Chapter Thirty
Jenna
I'm in my robe when he arrives, and it's not at all deliberate. I wanted to be dressed and composed, because that conversation with his mother has sent my thoughts spiralling so much that everything is clouded in doubt, even the many hours we’ve shared together over the last few days. It shouldn’t be that way, but it is.
The tides of doubt only rush in quicker, wilder when I see him.
Maybe it's the way his still damp hair is sticking up at all angles. Maybe it’s the way his chest stretches his T-shirt as he breathes hard.
Maybe it’s the way his height takes me a little by surprise as he steps close and towers above me.
Or maybe it’s the way his eyes search my face, looking for answers to silent questions.
Whatever it is, I now feel utterly torn.
“Marty.” I move to the side so he can come in, but he just steps into the space I left and wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a kiss. A kiss that moves so quickly I place my hands on his chest and push our bodies apart before I get lost in it. He stubbornly keeps his hold on my waist.
We open our mouths to speak at the same time.
“I heard what happened with-” he starts.
“Your mother,” I manage to say, before I stop because I know he will win this race.
He groans. “I'm sorry for whatever she said. I don't know exactly what she said, but I bet it wasn't... pretty, and I'm sorry.”
I sigh. Despite it all, flames of attraction, hunger, need come alive inside me when he leans back and rocks his groin into me.
“Come in and let's have that coffee,” I say. “And I need to get dressed so we don't get distracted.”
He pulls his lips into his mouth, a guilty glint in his eyes, but he releases me and follows me into the villa.
“Do you mind making it?” I nod at the kitchen. “I'll be five minutes.”
I take a little longer than that because I need a few moments to figure out how best to navigate this conversation.
I think about it as I slide on my underwear and glide moisturiser over my arms and legs.
I think about it more as I pull on a dress and brush my hair.
I think about it as I put minimal make-up on and gold hoops in my ears.
I walk out in a white floaty sundress that cups my breasts and flares out and down to mid-calf. It’s the kind of dress I would normally save for a dinner, but my vanity wants to at least have this conversation while feeling like I look good.
“Wow,” he says in response, his eyes widening when he sees me. He is sitting on the sofa and our coffees are on the low table in front of him.
I point a playful finger at him as I sit next to him. “Marty,” I warn. “I put clothes on so we can try and have a conversation without distractions, so don't distract me!”
He covers his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Well, this should do the trick,” he says. I tap his arm so he drops his hand. We smile together, and it's as much an acknowledgement of the awkward conversation we're about to have.
“So,” he leans down to take a cup and hand it to me, “milk, one sugar. I had to guess based on what you said yesterday. I hope that's okay.”
“It's perfect.” I can't help it, when I bend to get the cup in one hand, another reaches up and rakes through his hair.
“Jenna,” he warns me.
“Sorry,” I say, putting my hand over my eyes. We laugh again.
“What did she say, then?” Marty asks. “What sort of collateral damage am I looking at here?”
I pull in a deep breath. “She told me to keep my distance,” I say, watching him closely for his response.
“Well, that's a given, but why did she tell you to stay away?”
I need another hard inhale already. “She thought I didn't know about Arnie. She thought I wasn't aware how hard it had been on you,” I say.
“And?” he says, still waiting.
“I told her I did know. But then she told me about you leaving and travelling around the Balearics, and... and ending up in hospital.”
He stares straight ahead. His mouth is closed, and he rocks back and forward a few times.
“She said you drank too much, did a lot of drugs, and,” I cough because my throat suddenly feels thick, “that you also had a lot of sex.”
That makes him smile, but because he's not looking directly at me, I can't tell if it reaches his eyes.
“Well, it's all true.” He exhales so hard his chest dips down. “I can't deny it.”
There is something about his honesty that prompts the same response in me.
“I don't really care,” I say in a whisper and I really, really don't. I was only shocked to have his mother telling me these things.
“You don't?” He turns to me.
“Why should I? That's what many twenty-something-year-olds do, and they don't even do it because they've suffered the heaviest, heart-crushing loss,” I say. “I'm not surprised you wanted to run away from it all.”
He blinks, several times.
“You want to tell me how it was for you? In your words. That’s what I think I’d like to hear now,” I ask softly.
He sighs. “It was so far from being a good time.
I was broke before I even got there. After my mates left, I had to get money and find places to stay so I did shitty kitchen jobs, worked in some bars and clubs too, and slept on people's couches, and yes, in their beds.
It wasn't like I was always looking for sex with just anyone and everyone.
I actually liked many of them, I just wasn't exactly good to them.
Honestly, some people weren't very good to me either. It was messy. And yes, there was a lot of booze and drugs too.”
I nod, listening, hoping he'll keep talking after he has a sip of his coffee.
“I was a ticking timebomb. I would fuck up in one way or another every few weeks - being late to work too often, sleeping with the wrong person who stole something from me or just kicked me out, I ended up owing people money too - and that's when I would jump ship.
Literally. I would go to another town and then a few times, a different island.
If it wasn't easy to be somewhere, I moved on. And then towards the end, I just stopped working and maxed out a couple of credit cards doing whatever the fuck I wanted. Or Maeve would send me a couple of hundred Euros to keep me alive. It was as chaotic as it sounds. I can probably never go back to Ibiza, to be honest.”
“Or maybe you can just wear a really good disguise,” I say, my need to make him laugh momentarily stronger than my desire to just listen.
“I like your way of thinking. I'd look good in a wig and glasses.”
“And the scooter accident?” I say, steering him back because of course Marty would grab hold of an invitation to make a joke wherever he could find it. We really do have more in common than I first thought.
His throat moves as he swallows. “That was probably a long time coming. And yes, I was lucky to be alive after it happened. Honestly, I was glad when I came to in the hospital and they told me my parents were on their way. Even though I knew Mum would be going out of her mind, I’d never felt so relieved. Like finally, I could stop running.”
I open my mouth to ask the only question I feel I need an answer to, but I close it when Marty reaches over and places his hand on my leg.
“That was nearly six months ago. I've been sober ever since. I've been working hard to pay Maeve back, as well as the credit card debt which Ma and Dad paid off. I started seeing a grief counsellor, Jill. I’m pretty sure I’m her favourite client, you know.
And I meet up with Arnie's parents to talk about him and cry and just try and fucking work through this grief like I'm supposed to.
I live at home, because I have no choice financially, but also because I know I need to right now.
I do ninety per cent of what my parents ask me to do.
I never go out on the lash, obviously. And I hadn't touched another body,” he says and lowers his chin before looking at me, “until you.”
I shiver with those words.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. I just didn’t want you to realise how broken I was,” he says, and the way his eyes are fixed on mine is brave and determined.
“You have always been yourself, Marty.” I really do believe it. So much so I am now wondering if I can say the same about myself.
He levels a firm look at me. “And please don't think that this week is an extension of that episode, because it's not.”
“I would be lying if it hadn't crossed my mind.” I want to match his honesty with some of my own, even if I know there's still one question I would like to ask him and I suspect I'm not going to, not now I can see the relief blossom in his eyes.
Besides, my body is already melting under his touch as he turns towards me, both of his hands on my legs now, sliding them up and under my dress.
“This is different, Jenna,” he says. “So very different. I told you that yesterday, didn't I?”
“Pretty much,” I say, holding his stare. “And I believe you.”
“God, that gets me hard,” he says, and he crashes down on me as if to prove his point, forcing me back against the arm of the sofa.
“What does?” I ask as he hovers above me.
“You just believing me. You trusting me,” he says.
“I thought it was my body?” I say as I push my breasts against him and give him my neck to kiss.
“Oh, yes, that too, but when you've spent months having to constantly prove yourself, it's just so good to be believed, to be seen, just as I am,” he says.
“I believe you, Marty, and I see you,” I say, my voice low. “And I like what I see.”
He grunts as he thrusts up against me, through our clothes. I feel a new dampness in my underwear.
“Good,” he says, then he stills. “Because I'm about to ask you for a very big favour.”
I pull back. “What is it?”
“Will you join me and my family for dinner tonight?”
My teeth clench together as my eyes roam his face, looking for the joke. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.” His dimples pop in a smile as he looks at my lips briefly.
“But your mother...”
“She will behave,” he says and then he dives back into my neck, one of his hands burrowing further under my dress to cup my pussy. I gasp at the delicious pressure. “But I may not.”
“Oh, Marty, you are such a fucker,” I say. “I'm not sure it's a good idea... I don't want to gatecrash and-”
“You’d be guest of honour,” he says, and the heel of his hand makes slow circles against me. “Come on, it's my birthday.”
“Shit.” I close my eyes and roll my head back. “I didn't even say happy birthday to you yet.”
“You can say it after I make you come.” He slides his hand into the top of my underwear and starts to pull them down.
“Seeing as it's your birthday, I would like to make you come,” I say but my hands are lifting my dress, giving him more room.
“It's my birthday so I decide who comes first.” He slides down, his knees on the floor, as my underwear is discarded and he positions his face between my legs, his mouth inches above me. “Besides, I haven't had any birthday cake yet.”
“I'm not your birthday cake,” I say wriggling as I feel him blow on me once, twice.
“Jenna,” he says, serious. “That's exactly what you are. You're the best birthday cake I've ever had.”
When he dips down and licks me open, I sigh and let my legs fall further apart.
“Marty,” I say, my hand finding his head as he kisses all around my inner thighs.
“So will you come?” he asks before he laps at my clit once, twice.
“Well, yes, soon enough if you keep doing that.” I put the knuckle of my finger in my mouth and bite into it.
“I mean tonight,” he says and looks up at me, even though his tongue is on me, slowly stroking me back and forward. “Will you come to dinner tonight with me and my family? For my birthday?”
“Fuck, yes,” I say when he sucks on my clit so hard my belly quivers. I press his head closer to me as my hips rock up into his mouth. “Whatever. Yes, fuck. Just keeping doing that.”
He does. And as he does, he looks up at me and I look down at him and we stay like that until my body explodes in his mouth.