Chapter 15
fifteen
. . .
Wick
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I was an idiot for pushing you away.”
And I was. Lying here with Meghan in my arms…I’d never felt anything like it. Not with Beth, not with any of the women I’d been with over the years.
Except for when Marco’s mouth was wrapped around my cock .
The thought flashed through my mind, followed by a paralyzing wave of guilt. I couldn’t decide who I was betraying more: him or her.
“Meg, I, uh…I have to tell you something.”
“What is it? You can tell me anything.”
I took a steadying breath. This could change everything between us, but I couldn’t keep it from her. Not if we were going to make this work. “Last night, I ran into Marco at Eclipse. We were both pretty messed up and one thing led to another...” I trailed off, searching her face for a reaction.
She studied me silently, but she didn’t look angry or even that surprised. “And? ”
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.”
“He blew me in the fucking bathroom, okay?” Shame heated my cheeks, but I barreled on. “I’m so sorry, Meg. I never meant for it to happen. I was in my head and?—”
She pressed a finger to my lips, silencing my rambling apology, before letting out a quiet laugh. “Wick, it’s okay. I’m not upset with you. How could I be, after everything that’s happened between the three of us?”
I stared at her. I’d expected tears or accusations. “You’re not mad?”
She shook her head, a wistful smile playing at her lips. “No, I’m not. Because I think on some level, I always knew it would end up like this—you and me and Marco. We’re drawn to each other.”
I felt lightheaded as the tension drained from my body. “Jesus, Meg. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. You’re so goddamn strong and kind. It blows my mind.”
“Shut up, you’re the catch here.” Her lips grazed mine. That kiss was heaven, momentarily soothing the guilt gnawing at my insides.
I took my time fucking her again—this time, in her bed. But even as I lost myself in Meghan, in this thing I’d craved for so long, something was...off. Being with her felt right, but part of me yearned for something more intense. Like I’d experienced last night.
Fucking Marco.
I hated him for unleashing this part of me. And I hated myself for still wanting him, even with my dream girl naked and eager beneath me. But that potent bond, that constant power struggle between us, it set my soul on fire. As incredible as it felt holding Meghan, being inside her, that animal hunger still raged within me.
Afterwards, Meghan curled up against my chest, her breathing slow and even. I stared at the ceiling. I’d be up most of the night trying to process all the shit going through my head.
I watched the shadows shift and lengthen as dawn approached, no closer to sleep or a solution to my raging wants.
I stared at Meghan’s sleeping form, her smooth skin glowing in the soft morning light. She looked so peaceful and content, as if the world outside these walls didn’t exist. But it did. And the reality of it was a fucking punch to the gut.
Careful not to wake her, I eased myself out of bed. I needed time to think, to process the clusterfuck of emotions rampaging inside me. After pulling on my pants, I padded out to the living room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet.
Meghan had programmed the coffee maker to brew at 7 a.m. sharp. I poured myself a cup. It would take the edge off my exhaustion, even if it failed to calm the storm in my mind.
I sank onto the couch, my elbows on my knees, my head in my free hand. How the hell had I gotten myself into this mess? A week ago, my life had been simple, predictable. I’d had a job I loved, a best friend I would’ve taken a bullet for, and a secret crush on his little sister that I’d been content to keep buried.
Then the wedding had happened. And Marco had happened. It had blown the lid off everything, exposing desires I’d never even known I had. Desires that scared the living shit out of me. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t go back to the way things were. But I didn’t know how to move forward either. How to reconcile the man I’d always thought I was with the man I was discovering I could be .
I couldn’t banish the image of Marco on his knees for me, the way his tongue had swirled and teased until I was a panting, shuddering mess. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure that had been mind-blowing. It was the way he’d looked at me, his eyes dark with desire and something else that made my stomach somersault.
Fuck. I am so screwed.
Soft footfalls pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up to see Meghan standing in the doorway, her eyes still heavy-lidded from sleep. She was wearing my shirt, the hem skimming the tops of her thighs, and the sight of her in my clothes made my heart clench.
“Hey,” she said, moving over to the couch. “You okay?”
I stared into the dregs of my coffee. “Not really.”
She sat down beside me, her thigh flush against mine. The heat of her skin seeped through the fabric of my pants, and I had to fight the urge to pull her into my lap. I wanted to bury myself in her softness and forget about the rest of the world. But I couldn’t. Not when I had so much shit to figure out.
“Talk to me, Wick,” she said, her hand coming to rest on my knee.
I took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. “I’m just... It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
“Is this about Marco?”
“No, it’s not about fucking Marco,” I snapped, instantly regretting it. “Shit, I’m sorry, Meg.”
“It’s okay. A lot has happened.”
“You can say that again.”
“A lot has happened.”
“Okay, ya cheeky little brat.” I couldn’t help my grin as I turned to tickle the ever-loving shit of her. Because it was still her. Meg. My Meggy. Yes, things were different between us now, but we were still us , and for that, I was incredibly fucking grateful. Because I was going to need her loyalty, her support, and her love, now more than ever.
The Loft Jazz Club was my favorite spot in the city. It smelled like leather, and wood, and brass—an odd combination, to be sure, but it worked. The sounds of the house band’s lively cover of On the Street Where Woody Lives floated through the space.
I steered Meghan to a corner booth. She looked stunning in a figure-hugging black dress that left little to the imagination, her blonde hair sparkling under the dim lights.
We slid into the booth and intertwined our hands on the table.
“I can’t believe we’re on a real date,” she said.
“Believe it, baby.”
“Mmm, baby. I like how that sounds.” Her sultry tone made my cock spring to life.
Damn, whole new ballgame.
I remembered all the times she’d given me a hard-on I had to conceal—from her, from Emmett. Beth.
I am such an asshole...
“Hey. You okay?”
“That your new favorite question?”
“Don’t be a prick. You looked like you were about to puke.”
I chuckled. “I was just thinking about all the times I had to adjust myself to hide how much you turned me on.”
“And that made you sick? ”
I laughed harder. “Totally. You repulse me.” Pulling her closer, I kissed her. And fuck did it feel good to do it freely.
Someone cleared their throat, and we broke apart, turning toward the sound. A waitress had appeared. Her name tag read “Sasha.”
“What can I get for you?” she asked, her eyes lingering on me a fraction too long.
I ignored the look, uninterested in anyone who wasn’t Meghan. “A bottle of your best champagne. And two glasses.”
Sasha nodded, scribbling on her notepad before sauntering away, her hips swaying in a way that might have been tempting a couple of weeks ago.
Meghan leaned over, her lips brushing against my ear. “Trying to get me drunk?”
I slid a hand up her thigh. “Maybe I just want to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“Us. This. Everything.”
She closed the distance between us, her mouth soft and pliant against mine. I deepened the kiss, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her sweetness.
We broke apart as Sasha returned with the champagne, popping the cork with a flourish. She poured two glasses, the bubbles fizzing and popping as they hit the crystal.
“To new beginnings,” I said, raising my glass in a toast.
Meghan smiled and clinked her glass against mine. “To new beginnings.”
Meghan snuggled into my side, her head on my shoulder, fingers absently tracing my thigh. “This is nice,” she said, her voice soft and content. “Just the two of us.”
We stayed wrapped up in each other, enjoying the music, content to let the rest of the world fade away. But then a flash of movement caught my eye. I lifted my head and saw a familiar figure weaving through the crowd.
Marco.
He was guiding someone through the bar—a man I’d never seen before, tall and lean with sandy blond hair and a chiseled jaw.
My thumb hovered over the send arrow as I debated whether to send the text. I hadn’t spoken to Meghan since her confession at the Memorial Day picnic. But I missed her.
Fuck, did I miss her.
I jabbed the key, tossed my phone on the couch, and dragged a hand down my face.
WICK
How did the board meeting go?
My knee bounced as I waited for a response. When it finally came through, it definitely wasn’t what I was hoping for.
MEG
Oh, you’re talking to me now? How convenient.
WICK
I’m sorry, Meg. Can we maybe get together and talk?
I debated again on whether to send my next message, but I’d always been a sucker when it came to her.
WICK
I miss you.
MEG
Can’t. About to meet Marco at The Loft for a date. Maybe another time.
I stared at the phone, my fist clenching until my knuckles turned white. A date ? With Marco ? After she had just told me she was in love with me? My stomach twisted with a sickening combination of jealousy and regret.
I tried to tell myself I was being protective. That I didn’t want to see her get hurt. But deep down, I knew it was more than that.
Without a second thought, I grabbed my keys and slipped on my shoes, the door slamming behind me as I rushed out of my condo. I jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, as if that would make it arrive faster. The short ride down to the parking garage felt like an eternity.
My tires squealed against the pavement as I peeled out of the garage. All I could think about was getting to Loft, getting to Meghan, before it was too late.
I didn’t even know what I planned to do when I got there. Confront her? Confess my own feelings? Punch Marco in his perfect face? All of the above?
What I didn’t expect was to burst into Loft and see Meghan enjoying celebratory drinks with her father, Emmett, and Callie—Marco nowhere to be found.
Well played, Meg. Well played.
Jealousy raked at my insides—again. My hands balled into fists. Meghan must have felt me tense, because she pulled back, her eyes following my gaze. “Is that...?”
“Yeah,” I said tightly. “It’s him.”
“Maybe it’s not what it looks like. They could be just friends.”
“Do you touch your friends that way, Meg?”
She placed a soothing hand on my arm. “Wick, breathe. Getting pissy isn’t going to help anything.”
“Who’s pissy? I’m not fucking pissy.”
I was being irrational. But I couldn’t help it. The thought of Marco with someone else, of him touching and kissing and fucking someone who wasn’t me...us—it made my blood boil and my vision go red with rage.
“What do you want to happen here, Wick?”
No fucking clue.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, pushing to my feet.
Meghan stood too, her hand tightening on my arm. “Wick, wait.”
I leaned down, pressing a hard, desperate kiss to her lips. “I’ll be right back,” I repeated.
And then I was barging through the crowd, my eyes locked on Marco’s back. He was seated at the bar with his date. Their heads were bent close together as they talked and laughed.
I didn’t have a plan, didn’t have a fucking clue what I was going to say. By the time I reached the bar, my palms were slippery with sweat. Marco looked up as I approached, his eyes widening. “Hey Wick.” His voice was rich and smooth as honey. “How’s it going?”
I took a deep breath and set my jaw. “Let’s go.”
Marco raised a pointed eyebrow toward his date. “I’m a little busy at the moment, if you hadn’t noticed.”
My nails dug into my palms. “We’re leaving. Now.”