Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hallie
I might’ve technically been in Vegas for Erica and Julian, but I never would’ve known it. My brain is one hundred percent committed to thinking about Marcus, the way he touched me, and how I never wanted it to stop. As far as I’m concerned, I’m straight-up losing my mind.
The other two bridesmaids—Katie, Erica’s best friend from high school, and Rhianna, one of her ex-work colleagues—thankfully know each other. They’ve met a few times before, and I’m beyond grateful, as all the orgasm-induced dopamine is making my brain soft. I’d tried my best to be present during our spa day today, but I found myself relieved when it was time for my personal massage. It’d given me a solid hour where I could flip between daydreaming about last night and panicking about the days to come, about what it was going to be like to see Marcus again tonight.
Arriving at the restaurant first, we’re led over to a long, dark wood table set for eight. Erica and I take seats directly across from one another, each of us left with a spare seat beside us. Doing my best to tempt fate, I place my small rainbow-embroidered clutch on the chair beside me.
The waitress is only just pouring water into our glasses when Julian’s groomsmen, Graham and Matt, greet Erica, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder squeeze before moving to take seats across from Katie and Rhianna. I don’t have to wait long before a warm hand comes down on the back of my chair, a thumb stroking over the exposed skin of my upper back so quickly that I could’ve imagined it.
In the next moment, Marcus is looking down at me, a single brow raised.
“Hey, Hallie,” he says with a small smile. “You mind if I sit here?”
The words are the same ones he asked me just a few short weeks ago, and while my body still might be emitting a low-level hum in response to him, it’s no longer volatile. For all that we still have to work out between us, I want him next to me. I truly do.
“Not at all,” I reply, shooting him a heated look before reaching for my water.
Once again, he’s wearing a button-down shirt, the rolled-up sleeves exposing thick forearms, which only drags my attention to his hands. Hands I would very much like on me. Tonight, however, his shirt is a blue so light, in a linen so fine, it’s almost transparent.
I briefly consider the glass of water in my hands. What would happen if it accidentally slipped? Surely, the wet, transparent fabric would cling to him in all the best ways.
Marcus pulls out the chair beside me. When he notices my bag in his seat, a small flash of amusement lightens his features. But instead of giving it back to me or placing it on the floor, he simply holds the bright clutch while he sits, then puts it back down to rest on his lap beneath the table. It’s sweet and unexpected.
Leaning in close, he whispers in my ear, “I’m beginning to think you’re just saving seats for me now.” The rough tenor of his voice sends a pleasurable shiver along my skin. But it’s the truth of his words that causes my cheeks to heat. And the flush must be obvious as a quick grin finds his lips before he settles back in his chair.
Jules is the last to arrive, taking the seat directly across from Marcus, and I know I’m not imagining things when I see his eyes flick down to where our arms touch. The slight lift of his brows is the only way I know he’s caught the contact, but he doesn’t look my way, doesn’t acknowledge it at all. Regardless, my heart rate picks up a little, and I fight the urge to pull away.
Marcus, on the other hand, is completely unbothered, not even attempting to maintain any personal space. His large thigh instantly finds me beneath the table, and his shoulder brushes against mine with each minor movement. The contact puts me at ease, and no matter what’s set to happen next, I’m at least able to concentrate on the company before us.
Unlike our first dinner together, this is an easy task. For a start, everyone at the table knows their purpose here, drinks flow, and whoever made the decision to order such a large selection of appetizers is now my favorite person.
Rhianna leans across the table to refill my wineglass, dark brown skin glowing against the coral of her strapless jumpsuit. Discreetly, she rolls her eyes to where Katie and Matt are in some type of heated debate over—I listen closer—Angel or Spike? Not what I was expecting, and not that I’m looking to get involved, but I know where I stand on this particular debate: Spike is the only option.
“Where do you head after this weekend?” I ask Rhianna as she sits again.
“I have a pre-wedding shoot in Seattle before I head back home for their wedding,” she replies, brushing long, dark curls over her shoulder as she tilts her head toward Jules and Erica.
I know the life of a traveling photographer probably isn’t as glamorous as it looks, but from the outside, it sure does seem like it. I might’ve moved far away, but the traveling I do is far from glamorous. Last-minute budget flights, carry-on-only tickets, and hotels booked on arrival. Whatever it took to get to as many destinations as possible. “Is it an actual engagement shoot or just a trial?”
“An engagement shoot. They want the whole package. Every memory possible.” Her response is given with a bright smile, and I can see how she’s so good at her job, how she’d successfully put people at ease on such a demanding day.
Erica had mentioned before leaving for Vegas that when she’d asked Rhianna to be a bridesmaid, she’d generously offered up her photography skills, but she’d declined. She wanted her friend to be able to enjoy the day, not work it. To be fair, being a bridesmaid is probably job enough, especially considering that I, as the maid of honor, only have half a brain in the game.
“When do you head back?” she asks me. And it’s the million-dollar question.
I feel Marcus still beside me. We haven’t spoken yet about my immediate plans—about my decision to sell the house but not to leave straight away. About my decision to test Erica’s theory about standing still.
“I haven’t confirmed my flight out yet,” I answer with forced lightness. “There are still some things I need to take care of here.”
“Well, I’m sure your family has enjoyed having you home,” Rhianna replies easily.
My wince is internal, my smile well practiced, but before I can give a slight nod, Erica jumps in. “We’re glad to have had her here. To be honest, I wish she’d stay.”
Julian throws an arm around Erica’s shoulders. “What my lovely fiancée means to say is that she wants Hallie to be wherever makes her happy.”
Not for the first time this evening, I notice Marcus remains remarkably quiet next to me; I haven’t even received a single dirty text. Even stranger is that he and Julian have barely said a word to one another, which wouldn’t be unusual except that he’s barely said a word to anyone. Not that I would’ve expected him to weigh in on this topic, although from the small look Erica throws at him, I’m guessing she did.
“Speaking of which,” Erica starts, “have you heard anything else from Gwen about the house?”
I laugh. “I appreciate your false enthusiasm, but it’s a Sunday evening. I’m not set to hear anything until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“And what about Cade? Is he happy to still hold your apartment for you?” she asks, and for the first time tonight, I notice a change in body language from the man beside me.
“Yeah, he is,” I respond, my answer coming off short. I’m used to keeping my life private, but in this case, I’m wanting the chance to speak with Marcus without the wedding hanging over us before I bring my life plans to a public forum.
“Does it need any work?” Julian wants to know next.
“A bit,” I demur again, hoping the topic will be dropped.
I don’t want to get into a discussion about the plans I’d had to make the small skylight in the bedroom much larger. As a listed building, it’s likely to cost me a whole lot of cash to get it done. Cash that would come from the sale of my gran’s house to create a space where I could lie in bed and look at the stars. If that’s even what I decided to do.
“I’m sure Marcus would be happy to fly over and help with anything you need,” Julian responds.
The words themselves are a compliment, but Julian’s tone is heavy. As I look between the brothers, I can feel a difference there. It’s not animosity, but it’s something.
Discreetly, I slide my hand onto Marcus’s thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. I leave it there, but the fingers I’d expected to thread through mine don’t appear.
“I’ll take your word for it since your house isn’t terrible to look at,” I add in an attempt to lighten the mood, and thankfully, it works. Erica picks up the conversation and carries us forward in a safer, more wedding-appropriate direction.
Even with everyone’s attention diverted, Marcus doesn’t give any indication of wanting my hand on him. His thigh might still be pressed firmly against mine, but the lack of response to my hand has nervous insecurity crawling over my skin. I stick it out for as long as I can, knowing the gesture wasn’t made for my own sake, but after a few minutes of my action going unrecognized, I pull my hand back, fingers clenching in my lap. I breathe slowly and then stop altogether when Marcus stands and heads away from the table.
My phone vibrates where I have it on my chair, just beneath my thigh, and I check it discreetly.
Marcus: I didn’t want you to move your hand.
Hallie: You sure about that?
Marcus: Positive.
Hallie: Prove it.
Marcus: I plan to, over and over again.
Hallie: Presumptuous much?
Marcus: A man can only hope.
Hallie: You know what they say about hope, it breeds eternal misery.
Marcus: Funnily enough, misery isn’t what I find between your thighs.
Hallie: No. It’s what I find when I’m in your company.
Marcus: I’m going to make you pay for that.
Hallie: Promise?
Marcus: Promise
I don’t reply again, and Marcus returns to his seat, his thigh pressing against mine once more. When I slip my hand under the table, I find his palm already there, waiting, his fingers interlacing with my own on the leg of his pants. And for now, it’s enough.
I’m like a thief in the night as I make my way into my hotel, to a room that isn’t mine, trying to look inconspicuous as my heels click on the marble floors beneath me. I’m fully aware this is Vegas and the staff are hardly interested in the comings and goings of a singular woman, yet I can’t help but be on edge, as if someone is going to call, “Hey, you, with the sex intentions! Where do you think you’re going?”
Obviously, there’s no such interest shown in my presence.
I ride up to the room alone, encapsulated in the mirror-lined box. I get close to my reflection, check my makeup, and nervously take my hair from where it’s down around my shoulders and twist it up into a loose bun on my head. It’s a nervous giveaway, but I can’t have my hair touching my face and brushing my shoulders right now. It only puts me more on edge. It does, however, look good with my nude strappy heels and baby pink, long-sleeved minidress. It’s a modern take on a 1970s style I’d bought from Andrea, and it’s more feminine than what I normally wear. But I’m not hating the softer colors or the softer look.
The elevator doors slide open, and I make my way through the quiet halls, my shoes no longer making a single sound on the carpeted floors. Ironically, it’s the cushion of the carpet that gives me the first feeling of unsteadiness, as if the ground beneath me is no longer as solid as expected.
Room key in hand, I send a quick text to Marcus, letting him know I’m here. I walk for moments that seem like years, plagued by an incessant fluttering in my stomach. I smile at nothing and no one, unable to remember how long it’s been since I’ve felt this way, perched right on the edge between good nerves and bad nerves.
Instead of the text reply I was expecting, the room door opens, and the butterflies residing within me beat their wings double time. In front of me stands Marcus, bare-chested and fresh from the shower. His hair is wet, slicked back, with droplets of water present on his skin, begging to be licked. I grant myself permission to glance down since, really, it’d be cruel not to, and while he isn’t wearing a towel, I’m not disappointed by his low-slung sweatpants.
Marcus raises a brow at my obvious perusal of his body, but neither of us says a word as he opens the door, inviting me in. I feel a little silly dressed in the outfit that I went out in earlier, but I don’t even have time to slip off my shoes before he takes me by the hand, pulling me inside.
Excited as I am to be here and as giddy as I felt waiting at the door only moments ago, I’m once again reminded of the unsteadiness of my walk in the hallway, of how unusually quiet Marcus has been tonight. I push the feeling down and bring my attention back to the current moment and to the man I’ve been crushing on for longer than I care to admit. The bedroom door clicks shut, and then his body is next to mine, his thumb brushing my lower lip.
“Hi.”
I smile because there really isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be, and I hope he can see it in my eyes. I might not be ready to say the words, but I have no choice in how I feel them. “Hi.”
“Have you had a good night?” he whispers, walking me backward toward the bed.
“Yeah, Erica had a great time,” I respond just as quietly.
Marcus pauses in his movements, holding my body still with his. “No, I asked if you had a good time.”
I laugh, keeping the sound small. “I had a good night. I should be more embarrassed to tell you that I spent more time than necessary looking at my phone.”
“Oh yeah? Were you waiting for an important call?”
“A hot date, actually.”
“Huh. Did he end up calling?”
“Nah, I got your text first.”
His eyes glint. “Naughty.”
He gently pushes me down so that I’m sitting on the end of the bed. I expect he’ll make a move to kiss me, to touch me, and I’m prepared for it, but he surprises me. Instead of leaning in closer, Marcus makes his way to his knees and removes one high-heeled shoe at a time from my aching feet. He presses firmly into the sole of each foot with his thumbs before stroking softly over each ankle. An act of reverence.
Marcus stands, his strong arms helping to lift me up and away from the bed. He brings his lips down to meet mine, and no matter the nervousness I feel, having our lips touch is something I want. I raise myself up to the tips of my toes to bring myself closer. Each time I kiss him, it shocks me to find that he still feels the same. As if muscle memory has ensured that even after all these years, my body still recognizes him as the right fit for me.
The only sound in the room is our breathing, and even it fades to nothing as we kiss.
“I spent a lot of time looking at my phone tonight too,” Marcus says, releasing this secret into my keeping, once again bridging the gap between us.
I don’t know why this is what tips my anxious butterflies into the realm of unease. But suddenly, it’s all a little much—the way I feel—a little too real. The invisible boundary we’d drawn up between us is gone, and without it, I’ve got an unhealthy dose of fear. Fear of change but mostly fear of being hurt again.
I start to detach, to no longer appreciate the adoration in his touch. I know all I need to do is say stop or step back. Instead, I freeze.
Marcus moves down my body as I try to bring myself back to a place of enjoyment, to a place of want. But with the smallest, tiniest brush of his thumb against my inner thigh, I no longer feel okay. And the fears in my mind take hold and get loud.
I wanted this only moments ago.
He hasn’t been anything but sweet.
He would never hurt me.
What if this is all he wants from me?
What if he decides he doesn’t want me again?
What if it’s like before?
I don’t want it to be awkward.
I have nothing to be embarrassed about.
I wanted this just moments ago.
I don’t want this right now.
Finally, I snap myself out of my internal spiral, and taking both of my hands, I place them on his shoulders. His heat beneath my palms has me feeling guilty for what I’m going to say next, but I know that while my heart is racing, it’s no longer from excitement.
“I…” I don’t want to say this the wrong way, even though I know there’s no wrong way to say it. There’s no reason for guilt. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”
Marcus goes from turned on to attentive in moments. Moving back immediately, he stays kneeling, and I’m not sure if it’s to give me some physical space or so that he can get a better vantage point when looking at me. Either way, I appreciate it. I can breathe. Can feel the carpet back beneath my feet, soft and plush and steadier with each breath.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Because why wouldn’t he ask that?
“I’m okay. I just. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”
“That’s okay.” His voice is calm, and my heart and my mind are in a staring match, one wanting to blame the other, with neither at fault. “Did I do anything to make you uncomfortable?”
“No, you didn’t do anything.” I know that I don’t actually need to explain myself any further. But while I might want to be appreciated and respected enough to change my mind in this situation, I also want Marcus to know what’s going on. Even if it turns out he’s only a vacation booty call, I can be honest about this.
“Us having sex? It’s been great, but last night…was a lot. You and I, we come with baggage, and up until this point, I’ve been okay,” I explain and then shake my head. “But I think—I think I need to slow down for a second.”
Marcus maintains eye contact as I speak, waiting patiently until he’s sure I’m finished. “Hal, you’re allowed to change your mind, and not just about wanting to have sex.”
“No,” I say, reclaiming the inch of space he’d given up so he could stand. “That isn’t what I mean at all. I wanted to come here tonight, I want to be here now, but my body and mind started to have a bit of a freak-out.”
“Okay.” He takes me at my word, nodding gently before moving over to his bag and pulling out what looks like two T-shirts. “Do you still want to stay for a while?”
“Yeah,” I reply softly. I kind of want to stay more than ever. “I didn’t think to bring any clothes or anything.”
He throws his T-shirt at me, and I fumble as I catch it. “I’ve got you covered.”
My heart squeezes, and I smile gratefully, heading to the bathroom to slip off my dress and replace it with his overly large T-shirt. I lift the fabric to my nose, inhaling his scent before I leave the bathroom. I want to bottle it, to spray it on my pillow before I go to sleep each night, and keep it on my person at all times. It’d be like pressing my nose into the crook of his neck whenever I wanted.
Climbing up onto the bed, I feel young and inept in Marcus’s clothes after telling him I didn’t want to have sex tonight. My logical mind knows it’s a nonissue, but the feelings are there. Thankfully, a rolled-up pair of black socks hitting my shoulder breaks me from my inane thoughts, and I look at him in confusion.
“You hate having cold feet.”
It’s the most insignificant of statements, and yet my worries fade and my heart melts.
I’d gone so far from home to fall in love with life that it was only to be expected that upon returning home to the life I’d always known, I’d fall in love with him.
Again.
The recognition is like whiplash as it strikes through me, but the dread I’d assumed would accompany it doesn’t show up. Instead, the knowledge settles within me.
It settles me .