when my parents weren’t fighting and my youngest sister wasn’t crying in her room with her hands over her ears.

Now, at twenty-two, I’d love to have enough time to enjoy a shower. And by enjoy, I mean enjoy.

As guardian to my two teenage sisters, time is a resource more valuable than gold, diamonds, and chocolate.

Right now, I’ve got about fifteen minutes and a locked bathroom door, and I’m going to take full advantage of every single second.

As warm water sluices over me, I spread my legs, close my eyes, and slide my right hand down my body. It’s been so long that just the touch of my fingers on myself makes me stifle a groan.

I really need to be better about making time for self-care.

I close my eyes and slip into my favorite fantasy. I’m on a lounge chair on a private beach, the warm sun beating down on me, the ocean waves a soothing soundtrack. Between my legs a man’s head bobs gently as he gives me the most amazing oral I’ve ever experienced.

My fingers move more quickly and, as I get closer, the man lifts his head and looks at me. Only, it’s not my typical fantasy stranger with sharp cheekbones and a day’s worth of scruff, it’s Levi Sullivan. My sworn enemy.

“No. No, no. No. Go away. You aren’t ruining this.” I scrunch my eyes tight and stop moving my fingers until I banish his face, but once I start up again, Levi’s face reappears.

Outside the bathroom, one of my sisters screams. I don’t have time to get my fantasy perfect, and I’m so, so close.

I just want a release. No one ever has to know that Levi is in my fantasy.

In my imagination, I focus on the perfect abs and strong shoulders of my fantasy man, trying not to look at his face as I slide one finger inside myself and use the heel of my hand to rub my clit.

Just as I’m on the verge of orgasm, imaginary Levi looks me in the eyes, and I can’t look away. This is so, so wrong, but I am so damn close…

The bathroom door flies open with a bang as my youngest sister, Emily, screams my name. I raise both hands in the air like she can see me through the shower curtain, my clit throbbing in disappointment, my heart pounding. “I’m in the middle of a shower.”

“Sophie says I look stupid, and she won’t help me zip up my dress,” Emily says, her voice choked with tears.

Sophie is sixteen and should be old enough to help her sister when I’m unavailable, but lately, she’s been refusing to do anything to help at all.

“Oh, my God, Emily.” Sophie stomps into the bathroom as I wrap a towel around myself and step out of the shower. “I was in the middle of curling my hair. I said I’d help you in a minute.”

Emily, her cheeks streaked with tears, scowls at her older sister. “You said I look stupid.” At fourteen, Emily is still enough of a kid that she looks up to her big sister, but she’s enough of a teenager to never want to admit it.

Sophie rolls her eyes. She’s dressed as Galinda from Wicked in a pink ball gown we found at the local thrift store and she’s piled her shoulder-length blond hair on top of her head in a dramatic bun with strands sticking out of the top of it in all directions.

Emily’s supposed to be Dorothy, but her blue and white checkered dress is falling off her.

“You don’t look stupid,” I say as I zip up her dress and run my hands through her thick brown hair. “Want me to do your braids?”

Emily rolls her eyes. “I can do my own braids.” Her shoulders drop, and she opens her already big blue eyes even wider as she pouts. “Do we have to do this trunk-or-treat?”

“You should let Gentry do your braids,” Sophie says. “They always look messy when you do them.”

Emily turns on Sophie, her cheeks red, but I step between them. “Sophie, stop being mean to your sister or you can forget about having Ariel over tonight.”

Sophie’s eyes widen, making her look just like her younger sister.

Though Sophie has pale skin, blond hair and green eyes, and Emily is a brunette with olive skin that tans easily, their features are almost twin-level similar.

They both have button noses, high cheekbones and a fuller top than bottom lip. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do that,” I say, already tired of this well-worn argument. “I’m your guardian, and I get to make the rules.”

“Your rules are stupid. Mom always let us have our friends over.”

Mom always let us do whatever we wanted, because she devoted all her available attention to keeping our father happy. I have no idea how we didn’t all turn out spoiled brats. “Mom’s not here, and I’m not going to tolerate you talking to your little sister that way.”

“I’m not little,” Emily shrieks as Sophie huffs and stomps off to her room.

Her door slams as I turn to face my youngest sister. “You know what I meant, Em.”

Her eyes shimmer with tears. “Everyone in this house treats me like a baby. I don’t want to go to the trunk-or-treat. It’s going to be so boring.”

I feel for her, I really do. I understand not wanting to do something, and she already has school every day and chores at home. “It’s for Noah’s clinic. It’s part of my job. The job that pays for your clothes and food.”

She sniffs and looks up at me. “I miss Mom. Do you think she’s okay?”

The last I heard of our mother, she was living with an old friend in Seattle. That was eight months ago, and I haven’t been able to reach Mom or her friend since. There’s no right thing to say to Emily. “I hope so. I bet she misses you, too.”

Emily shakes her head. “Probably not. If she did, she’d be here.”

I wrap an arm around her and try to pull her in for a hug, but she shimmies free. “Addiction is a mental illness, honey. She’s not herself.”

Emily glares at me. “And what about Dad? What’s his excuse for leaving us?”

Of all of us, Sophie was closest to Dad and was hurt the most by his abandonment.

Emily still misses him, too, though. We all do, even though I also hate him for leaving us.

“If I had a way to get in touch with him, I’d ask him.

” I’m not sure that’s true, because I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

She huffs. “He wouldn’t make us go to a stupid trunk-or-treat. He always took us to do fun things.”

Emily only remembers the good times with our dad.

He was all about the fun when it suited him, but he was absent more often than not.

I get it. When I was a kid, I thought he hung the moon and all the stars.

He was just that kind of fun dad. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized he didn’t always show up for me when I needed him.

“If you help out with the trunk or treat, I’ll get you whatever book you want from the bookstore and a hot chocolate.

” Is bribing a child wrong? Probably. But it’s the best trick I’ve got to keep my sisters happy.

Her smile is instant and huge. “Awesome. Thanks, Gentry.”

She hurries off, and I finish getting ready, which involves putting on overalls, a plaid shirt, and a floppy hat.

I use face paint to draw a triangle over my nose, a few stitches on my forehead, and black lines with stitches extending from the corners of my mouth.

I also put on mascara, eye shadow and lipstick, because I still want to look pretty.

My sisters look as excited about this as they do when I drag them to the dentist twice a year. It’s going to be a very long day.

I hustle them out the door, hit unlock on the key fob for my car, and freeze in place on the porch because our yard, which was covered in a layer of leaves about a foot thick, has now not a single leaf anywhere in sight. “Emily, Soph, did you rake the lawn?”

They both have earbuds in, connected to their music or favorite podcast, respectively, and don’t hear me. I can’t think of when they might have done it.

It’s got to be my mystery person. The same person who fixed the rotten porch step last month and cleaned out my gutters the month before that.

I’ve checked with all the neighbors and none of them are fessing up. It’s a mystery I’m going to have to accept will never be solved, and it’s so frustrating, because I very much want to thank whoever’s doing it.

I try to keep up with all the little things that need doing beyond basic cleaning, but so much falls through the cracks, and I’m worried there are some things I’m missing that I don’t even know to watch out for.

The weight of the impending day-long task of raking leaves rolls off my shoulders, and I sigh in relief. There’s nothing quite like having something taken off my plate with no guilt or having to beg my sisters to help.

I hurry off the porch and into the car. The day is chilly and overcast, but it’s supposed to warm up in the next hour.

I told Noah, my boss, that eleven in the morning seemed too early for a trunk-or-treat, but our medical clinic is one of many, many locations in town offering the toddler-focused event and he thinks this is our best chance to shine.

I’m definitely going to need coffee.

***

“Hello, Lendews,” Lazy Holiday greets us cheerily as we walk into his bookstore slash coffee shop.

The place is packed, but Lazy glides through the crowd over to us, smiling at everyone he passes, as though he’s one with the flow of people. The fact that he’s over six feet tall and stick thin probably helps.

He stops in front of us, and Emily leaps forward and gives him a hug. “Hi, Mr. Lazarus.”

“Hey, Lazy,” I say. “Looks like today’s a good day for business.”

He grins as he pats Emily’s back and releases her.

“It sure is. Dani’s started offering these amazing cinnamon buns on Saturday mornings, and it’s been bringing in the big crowds.

” Lazy’s sister-in-law, Dani Holiday, not only owns the local sanctuary farm, she sells coffee and her homemade pastries at Lazy’s shop.