The day I went with my soon-to-be stepmother to pick up her son from rehab was the day my entire life changed. Luke wasn't an alcoholic. He wasn't a junkie.
He was a former sex addict who was coming to stay with us for a few months while he got back on his feet.
He looked like a rock star. Tattoos, piercings, ripped muscles, and an 'I-don't-give-a-crap' sense of style. He was gorgeous.
He might have broken his addiction in rehab, but the intensity of his gaze told me otherwise. He looked at me like he was on death row and I was his personal choice of a last meal.
I wanted him "badly." Badly enough to set up a devious plan to reawaken his hunger.
The plan worked, but not without consequences.