%%%
Owen showered quickly, then lay in bed in the dark basement. He tossed and turned on his old mattress and box-spring, but could not get comfortable. His thoughts kept returning to that fevered instant when Isabel's lips had been on his cheek, and her fingers dancing near the petals of her s*x.
It doesn't mean a damn thing, he thought. She was drunk and thinking of Reggie. She hasn't gone out with anyone since he died. Owen had tried to encourage Isabel to go out and find another husband, or at least a boyfriend, until Samara had forcibly dissuaded him from the idea. His lips twitched at the memory.
“Listen to me, dumb-ass,” Samara said, black eyes glinting with anger. “If I hear one more time that you've been pressuring Mama to find another guy, I'm going to drive all the way home
