Chapter Twenty
Desperate for someone who doesn’t say encore .
Ceres
“Sometimes, it’s hard to be vulnerable and to take accountability for the part we played in a conflict we don’t believe we’re at fault for, but when people get hurt, they can’t always see our intentions.
If you still want the relationship, it’s up to you to try and mend it, and to apologize, and to express that you don’t always have all the answers where it concerns knowing how to communicate your love.
Because that’s what matters. It’s not about right or wrong or blame.
It’s about love. Even if things go horribly, personally I’d never regret trying to tell someone that I love them. ”
The woman in front of me—who’s been estranged from her daughter since a falling out several years ago—sniffles, and nods, and hugs me . As though I gave any indication I wanted to be touched.
Or. Like. Hear anything about how her daughter hasn’t called her for years.
“You’re right,” she whispers. “I love her. I don’t want to lose her. And I can take the first step, even if she won’t.” Teary-eyed, she pulls back and offers me a fragile smile.
I return the expression. “Love meets others where they’re at. Regardless of the outcome, choose the kind thing. It’ll mean something.”
The woman wipes her eyes with her forefingers and battles to compose herself. “Thank you.” She blows out a breath. “Gracious. Where were we before I got all emotional?”
Where indeed… “I was hoping that you’d be willing to set up a stall at the Flag Day festival I’m helping coordinate with my benefactor.
” I offer her a handy-dandy pamphlet I put together.
“Shops all over Bandera will be represented. It’s taking place at the fairgrounds on June 14th, and everything you need to know is compiled on the website listed here or accessible via QR code here.
” I point and point, a true professional at work.
“Flag Day…?” she murmurs.
“Most romantic holiday of the year,” I say, with an amount of flittery confidence, which broaches no question. “It’ll be an excellent marketing and networking opportunity. Food, rides, live entertainment. Also, there will be an opportunity to sponsor a bikeathon for charity.”
“My. That sounds lovely.” She meets my eyes. “Consider us on board.”
It takes everything in me not to trudge from the establishment’s doors out toward Mars, who’s leaning against his Honda Civic, ankles crossed, cards in hand. He catches sight of me and stops shuffling. “Did things go well?”
I heave a breath. “The fact you drive a Honda Civic is ruining my life.”
Above his nonplussed smile, his brows lurch.
“You need a sports car, a motorcycle. You already have the leather jacket. Please, can’t you commit to the bad boy archetype a little more faithfully?”
“I assure you, madam, I commit to it quite faithfully.”
“Honda. Civic,” I remind him, because it seems he’s forgotten that he owns probably the least bad car in the entire universe.
Explaining nothing, he says, “I always drink milk with my carrot cake. And Jove and I? We call each other babe. Frequently, even.”
I stare at a man, who has perhaps listed two of the least bad-boy things I have ever heard, and assess my life choices. Conclusively, I decide it does not matter. “I’m exhausted. I think I’ll go home and sleep for the next sixteen hours.”
“Pity. I was planning to take you out tonight.”
“There are few things I hate more than what you just said. My stomach hurts, and I never want to talk to another person again. It took me several days to build up the nerve to go in there by myself after you told me you couldn’t show your face to that lady.
The last thing I want to do is go somewhere else .
” A shaking breath fills me, and I think I’m still carrying the residue of that woman’s emotions, because my eyes tear up.
“Take me home . Now. Pin me to something. Kiss me until my brain turns into soup. Please.”
He accordions his cards, then drops them in his pocket. “Let’s hear that one more time…” he murmurs.
“ Please ,” I whisper.
Pushing off his car, Mars catches my chin and kisses my nose. “I’m proud of you.”
My knotted stomach flutters, which doesn’t really help the nausea, but it does do things to my chest.
“You’re doing such a good job.” He catches a lone tear when it breaks free after I blink.
“It must be torture, talking to all these strangers…but I love the way it breaks you…and sends you begging back to me.” His lips spread, slowly curling.
“If only I had mercy to spare you from the suffering. If only it weren’t so… fun .”
Heat floods, unwinding knots, and I dissolve into Mars’s arms.
He holds me, running his fingers through my hair. Soothing, he murmurs, “What do you say when someone compliments you?”
I sniffle. “Thank you.”
“Good girl.” His lips graze the crown of my head. “I really do appreciate you, Ceres.”
“Don’t ruin this, villain.”
His laugh dances against my scalp. “Sorry. Toxic. I forgot. Come on. Let’s go before Mrs. Beverly realizes she’s been conned into helping out a Rogue.” He opens the passenger side door for me, then slips around the hood to reach the driver side.
After getting settled, I ask, “What happened between you two?”
“Would you believe that she’s an old flame?” He pulls on his seatbelt.
“No.”
“Darn. Well. Let’s just say the woman recently lost a shed because she made a mistake that negatively impacted me last carrot season. Jove doesn’t have patience for that sort of thing.”
I watch him as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Yes, little goddess?” he prompts.
“Carrot season.”
His lips tug up in one corner. “I have a carrot garden.”
He cannot be serious.
“I can feel your judgement. Would you care to elaborate on it?”
As a matter of fact, I would. “Most girls worry that their men will cheat on them with other women. I fear I’m competing against your uncanny love of carrot cake.”
“Uncanny? Carrot cake is delicious.”
Considering I’ve had more carrot cake in the past few weeks than I have had in my life, I can’t even argue. It is delicious. A worthy adversary. “I need a poster labeled ‘love triangle,’ but it’s just a top-down slice of carrot cake.”
Mars laughs. “It wouldn’t match your present decor.”
“Then you need it.”
“It wouldn’t match mine either, regrettably.”
“What is yours?”
Silence.
I wait, patiently, tangling my fingers up in my skirt. Finally, I say, “Playboy calendars? Mars. I’m appalled.”
He blows out a breath. “It’s nothing half that exciting. Wanna see?”
“Are you inviting me into your bedroom? What if I bump into your brother’s broad, broad shoulders on my way and never make it there?”
“Jove’s not home right now. He’s busy wooing another woman, who has no appreciation for his hulking size.”
I smooth wrinkles and stick my nose in the air. “Can’t relate.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
“Of course I want to see your bedroom, Mars. I’m hopeful seeing me in your room will be enough to seduce you out of whatever plans you had for us this evening. Then, maybe, we can just cuddle. In your bed. And you can tell me a story.”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a storyteller.”
“Are you also not much of a cuddler?”
“Not…usually.”
“Are we usual?”
His gaze flicks toward me, then back to the road as a light in the distance turns green. “No.”
I’m not sure what I expected. For a moment, I even entertained the idea that Mars’s room would be wallpapered in candid photos of me. He seems the type. I wouldn’t have minded that. Not to say that I mind this either, though.
“Wow.” I drift into the center of a bedroom completely wallpapered in black-and-white joker cards.
The chilling clown pictures surround me, wide smiles grinning.
Across from a pristine desk with three giant monitors, a bookcase bursting with packs of cards sits, and I guess I know where the jokers came from…
Everything is black and white, more black than white, and I…
I face Mars leaning against his doorjamb, hands in his pockets, tentative caution in his gaze. I say, “This is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His eyes widen.
“This place is beautiful. You actually keep it clean.” I stride to his computer set up. “You game?”
“Ah…uh…no. That’s for work.”
“Work. I did think you either dealt drugs or worked from home. What do you do?”
He clears his throat. “I manage the assets and marketing of a multi-million dollar LLC.”
I blink at the sleek set up, then shift my attention back to Mars, who has fully entered his bedroom. “I think you need three more monitors to hold that title.”
A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Let’s step away from the computer, maybe.”
Because I am good and respectful of boundaries, I do as I’m told.
And then I plop myself down on his bed. A delightful, choked noise tears itself from his chest, but I ignore it as I smile, innocently.
“Is your desktop wallpaper pictures of me? Or have you left work open and you’re worried I’ll learn multi-million dollar corporation secrets that get you fired? ”
Pressing his knuckles to his mouth, he fumbles to find a place for his hands, winding up with them bunched in his jacket. “Right now,” he says, words strained, “I’m only worried what I’ll do if my bed ends up smelling like you.”
I blink at the poor guy. Then, super delicately, I say, “Stuff your face in the comforter and repeat my name until your throat is raw. Duh.”
Heat blisters his cheeks. “I’ll have to wash all my bedding. But today isn’t laundry day. It’ll throw off my schedule.”
I jut my lip.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’re suggesting creepy behavior. I’m not a creep.”
“It’s like you’re not even desperate for me.”