Chapter 6
six
. . .
Wick
I stood in a sea of scarlet and gray. As the roar of the crowd filled my ears, the energy of the stadium pulsed through my veins in anticipation of the annual spring game. It was the perfect day for football—clear skies, a slight breeze, and the promise of warmer weather hanging in the air. But even as I soaked in the familiar sights and sounds of Ohio Stadium, I couldn’t shake the unease lurking in the pit of my stomach.
My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for the source of my discomfort. And there he was. Marco fucking Rossi, lounging in his seat, a beer in one hand and a smirk on his lips. He caught my gaze and raised his cup in a mock salute, his dark eyes glinting with something that made my skin prickle.
I scowled and looked away. It was Emmett’s bachelor party, for fuck’s sake. I should be focused on celebrating my best friend’s last days of “freedom,”—as if being married to an angel like Callie was some sort of prison sentence—not obsessing over Marco. His presence grated on my nerves. Every move, every word, seemed calculated to get under my skin. And the worst part? It was working.
“You good?”
“Huh? What?”
I turned the man next to me—Carter Cassidy, the architect who’d been working with Callie on a new development project. He was brilliant, but his prickly demeanor kept most people at arm’s length.
I liked him.
With Emmett in full nesting mode with his bride-to-be, I had to find a new drinking buddy. Carter wasn’t my best friend, but he had filled the role just fine over the last few months.
“You good? Looked like you were trying to set that pretty boy over there on fire with your eyes.” He subtly tipped his head toward Marco.
“If only. I fucking hate that guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s fucking Emmett’s sister.”
“And that’s a problem because…”
“Because it is!”
Carter threw a hand up in surrender. “Right. Of course.”
As the game kicked off and the Scarlet and Gray teams took the field, I tried to lose myself in the action. But my mind kept returning to that night at Sister’s. It had been haunting me for months, no matter how hard I tried to push it from my thoughts.
The bar was packed, the air thick with the smell of beer and sweat. I sat at a high-top table with Meghan. Emmett had just bolted after seeing Callie with her ex. I was nursing a whiskey, trying to ignore the way Meg’s lips curved around the rim of her glass .
“I’m really growing to hate this place,” I grumbled, my eyes darting around the crowded room. “Everyone comes here.”
Meghan laughed, sending a shiver down my spine. “Oh, come on, Wick. It’s not that bad. Besides, where else would we go? This is, like, our spot .”
Before I could reply, a familiar figure approached our table. Marco fucking Rossi, in all his smug, irritating glory.
He pulled Meghan into a quick hug, his hands lingering just a beat too long on her waist. “Hey, Meggy.”
I bristled. That’s my nickname for her.
He turned to me next, his grin widening. “Hey there, big Wick!”
A menacing growl rumbled in my chest. Marco’s eyebrows shot up, his hands raised in front of him.
“Woah, easy there.” He glanced at Meghan, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “Did he just growl at me? Maybe we should call him Dick Wick instead.”
The last threads of my self-control snapped. “You’ll see how big my dick wick is when I shove it down your fucking throat.”
Marco’s grin turned wolfish and his eyes darkened. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
My cock twitched, and I blanched. Marco shot a wink in my direction before planting a kiss on Meghan’s cheek and sauntering off, leaving me seething.
“I don’t like that guy,” I said through gritted teeth.
Meghan sighed, her fingers toying with the stem of her glass. “He can be a lot, but he’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. “I think I’ll pass on the Marco Rossi friendship bracelet, thanks. ”
We lapsed into heavy silence. I could feel Meghan’s eyes on me, searching my face for something I wasn’t ready to give.
The whiskey scorched a trail down my throat as I slammed the glass back onto the table. Meghan’s eyes were soft and concerned. I wanted to tell her everything, to spill out the churning mess of emotions that had taken root in my chest the moment I’d watched Marco stroll out of her bedroom. But the words stuck in my throat, choking me. I swallowed them down, washing away the bitterness with another shot of whiskey from my hastily refreshed drink.
Meghan’s hand found mine across the table. The simple touch set my skin tingling. I lifted my gaze to meet hers, my breath catching at the tenderness of her expression.
“Wick,” she said, her thumb tracing circles against my wrist. “What’s wrong?”
I wanted to tell her. God, I wanted to. But the ghost of Emmett loomed between us. How could I confess my feelings when doing so would mean betraying my best friend?
And yet, with Meghan looking at me like that, my resolve began to crumble. The air crackled, the space between us charged with the weight of everything left unsaid.
My pulse pounded in my ears, the din of the bar fading to a distant hum. Her fingers tightened around mine. I told myself to pull away before I did something we’d both regret. But I was pinned in place by the magnetic pull of those eyes.
“Wick, please,” her voice was barely audible over the thundering of my heart. “Let me in.”
Something inside me fractured. Before I could stop myself, I was leaning in, closing the scant inches between us until her breath ghosted across my lips .
Meghan’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting with a sigh. I hesitated, hovering on the precipice of no return. Every instinct screamed at me to stop before I destroyed everything I held dear. But I couldn’t resist her anymore.
I captured her mouth in a hungry kiss. She melted against me instantly, her free hand reaching up to tangle in my hair. I groaned, desire igniting in my veins. For one heart-stopping moment, everything else fell away—the noise of the bar, the press of bodies around us, the weight of our shared history. There was only Meghan, her taste, her scent, the silken slide of her tongue against mine.
But all too soon, reality came crashing back. I pulled away, chest heaving, head spinning. She stared at me, her blue eyes wide, her cheeks flushed pink. “Wick…”
I shook my head, stumbling to my feet. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I have to go.”
And like the coward I was, I fled. Out of the bar and into the night. I walked for blocks, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. But no matter how I tried to rationalize it, the truth was inescapable. I wanted Meghan. I’d wanted her for a long time. And now, with one impulsive kiss, I’d crossed a line I could never uncross
Fuck.
A roar from the crowd pulled me back to the present. I blinked, my eyes refocusing on the field where the Gray team had just scored a touchdown.
But even as I joined in the cheers, my heart wasn’t in it. Because down the row, Marco was watching me, a challenge in his eyes. Like he could see right through me, to the knot of desire and self-loathing that twisted in my gut.
I tore my eyes away. I needed to get a grip. I never let anyone get under my skin, least of all a cocky pretty boy with a smart mouth. But as the game wore on, my self-control wavered. Every glance in Marco’s direction, every smirk or wink he sent my way, chipped at my defenses.
By the time the final whistle blew and the players left the field, I was wound tighter than a coiled spring. I needed to get out of there, to put some distance between myself and the source of my mounting frustration.
But Marco had other ideas.
“Hey, Wick!” he called out as we filed out of the stadium. “Wait up.”
I kept walking, shoulders rigid. But Marco was persistent, weaving through the crowd until he fell into step beside me. “Great game, huh?” He grinned, his elbow brushing against mine as we walked. “Nothing like watching a bunch of sweaty dudes tackle each other to get the blood pumping.”
“Is there something you want, Rossi?”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, his grin turning sly. “Just making conversation. Thought we could grab a drink at the next stop on this bachelor party tour. Bury the hatchet.”
“And why the fuck would I want to do that?”
Marco’s voice dropped to a low purr. “Call it a hunch, but I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Wick. And I’ve always been a sucker for a mystery.”
I stopped dead. Around us, the crowd flowed past. Members of our party were dispersed throughout, all heading for the same predetermined post-game destination, oblivious to the bubbling tension between me and Marco.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I ground out. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, whatever twisted pleasure you get from fucking with my head, it ends now. Stay the hell away from me and stay the hell away from Meghan. Or I promise you, you’ll regret it.”
He stared at me for a moment. And then, to my disbelief, he threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, Wick,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You really have no idea, do you? This isn’t a game. And trust me, when it comes to Meghan…” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re not the only one who wants to keep her all to yourself.” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, my blood boiling, my mind reeling.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, trying to regain some composure. But it was no use. Marco’s words echoed in my head, taunting me. Meghan. He wanted Meghan—wanted her as something more than a hookup.
The thought made me sick to my stomach. It was irrational. Meghan wasn’t mine. Had never been mine. But that didn’t stop the stab of rage at the mere idea of Marco’s hands on her body. It was a visceral, ugly impulse that clawed at my insides.
And the worst part? The part that made me want to put my fist through a wall and scream until my throat was raw?
It wasn’t just Meghan I wanted. It was him. Marco fucking Rossi, with his quicksilver smile, his bedroom eyes and his infuriating ability to get under my skin .
I wanted to shove him up against a wall and wipe that smug grin off his face. Wanted to feel the heat of his body against mine, the scrape of his stubble against my skin. Wanted to make him beg, make him writhe, make him come undone beneath my hands.
It was dark. It was fucked up. It went against everything I thought I knew about myself. But I couldn’t deny it any longer. Couldn’t pretend that the feeling gnawing at my gut was anything other than desire.
As I stood outside the stadium, the sun beating down on my shoulders and the taste of self-loathing bitter on my tongue, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.
I was well and truly fucked.
The bachelor party faded into background noise as I grappled with the aftermath of my confrontation with Marco. I went through the motions, smiling and laughing and clapping Emmett on the back.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Meghan and Marco, naked in her bed, devouring each other. And me, watching from the shadows, my blood pounding in my ears and my cock throbbing in my jeans.
By the time the party began to wind down, I was a wreck. I needed to get out of there.
I slipped out onto the patio of our last stop, desperate for some fresh air.
But of course, even that small mercy was denied me. As I rounded the corner, I collided with a solid wall of muscle. Strong hands grabbed my shoulders, steadying me, and I looked into a pair of dark, laughing eyes.
“Well, well, well,” Marco drawled. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I jerked out of his grip. “Are you following me now?”
He shrugged, a lazy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself, Friedman. I just came out to clear my head. Not everything is about you, you know.”
“Could have fooled me, with the way you’ve been up my ass all day.”
“Oh, trust me. If I was up your ass, you’d know it.”
The space between our bodies was suddenly charged and heavy. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as the Sahara. “What do you want from me, Marco? What is this game you’re playing?”
He stepped closer, his chest brushing against mine. “I thought I made that pretty clear earlier. I want the same thing you want, Wick. Meghan.”
I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. “You don’t know what the fuck I want.”
“Don’t I?” He brought his hand up and his fingers grazed the side of my neck. I shivered. “I see the way you look at her. Like a starving man eyeing a feast. But that’s not all, is it?” His thumb pressed against my racing pulse, his eyes boring into mine. “You want me too. Don’t bother denying it. I can feel it, right here.” He tapped his finger against my hammering heartbeat.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leaned in, his breath hot in my ear. “Tell me you don’t think about it. About all three of us in Meghan’s big, soft bed. About watching me take her, watching her come apart on my cock while you jerk yourself in the corner. ”
My eyes slammed shut as the image unfurled in my mind. “Shut up.”
But he was relentless, his voice a low, filthy purr that vibrated through my bones. “You want to taste her on my tongue, don’t you? Want to feel the slick of her arousal on your lips as you clean her off my cock. Want to watch me fuck her until she screams, and then bury yourself in her still-quivering cunt and add your cum to mine.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I wrenched away from him, my chest heaving, my cock straining against the confines of my pants. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Wick. I’m just not afraid to go after what I want. And what I want is Meghan…” He raked his gaze over my body, slow and deliberate. “And you.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think that’s ever going to happen.”
“Guess we’ll see, won’t we? In the meantime, you might want to take care of that little problem.” He stepped back and nodded toward the obvious bulge in my jeans. “Looks painful.”
I watched as he strutted away, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
Anger. Disgust. Shame. Lust.
I was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath my feet, and the only way forward was to jump.
Into what, I didn’t know. But as I stood there, my body thrumming with need and my chest heavy with the weight of my denial, one thing was crystal clear. There would be no going back from this. No matter what happened, my life would never be the same.
Marco had made damn sure of that.