He Sold Me to His Buddies

My husband invited his best friend over for drinks.

Three rounds in, they both peeled off their shirts, revealing sun-kissed, sculpted muscles.

A feverish heat washed over me. Without even realizing it, my hand began to drift lower.

Lost in a daze, my soft, breathy moans started to escape, cutting through the quiet of the room.

His friend turned and shot me a sly, knowing grin.

"Need a hand there, sweetheart?"

Before I could even stammer a reply, he swept me right off my feet and tossed me onto the bed.

Just then, another man—tall and rugged—appeared in the doorway.

My husband waved him in. The stranger stepped into the bedroom, ripped off his own shirt, and flashed a devilish smile.

"Don't forget about me, sweetheart…"

…

My name is Vivian Anderson. I'm thirty years old, and around here, everyone knows me as the widow.

I'm known for my fair skin, my looks, my curves—and for losing my husband on our wedding night.

For eight long years, I've been alone.

I never looked at another man. Not because I didn't want to, but let's be honest—the pickings in this village were beyond slim.

Then one day, Luke Roscente came back to town.

Luke stepped out of his sedan wearing sunglasses, a leather briefcase under his arm, looking like he'd just walked off a movie set.

And believe it or not, the first thing he did after coming back was show up at my door and ask me to marry him.

It felt like my life had finally thawed out.

Luke had always been poor—that's why he never married before. But word around town was he'd made it big managing construction sites in the city.

A widow and a lifelong bachelor. Seemed like a perfect match.

And Luke wasn't just easy on the eyes—he was strong, successful, and head over heels for me.

Before I knew it, I was swept right off my feet.

But it turned out Luke had picked up some… unusual tastes during his time away. Not long after we got together, he brought a friend home.

One night, Luke lit a cigarette and got real serious with me.

"Sweetheart, my buddy Zachary… he's always been a lone wolf. Too decent for his own good. Never even been with a woman."

"What are you trying to say?" I murmured, curled against his chest, my voice soft but guarded.

He took a slow drag and let the smoke curl out.

"Nothing, really. Zach's like a brother to me. We share everything."

I knew exactly what he was hinting at—that I should "entertain" Zachary Lowell.

I shoved away from him, furious.

"What are you implying? I'm your wife, not some toy to be shared!"

Seeing how mad I was, Luke quickly backpedaled, trying to calm me down.

"Baby, I just worry I'm not enough for you. And Zach's a good man. You'll like him once you meet him."

I went to bed that night still grumbling under my breath.

The next day, true to his word, Luke brought Zachary home.

And I'll admit it—Zachary was something else.

Luke was solid, but Zachary? He stood in my doorway like a six-foot-tall wall of muscle, blocking out the sun.

Luke was practically giddy, humming as he headed to the kitchen to cook.

That night turned out to be one I'd never forget…

After a fancy home-cooked meal, Luke pulled out a bottle of top-shelf liquor from his suitcase.

"The good stuff—cost me a fortune! Come on, let's live a little."

The village nights were cool, but the liquor burned hot. A widow and two bachelors drinking together—you could cut the tension with a knife.

"You mind if I take this off, sweetheart?" Zachary asked, sweat beading on his forehead.

I nodded, and he tugged his shirt off, revealing tan, defined abs.