Chapter 14
James
Iwas still working through my amazement at how Marc handled the small-town bully and his casual acceptance of being called queer as he stowed the leftovers in the car.
The implication that he’d had to suffer that sort of verbal abuse for years was not wasted on me.
I’d been called plenty of nasty things during my time at Ulwich Prep, but despite being bi and even having fooled around with a few classmates, bigoted slurs had never been among them.
And I still didn’t know if Marc even was queer or if he was, what flavor, and it was really beginning to mess with my head.
I’d babbled for Christ’s sake. Twice. When was the last time I’d done that?
“Ready to see the sights?” Marc asked, strolling up to me with a broad smile on his face.
Suddenly I wondered if he had any clue how unbelievably handsome he was.
“Yoo-hoo, Earth to Sergeant Gallagher, do you copy?” No doubt thinking to get the drop on me again like he had earlier with that sly move putting the cash in my pocket, he went to hip-check me.
I caught his belt loop and held him in place, smugly satisfied to hear his breath catch.
If he wanted to play, I’d play. But he’d learn real fast: I played to win.
“Oh, I copy, Specialist Weathers,” I replied, letting my voice go husky.
I could have purred with delight at the way his pupils dilated and his chest expanded.
Movement behind him caught my attention, and I clocked the judgmental eyes of a pair of leather-skinned geezers.
Taking a deep breath, I released Marc’s belt loop and stepped back, pasting a smile on my face while mentally berating myself.
You’re in the Deep South, surrounded by bigoted assholes. Be smart about this. You’ve played this game before. This is nothing new.
It may not be new, but it didn’t change how much I hated it. I fought for this country, bled for it, was willing to die for it, and I couldn’t even flirt with a guy I was attracted to in public without some jerk ruining it.
“Hey, how about we walk off lunch by exploring some shops, then work our way back toward the car?” He bumped me with his elbow, but his smile looked about as convincing as I suspected mine did. Seriously, those eyes of his couldn’t hide shit.
“What happened to exploring the French Quarter?” I asked a tad put out.
His grin relaxed, and he turned me around to face a large wooden sign.
Welcome to the Fairhope French Quarter - Home of Panini Pete’s - Estab. 1994 - Bessie Montgomery
“Well, then.” Marc really was distracting if I’d missed that.
“To be fair, it’s not actually that big of a place—it’s no New Orleans,” he said, slurring the name together so it sounded more like “N’Orlens.
” “But we can still wander around here a bit, take in the architecture and what not.” He shrugged and glanced around at what was admittedly a smaller space than I’d expected.
“Some of the shops in here aren’t too shabby.
I’ll kill you in your sleep if you tell anyone I said this, but I actually kind of like the gift shop. ”
I snorted, not even bothering to conceal my amusement.
“Shut your face. And I have always loved the plants in here.” His sweet brown eyes with their striking hazel ring got dreamy as he looked at the abundance of green spilling over lattices and anything else they could get their leafy tendrils on.
Abruptly, he brightened and turned his gaze back to me.
“Oh, and there’s a sweet shop too. Though try not to fill up on what you find.
There are at least three others we’ll pass during our meander.
” He dropped his voice and added in a whisper while darting his eyes around for witnesses, “And they’re way better. ”
“Fill up?” I asked with a laugh. “Where do you expect me to put it? I’m pretty sure a hay barrel has more room than my stomach at this point.”
He gave me a scandalized look. “First, it’s a hay bale and I’m almost positive you already knew that.
Second, you’re not allowed to make country jokes.
Just—no. And third, I’m onto your sweet tooth, sir, and I guaran-damn-tee you’ll find room for sweets.
” Honestly, it was the smug grin at the end that sealed his fate.
I hiked a shoulder, not denying it, and lowered my head. “I suppose. They’ll have some steep competition though.”
Confusion pinched his face. “What do you mean?”
I slowly raised my gaze to meet his curious eyes, knowing damn well the effect it would have.
“Because so far, you’re the sweetest thing I’ve had in this town.
” His face flushed a beautiful scarlet, and his jaw literally fell open.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I turned to stroll toward this supposed sweet shop, which did, in fact, look quite promising. Also, what the hell was a Moon Pie?
Despite the incredible selection of sweets on display, I took Marc’s advice to heart and did not stuff my numerous pockets full of candy like I was eight-years-old.
Though he caught me dubiously eyeing the assortment of Moon Pies.
I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when he passed me a silver-wrapped package when we left.
“What’s this?”
He gave me a cheeky grin. “What else? A Moon Pie. Think of it as a rite of passage.”
“Bad country jokes aside, I really am stuffed from lunch,” I said, holding up the large—cookie? cake? Seriously, what the hell was this thing?
“Oh, for sure. Me too.” He plucked it out of my hand. “Which is why we’re splitting it.” He spun around, putting his back to me, so I had to lean close to see over his shoulder as he tore open the package, laid it flat, then whipped out a plastic knife from his shorts.
“Did you… Is that the same knife you got for the sandwiches?”
He glanced at me over his shoulder with a fake scowl, if I ever saw one.
“Don’t judge me. You wanna tell me you weren’t too preoccupied to remember your pocketknife?
” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. Much as I wanted to argue, he had me there.
“Thought so. Now, quit complaining and eat up. Oh, and they can be messy, so, you know,” he said as he passed me half of—yes, that looked like a cookie—the Moon Pie. “Hope chocolate’s okay.”
I snorted. “Chocolate is always okay. Is it your favorite?” I asked, sinking my teeth into the crumbly goodness, which immediately went everywhere. And—holy shit, Batman—that was marshmallow in the middle. I groaned my appreciation and promptly took another bite.
“Guess you could say I’m a bit of a purist where these are concerned.
Growing up, there used to be just the core flavors of chocolate, vanilla, and banana.
” He full-bodied shuddered at the last one, and I chuckled as I popped the last of the surprising treat into my mouth.
“Now they’ve got all kinds. Salted caramel—you’d probably like that one.
Blueberry, Thin Mint, Lemon, Strawberry.
The lemon one actually isn’t too bad.” He froze mid-bite, his gaze darting to me.
I held up my hands. “I know. And if I tell anyone you said that, you’ll kill me in my sleep.
” Reassured, he finished his piece, then worked on dusting off his clothes.
I mirrored him because he really hadn’t been kidding about the mess they made.
That cookie was closer to a graham cracker.
When I glanced back up, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“What? What’s so funny?”
Christ, help me, this man was too adorable for public consumption. “You have marshmallow goo on your face.” He tried to wipe it off and looked at me expectantly. When I shook my head, he tried again with the same lack of success. I shook my head again and waved for him to come closer. “Come here.”
He dutifully stepped closer. Without a second thought, I licked my thumb and rubbed it over the stubborn spot of sticky goo, mildly surprised that my brain didn’t immediately take a deep dive into the gutter, especially after this morning.
Instead, it did much worse. The sugar dissolved almost instantly, but my fingers lingered, brushing along his stubble, hovering millimeters from caressing his jaw.
My gaze slowly travelled over his face as if it could touch all the parts I couldn’t.
His slightly parted lips were a sweet rose I ached to kiss.
The perfect line of his nose had a defined redness on the bridge.
I’d have to make sure he was better about sunscreen the next time we went for a run.
His full lashes fanned over his tanned cheeks, and I followed them up to meet his stunning eyes.
Fuck, his eyes. It felt like I was already drowning in them.
My breathing remained low and slow as we stood there, frozen in an oasis of greenery, but my heart was hammering like I was sprinting for cover.
I’d known immediately that I was attracted to Marc.
He was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, even if he didn’t realize it.
Except he was so much more than that. His was the kind of beauty that shone from within and made everything around him beautiful.
Suddenly, the quiet beauty I’d been appreciating in his eyes morphed into blazing rage.
I turned, dropping my hand from his face, and took a step back, in time for some twenty-year-old dipshit with a mullet to sneer, “Fucking queers.” Then he spat a long stream of brown liquid on the ground, nearly hitting my sneaker.
“Sir,” another man said, stepping up in a button-down Hawaiian shirt that screamed “on vacation,” “there are children here. I’d appreciate you not to use that kind of hateful language or spit your cancer juice where my daughter is walking.”