Chapter 20 Lucy
Lucy
“Well.” I stare at the massive bed positioned in the middle of the room. Of course the upgrade would include only one bed. “That checks out.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Marsh says almost immediately.
“What!” I spin to face him. “That’s crazy. I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m smaller.”
“Absolutely not,” he balks. “I will. I promise, it’s fine.”
“No, then let’s just go back downstairs and ask for the original room.”
“Lucy, you want the suite.”
“I know I do,” I whine. The room is huge and now that we’re inside, I don’t want to give it up.
I shift to the other leg and eye the bed in front of us.
“I mean…a king bed is ginormous! We can share it, right?” I stand at the foot and open my arms out beside me, measuring the width. “We’d be eons away from each other.”
Marsh stays still. I can practically see the wheels spinning inside his head. “Right,” he finally says. “We can share it. It’ll be fine.”
“Great,” I breathe.
We awkwardly stare at the bed for a few more seconds until Marsh coughs and places our belongings off to the side.
Meanwhile, I’m instantly drawn to the private deck.
The view of San Francisco in the distance is hypnotizing.
It’s so blissfully quiet, it feels like we’re practically floating in the middle of the water.
Work has been so busy lately I don’t remember the last time I even went on vacation, let alone stayed in a room like this.
It’s painfully romantic, and the only thing missing is a bottle of wine and chocolate strawberries.
I feel Marsh come up behind me. Even without contact, his body feels like a warm blanket. When turning, I admire how the moonlight casts on half of his face. It’s an honest representation of how I see him—a bright light in his soul, but at the same time, sadness.
I so badly want his whole face to shine.
Our eye contact breaks, and I look out to the Golden Gate Bridge. “I’m thinking showers and then we find a bad movie on TV?”
“I would like nothing more.” Marsh settles himself on the lounge chair beside us. His eyes are already closed as he takes in the smell of the salt water and cool breeze. “You go first.”
I collect my belongings and head to the bathroom.
I wait until the water becomes so blissfully hot, the mirrors are completely steamed.
When I step into the marble space, I position myself directly underneath the showerhead, allowing the water to cover every inch of me, before lathering with lavender body wash.
I’m still in shock over how Marsh’s last relationship ended, although I’m not entirely surprised. You can be in a committed relationship for nine and a half years or married with a child and the reality is that nothing can guarantee love. You fall out of love or people fall out of love with you.
When I get out of the shower, I’m thoroughly relaxed and ready to climb into bed. Putting on one of the complimentary robes, I walk out of the bathroom with my damp hair to find Marsh fast asleep on the chair where I left him. He looks so peaceful, I almost don’t want to wake him.
“Marsh,” I whisper. I step behind him and slowly move both my hands across his broad shoulders to his chest. “Marshaaall.”
“Mmm.” He takes my hand, slowly intertwining our fingers.
“Go take a shower so you can sleep,” I say softly into his ear.
“Mmm, I’m up.” He opens his eyes, and my bare face is the first thing he sees. “You look nice.”
I think it’s the first time I’ve ever had a post-shower face in front of a man. “Come on.” I pull him up.
He puts his arms above his head and stretches. I see a peek of skin with a graze of hair above the waist of his pants. Slowly, he makes his way into the bathroom while I turn on the electric fireplace and listen to the crackling embers.
I should’ve opted for a matching set of pajamas that feel a little more intentional. Instead, I pull out boxer shorts and an oversize Aerosmith T-shirt. I take my towel and make one last attempt at getting my hair as dry as possible and then nestle underneath the covers.
I manage to doze off for fifteen minutes or so, because when I sense Marsh shuffling around the room, my internal battery is instantly recharged.
But when I open my eyes, I audibly gasp.
“What?!” Marsh turns to me, his shirt in hand…and not on his body.
He has a pair of gray sweatpants sitting awfully low on his hips and his signature glasses back on. His hair is damp and pushed out of his face, dripping onto his broad shoulders and trailing down his defined abs.
“Since when do you look like that?!” I say, only partially regretting how it comes out.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a champion swimmer or I don’t know, Superman.”
Marsh’s hand goes to the back of his neck, and his pec literally twitches.
It feels almost offensive. I knew he was fit.
I felt it in his chest, his biceps. I got a preview when we were boxing, when we were dancing.
But seeing him shirtless, I fear it’s something I can’t unsee. Something I don’t want to unsee.
He doesn’t answer me, only puts on his white T-shirt and just looks at the bed.
“That’s your side,” I say, pointing to the opposite side from me.
“Yeah,” he says.
I’m not really sure how to do this. There’s never been a scenario where I’m in a hotel room with a guy I’m attracted to and can’t have sex with him. I’m so mindful of every breath I’m taking, how much skin is showing, and how good Marsh looks in a pair of sweatpants.
He slips underneath the covers on his back, staring at the ceiling.
There’s a subtle dip in the mattress where his weight presses, and I notice the rise and fall of his chest become shallower by the second.
I’m almost positive neither of us is breathing.
The way I’m so painfully aware of every twitch or sound within these walls is concerning.
I cannot think of anything other than how much—or how little—space there is between us.
“Hey,” I breathe out, and Marsh turns to look at me.
“Hey.”
“This is fine, right?” I say softly. “We have enough distance.”
“I’m fine with it if you’re fine with it,” Marsh forces out like he’s actually the complete opposite of fine.
“What if I wasn’t fine with it?”
“Then I would sleep on the couch.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean…what if I wasn’t fine with the space between us? What if I don’t want space between us?”
“Lucy,” Marsh huffs. “You can’t say stuff like that when we’re in the same bed together.”
“Why not?” I ask, genuinely needing to know the answer. Not understanding why we’re pretending we don’t want each other anymore.
We crossed an undeniable line today. I don’t see Marsh as a guy I work with helping me for a story…
He’s Marsh. The person who I told about my parents.
The person whose family I just spent an entire day with.
The person who let me in and revealed insecurities he can’t even share with the people he’s closest to.
“Because”—he shoots out of bed and up to his feet, pacing back and forth—“I’m not strong enough.”
“Hey.” I sit up and crawl over to the edge of the bed where he’s standing. “Marsh,” I say desperately, and his gaze finally meets mine.
“I’m not strong enough for this.” He lets out a huff. “I need to get another room.”
“Can you come here, please,” I say.
“Lucy—”
“Please.”
Marsh slowly walks toward me, and I have to get on my knees to meet his level. I hold my hand out and he takes it. There’s that heat again deep in my belly, an ember that catches only whenever Marsh touches me.
“Do you want me?” I ask.
Marsh’s mouth twists, our eyes glue to each other, and he looks more upset than I’ve ever seen him.
“What kind of a question is that?” he asks. “Of course I want you, Lucy. I wanted you the minute I saw you. I want you every single fucking second of every single fucking day.”
“Then have me,” I say.
The muscles in his jaw leap, and his voice becomes low. “We can’t.”
“Tell me why.” I put my hands on his chest.
A good reason would be our careers. How closing the space between us puts both of our jobs on the line if anyone were to find out.
But right now, that doesn’t feel important.
The consequences don’t feel real. As each minute went by today another layer was peeled on both our ends.
Marsh is a giant safety net that I want to fall into because I know he’ll catch me.
“I…” Marsh’s sighs become heavier, more frustrated. “I swear I can’t think of a single good reason right now.”
“Good,” I say. “Neither can I.”
I take his hands and put them on my waist. Suddenly it feels like my entire body is in his grip. I want Marsh. I want him with every part of me, and I don’t believe in denying yourself something that you want.
He looks at me, his eyes dark, inky. “I don’t want to take advantage of our arrange—”
“I’m a big girl,” I say. “I know what taking advantage looks like, and trust me, this isn’t it.” I massage my fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure that I wanted to have sex with someone.”
Marsh’s chest rises and he moves his hands around my body. Exploring my shoulders, arms, and waist like he doesn’t know where to start. His eyes are fierce and hungry. The ember in me catches. The heat starts to spread deep in every crevice of my body.
“I’ve been thinking about that night at the club,” I admit.
“Yeah?”
“And how you kissed me here.” I tilt my head to the side, exposing my neck.
He doesn’t do anything at first, only stares at that bare patch of skin I’m offering. I squirm, getting so close to begging him to do something. Finally, he leans down and gently presses both lips to my neck. A slight moan escapes me. He kisses again a little higher.
“How’s that?” he asks so softly that I’m able to hear him only because of how close he is.
“Mmm” is all I can manage to say.
“What about…here?” He kisses my earlobe and then swipes his tongue at the most sensitive part behind my ear.