Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JEREMY
MARCH
Ilean forward, carefully lining my lid with black liner, then stand back and stare at my reflection. I toss the pencil down and run a hand through my hair again, fussing with the way my part falls. I purse my lips and sigh.
“It’ll have to do.”
Dread eats away at my stomach. Everything has been feeling wrong lately, like something bad is about to happen, and I’ve been trying to pass it off as my anxiety overreacting.
Marcus seems genuinely excited about introducing me to Norah, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.
Plus, the petty part of me is jealous because, from what he’s shared, which isn’t a lot, she’s the only other person who’s given him a decent orgasm.
Marcus walks into the bathroom and leans his hip against the doorframe, his eyes perusing my body.
His hair is styled back from his forehead, and he trimmed his stubble so it’s a sexy shadow over his sharp jaw.
He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his muscled legs and a heather-gray Nirvana T-shirt.
When I made fun of his wardrobe choice—because let’s face it, most of the kids who wear their logo don’t know a single song—Marcus pointed out that he actually owned all of Nirvana’s albums in CD format when he was a kid, so his fandom is not performative.
Fine.
“Like what you see?” Despite my misgivings, I can’t deny that having his attention lately has left me absolutely preening.
“You know I do,” he replies in that signature baritone. “You look sexy as hell.”
I roll on some cherry ChapStick, smack my lips together, and approach Marcus until we’re so close that I have to peer up at him. “Yeah?”
He lowers his mouth to mine, kissing me hard and possessively, like he’s laying some sort of claim. After a full minute of tongue fucking, I pull away with a wink and give his semihard cock a little grab.
“You’re a tease,” he rumbles.
“Obviously.”
“You ready to go?”
I nod, and we leave his condo, walking to the elevator.
His hand holds mine tightly, and I tense, waiting for the moment when the doors open and he lets me go. But it doesn’t happen. Even when a woman joins us halfway down, he still holds my hand. Even when we exit and walk past the doorman. Even when we’re outside, strolling up the sidewalk.
I let out a pent-up breath as I stare at our intertwined fingers. Marcus glances at me, brings my hand to his lips, and drops a soft kiss on my skin.
My fucking heart. Maybe this is real. I shake my head. Stop it.
We walk past Pike Place Market and up Pine Street.
The streetlights are just flickering on, the warm glow doing nothing to combat the dreary grayness that encases Seattle during this time of year.
Other than the evergreen trees that this area is known for, the monochrome months following Christmas tend to be fuel for seasonal depression, and I can feel it tugging at my bones like it does every year.
Normally, I go into survival mode, hiding in my apartment in my sweats and talking to my cat like some sort of crazed spinster, but this year has been different because of Marcus. I haven’t fallen so far into it that I feel like I’m drowning, and it’s a nice change.
Marcus has been saying that he wants to leave Seattle for someplace quiet once the pub is settled, but what if I don’t want to leave the city?
Do I have the right to ask him to stay? Despite my latest job opportunity in Cannon Beach, owning a design firm is generally something that thrives in a metropolis.
Back when I burned myself out working for corporations, I always pictured myself opening a firm in Seattle or Portland—maybe even both if I got successful enough.
Could I live somewhere peaceful and commute?
Could we have two places where we work and play?
Are we even that serious? Am I overthinking this?
Yes. Yes, you are.
Maybe now that he’s figured out his sexuality, he’ll want to explore more relationships. I know I did when I finally accepted who I was, though I was quite a bit younger. But what if I’m not his endgame? Is he mine?
I glance at Marcus. His stride is confident and purposeful, but eyes are downcast and unfocused, like he’s lost in thought. His dark stubble catches the light, highlighting the sharpness of his jawline, and his hair, while styled, is a little mussed from the marine breeze.
I think I might love him.
I shake my head quickly. I’ve never really been in love before, so I have no idea if that’s what’s happening.
But what if it is?
Then, as if my stress level couldn’t get any worse, my aunt called me yesterday to tell me that Mike is going to put the beach house up for sale in the spring.
She knows what that place means to me, and she sounded regretful that she doesn’t have the funds to purchase it from him.
I don’t either. Even with my new gig in Cannon Beach, it won’t be enough to get a loan to buy a million-dollar beachfront property.
We turn the corner, approaching my favorite hot sub joint.
We both decided that a casual, local place would be best. I’m tired of all the rich people drama and just want tonight to feel like a normal date with my boyfriend, so I insisted on no fancy restaurants, which Marcus said was perfect since fancy isn’t Norah’s style.
We slow as we approach our destination, where a stunning older couple stands in front of the door.
I stop and swallow hard. The woman is slender.
She’s wrapped in an oversized jean jacket and is wearing a denim skirt with black fishnet stockings.
She has legs for days and heels that make them look even longer.
Her long, dark hair frames her face, which has a timeless, classic beauty to it: full lips painted red, creamy skin, a dainty nose, and large green eyes.
And those eyes light up when she spots Marcus.
She takes a couple of steps toward him, and they embrace, his chuckle mingling with her throaty laugh.
Marcus lifts her off the ground for a beat before setting her down, and despite logic telling me that it’s a friendly gesture, my stomach twists at their intimacy. I know they’ve done . . . things.
The man behind Norah catches my attention.
The man is a man if I ever saw one, standing tall at what has to be six-foot-four or -five because he’s even taller than Marcus.
He has dark-blond-almost-brown hair, a sexy-as-hell scruffy beard, and strikingly bright blue eyes—think Jared Leto in My So-Called Life—that watch Norah with a hint of love and possession that I can only envy.
His hands are shoved in his jeans pockets, and he tips his head at me when he catches me staring.
Marcus releases Norah and leans close to me, his lips grazing my ear. “Try not to drool, baby, or I’ll get jealous.”
I flush at his words and focus on Norah, who gives me a knowing smile.
“You must be Jeremy.”
Marcus pulls me close and kisses the side of my head. “Yes, this is Jeremy. My boyfriend.”
I look up at him in shock. He didn’t even hesitate. Warmth floods my chest.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Jeremy. Marcus has been talking about you for years.” She reaches behind her. “This is my partner, James,” she says, taking his hand.
James smiles, which only makes him more beautiful, and I stare up at him, unable to form words.
Marcus leans forward and shakes his hand like a normal person, but the arm around my back tightens. “I’m starving,” Marcus remarks, and everyone nods.
We walk into the sandwich shop, and the warm air chases the outside chill away. My senses are immediately bombarded with the cozy scent of toasted bread. We order from the counter, take a number, and then find a relatively private table in the back corner.
At first, Norah and Marcus dominate the conversation as they catch up.
Even though I know that they text often, meeting up with Norah is a rarity, so I give Marcus that time with his friend, and also revel in the way his hand rests on my thigh where everyone can see it.
It feels like that day in Cannon Beach when we could just be a couple and didn’t have to worry about prying eyes.
Marcus’s demeanor with Norah is so different. Open. I can tell he trusts her, and the way his smile crinkles his eyes and the way his laugh is so rich and genuine tugs at my chest.
That’s my smile and my laugh.
Her hand slides across the table and pushes his forearm warmly. It’s a companionable gesture, but I feel myself frowning. I glance at James, who seems completely unfazed.
You’re being ridiculous, Jeremy.
Norah seems to sense the shift in my mood, and she gives me an impish grin. “Jeremy, tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, uh . . .” I clear my throat. “I’m an interior designer. I have a cat.”
She squints at me like she’s trying to figure something out, and I squirm under her scrutiny. A smile tugs at her lips, and she glances at Marcus as if asking him permission, which just freaks me out even more because they have that weird silent-communication thing going on.
“You don’t like me, do you?”
“It’s not that—” I start.
“He’s jealous, and he doesn’t like it,” Marcus says with a smirk, and I elbow him in the side, blushing furiously.
“Jealous of me?” She looks at James and back at me, and her eyebrows lower in confusion.
“Both of you,” I say honestly, tapping my purple nails on the table. “But can you blame me? You’re both insanely hot and older and more experienced. And you?” I point at James, who raises his eyebrows in question. “You’re like a rugged Adonis.”
“Is that right?” James drawls while Norah gives him a mischievous grin. “If you’re talking about the Greek statue I think you are, I have objections concerning the size comparison.”