Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Time Check
Sophia
Marco-Boy:
Time check. Has it been a minute yet?
Marco-Boy:
JK. I totally get you need time, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry.
Marco-Boy:
I’m a possessive bastard. I know I acted like a dick tonight. But I meant what I said. Every single fucking word.
Marco-Boy:
Are you leaving me on read, Kitten?
Me:
You’re vying for top spot on my “dicks to avoid” list. Also, if you need help learning how to tell time, I have a watch I can pawn off to you. Some overbearing ass gave it to me.
Marco-Boy:
There’s my feisty pussy cat *wink emoji*
Marco-Boy:
Your brothers gave me a new nickname.
Me:
What is it?
Marco-Boy:
The Hulk.
Me:
LMAO.
Me:
*Hulk GIF*
Marco-Boy:
Let’s see how funny you think you are when I have your ass pinned to the bed, feasting on your sweet pussy again.
Me:
Marco! Are you drunk?
Marco-Boy:
Maybe. Probably.
Marco-Boy:
Are you still wearing my other gift?
I arrange myself in the back seat of the Uber so I’m sitting to the side, the short skirt riding up to show off the words stitched into the tights on my ass cheek.
I really shouldn’t. Especially mere hours after I told him to cool his jets.
But I’m tipsy myself, and clearly he’s drunk, so whatevs.
It’s just harmless flirting. I let my fluffy white coat fall around me like a mound of snow. Then I snap a selfie from above.
Me:
*Sends selfie*
Marco-Boy:
I hope you’re on your way over here…
Me:
No chance. I’m not in the business of being a booty call.
Marco-Boy:
I do believe the tights you’re wearing on that fine booty are mine.
Marco-Boy:
I’ve decided I want them back.
Marco-Boy:
Now.
Me:
No chance.
Marco-Boy:
I’m sure you can be persuaded…
A few minutes pass before the phone pings with a new notification.
Marco-Boy:
*New image*
I open the image attached. And gasp. Loud enough for the Uber driver to give me a questioning look in his review mirror. I give a small smile and a wave to show all is well. But I am not well. Not even a little bit. I am speechless.
If you looked up the definition of “thirst trap” in the dictionary this is what you would see.
Marco. Shirtless, propped against the pillows lining his headboard in all his sexy glory, one hand behind his head, making the bicep there bulge.
He’s a work of art in all senses of the word.
White bed linen the perfect backdrop for the black ink mapping out the intricate chest tattoo that sits under his collarbones and spans across his pecs.
“When the hell did he get that?” I whisper incredulously to myself.
The gold necklace he never takes off gleams against the dark ink which ends just above more smooth, golden skin that paves a path to a six-pack honed from years of boxing.
I can see a few droplets of water having the time of their life traversing the planes of his award-winning abs, telling me he’s freshly showered. Is this image scratch-and-sniff? For a moment I swear I can smell the clean crisp scent that is so distinctly him.
I track my eyes, down, down, down to the mouth-watering V leading to the outline of his hard cock clearly visible in the gray sweat pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. I wonder if he thought of me while he was…No Sophia! Don’t go there.
In his free hand, he holds a handwritten sign that rests on his hip bone at an angle. With bold, black marker in all caps he’s written, “Please forgive me for being a…” with an arrow pointing directly to his dick.
I squeal out a laugh, once again pulling the attention of the driver. He turns quickly like he’s intruding on a private moment. Can he see my screen? Shit. I black it out. I’ve never wanted to backflip on my words so quickly, but I resist.
Me:
Apology accepted. But hard pass on the booty call.
Marco:
Big mistake. Huge. *Painting nails emoji*
Me:
Sweet dreams, Marco-Boy. *Wink emoji*
Did he just quote my favorite line from Pretty Woman?
Every interaction with this man seems to point to the fact he’s noticed far more than I give him credit for.
So why did it take him so long to act on his feelings?
It’s this thought that plagues me all the way home and well into the early hours of the morning.