Home Sweet Home

Greg pulls Morgan inside the new place—boxes stacked everywhere, lightbulb still bare. She loves it, grabs his face, tongue already halfway down his throat. Greg opens the cupboards, sees nothing but dust, swears he’s gonna grab dinner. The car’s gone in seconds. Morgan’s smile drops. Not far up the road two kids wave thumbs at traffic. Greg rolls down the window, gruff as hell, asks if they’re hungry. Wes and Carrie are empty. They climb in. She’s Liz Jordan, long legs, tight tank. Wes just looks polite and a little nervous. Back at the house Morgan sizes them up like fresh meat. Dinner turns quiet, then not—Morgan slams her fork down: what exactly are they running from? Wes mumbles they’re brother and sister; that shuts her up for maybe two bites. Greg offers them a room. Morgan explodes the second they shut the door. Said tonight was for them. Greg grabs the keys again. She begs him not to leave her with strangers; he’s already gone. Wes and Carrie trade a smirk. Spouses, not siblings. Carrie slides into the living room, digs through Morgan’s purse. Morgan catches her mid-zip, yanks the girl up by the hair. Hard. Carrie’s gasp turns into a moan. Morgan feels it, laughs low. She says go ahead, yell for Wes—she’ll handle him too. Wes walks in bare-chested, sees the clutch of hair, the bulge in his shorts obvious. Morgan gives them both a slow once-over. Game on.