Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Hallie
I t’s evening by the time I kick off my sneakers at Marcus’s door and make my way inside. It’s not lost on me how comfortable I feel in this house after only a few short weeks. I’d spent the rest of my afternoon with Erica and Jules, happy to sit in their company, drink coffee, and hear funny outtakes from Julian as he graded papers. I’m about a thousand times calmer than when I’d gotten there, but I still need further distraction.
“Don’t bite my head off, but I already ordered the pizzas,” calls Marcus from the living room, most likely from the couch. “I’m not attempting to be an all-knowing asshole—I just wanted to take one thing off your to-do list.”
His defensiveness makes me smile, though not a kernel of distrust unfurls in my mind. Oh, how far we’ve come.
“In order to what? Replace it with your own name?” I ask with a laugh.
I’m in the room to watch as his head falls back in mock frustration, bumping against the wall behind him. “I should be offended, but if you’re offering to put it there, I’m not saying no.”
“How long ago did you order?” I ask, disapproval written into my voice as I consider the way he’s spread out so invitingly before me.
Gray sweats and a worn navy shirt grace his body, his hair still a little damp from a recent shower. It’s a different look than the man who met me earlier today, the one with the suit pants and collared shirt, but I like them both just the same.
“About ten minutes ago, and it’s too late to pretend you want to change it.”
Now I smile. “I don’t really care what you ordered. I just want to make sure we aren’t going to be interrupted.” He looks up as I make my way over to him on the couch, where I straddle his thighs, pulling a condom from my back pocket.
“What’s going on with you tonight? You’ve gone from jumping my bones to hardly saying a word,” Marcus inquires from across the table.
The last piece of pizza in the box sits poised between us.
Considering all the promises of not spending unnecessary time together, things had certainly gotten cozy fast. If I were being honest, we’d blown our own rules to shit about as quickly as we’d created them. We touched all the time, and the way we hung out together after we had sex was basically snuggling. He helped me with the difficult things, and his presence at the cemetery today was monumental. Everything had changed.
Pushing the thought aside, I raise my brows at his unexpected interest. “You really want to hear all my life woes?”
“Not really.” The corners of his lips lift in the most annoyingly attractive way.
“You’re such an ass.”
“And yet, here you sit,” Marcus quips, flicking the cap of his beer bottle at me. Dark hair ruffled and a day’s worth of scruff on his face, he couldn’t look more at ease.
“Are you five?” I ask with fake annoyance at his childish behavior. I take the last slice and bite into it in retaliation.
“No, fifteen, actually.”
I pause before taking a second bite. “At fifteen, your lack of knowledge about women was understandable.”
“I’ve never claimed to be an expert. To be honest, I enjoy the research too much to stop the learning process.” He smiles, and as ridiculous as he sounds, everything inside me tingles.
“You know, you’re not as ‘bad boy’ as you think you are.” I pull my feet up onto my chair, still cold, regardless of the socks Marcus had given me to wear.
“And you’re not as desperate to leave my company as you think you are. What of it?”
His question brings me back to the muddle of my own mind. My unreasonable enjoyment of his company. My nerves around what comes next.
“I can’t stand you,” I snap back with the predictability of an elastic band, but there isn’t any heat to my words; they’re simply a form of muscle memory at this point.
Marcus laughs, not big and brash, but a deep chuckle of amusement.
“Liar.”
I lean forward with a small smile. “It’d hurt more if I was the only one in the room.”
“Ouch,” he mocks, a hand clutching to his impressively shaped chest. At the widening of my smile, he says, “You know I worry about how much pleasure you take from imagining me harmed.”
“What can I say? It’s satisfying, and there’s no mess involved.” I shrug.
Marcus smirks and leans in close, but instead of replying, he steals the olive from my last bite of pizza. His satisfied look has me rolling my eyes, and silence falls between us.
“Are you excited for Vegas?” he asks.
“The land of questionable life choices? I’m not sure I need any more encouragement in that area.”
“I don’t know whether to be offended or curious.”
“Possibly both.”
There’s something I want to ask for, and I wonder how much I’ll berate myself for it in the aftermath. But my conversation with Erica today makes me feel brave.
Stupidly so.
“What is it you want to do in Vegas, Hallie?” Marcus asks playfully, cajolingly.
I try to remind myself that I’m made from stern stuff. That this is something I want, not something I need. That my passport is only feet away, and a flight out of here can happen this very night.
Death by mortification could also be in the cards, the hope being it would be both quick and painless.
I breathe deep, my heart picking up speed in my chest. “I want to try something in Vegas,” I say, my voice clear and strong and a whole lot steadier than expected. “A sex thing.” His eyes light up at the mention of the three-letter word. “I want us to not use a condom.”
“You want me bare?” he asks, as if he hasn’t heard me correctly.
The silence in the room is all-encompassing as he awaits my response.
“Yes.”
“Why?” He asks the question with a pained look as if he couldn’t possibly conceive of why I’d want this.
“I’m curious,” I respond assuredly with a small shrug.
It sounds ridiculous, and I know it. It’s no big thing, but it can also be a risk, even with a person you love and trust.
And this isn’t that, but I want it regardless.
I’ve read about it, watched it, and I’m desperate to feel it. I’m curious to know if he’ll feel hotter and if I’ll be wetter. What the slip and slide of us together will be like without anything in between. What it’ll be like afterward when I can still feel him inside me.
I’m curious about it all. I want it all.
I want things that are not currently mine.
“You’re curious,” he repeats in disbelief, like somehow it’s not a good enough reason. Like men haven’t used more ridiculous reasons since the invention of the condom. “And you want that, with me?”
“I’ve never, not with anyone…” I can feel the heat in my cheeks.
Marcus looks incredulous at my admission. “You’re saying you want me to be your first, again?”
The way he phrases the question, bringing the past into the potential enjoyment of my present, causes my hackles to rise. “When you put it that way, maybe not?”
“You’re asking me this over pizza?”
This could have been a yes-or-no answer. A less painful experience for everyone involved.
“Would tacos have been better?” I volley back.
“Anatomically?” he questions, surely just drawing things out purposefully. “Maybe?”
And I want to throw things at him. Big, heavy, hard things.
I stand, ready to make a hasty exit. For all that I enjoy our banter, I didn’t want this request to become a part of it.
I’ve barely moved when he catches my wrist, gentle but firm, holding me in place.
“Hallie, look at me.” My eyes gradually make their way to his. “Is this something you really want?”
I swallow down my nervousness and apprehension, shooting my shot and asking for what I want. “Yes.”
“You want me in you bare, but you don’t want me in a bed?” A small smile moves over his lips.
He takes this in, and I wonder if it makes him feel used. It isn’t my intention, but it could definitely be interpreted that way. I could be communicating this a lot better, yet for some reason, I want him to give me this one crazy, potentially risky thing. If it’s great, it’s great, and if it all goes to hell, it didn’t matter anyway.
“Only one of those things is on my list of kinks. I’ll let you figure out which.”
He shakes his head even as he says, “Okay.”
“Really?” My heart stutters and slows, and I’m able to breathe again.
“Yes, really.” His answer is steady now, as if reiterating his words has solidified the response.
When I tell him I’m on birth control, he doesn’t ask me to prove it. Doesn’t demand to see that I haven’t skipped any of the little foil-covered pills I carry in my purse.
He simply nods, trusting me enough to take my word for it. And when he tells me he hasn’t been with anyone in that way since he was tested last, I believe him too.