23. Marcus
Chapter twenty-three
Marcus
Despite my better judgment, as soon as we got back to the hotel, I opted to leave Brooke on her own again. Even though she was doing her yoga and meditation on the balcony, I grabbed my laptop bag and headed down to the conference room. Today is the meeting that I couldn’t reschedule. In theory, it would have worked out fine because there was nothing on my and Brooke’s schedule until the wine tasting in the lobby of our hotel tonight that her dad is in charge of. But I can’t stop kicking myself for not being there to do my “job.” It’s not just that I was supposed to be there. I want to be there for her. Fucking hell, that was bad timing, but still, I dropped the ball big time.
My phone buzzes with a text on the table next to me.
Troy: Your girl sure knows how to plan an event.
It’s a group chat he just now started with Dean and me. What is he talking about?
Dean: Seriously. She killed it yet again. Maci said she didn’t have to do any work. Brooke had it all organized.
Oh. The book club event yesterday that the other girls hosted for Brooke.
Marcus: Not my girl. But I’m glad it went well again .
Troy: Tell me I am not the only one benefitting from this book club.
Dean: Definitely not. I swear it’s like Maci is in college again.
Marcus: What the hell are you talking about?
Troy: Sex, man. Keep up. These books are full of them. It’s like free foreplay. Hell, Brooke might as well start advertising to men to buy tickets to this event.
Troy: You might need to edit your fake boyfriend job description.
Marcus: She made it crystal clear that won’t happen.
Dean: According to Maci, that’s what all the girls in “fake dating” books say.
Troy: And they always end up together.
Marcus: That’s fiction.
Troy changed the name of the group to Operation: get Marcus laid
An alarm pops up, and I pocket my phone, ignoring the guys. Having gotten in a few solid hours of work and ordering a late lunch from a sandwich shop up the road, I close my laptop. I’m surprised I got anything done with my distracted thoughts always drifting to brainstorming ways to help Brooke relax so that hopefully some of her vacation actually feels like a vacation. Ironic coming from me, I know, but still, I’m hoping my idea paired with a quick trip to Target earlier lands even better after Troy’s unsolicited texts. When I head upstairs to change for tonight’s event, I push the door open to see Brooke standing next to the television stand. One hand is propped against it for support while the other hand slides on a strappy gold sandal.
Her dress is tight against her slight curves and a purple similar to the shade of a dress I caught a peek of on the rack at the store earlier. I wonder why she didn’t end up with that one. Purple seems to be her favorite color. It looks like a T-shirt, but longer, and fuck if it’s not my new favorite outfit on her.
Ignoring the way I want to run my hands over her body, under her dress, I clear my throat, drawing her attention. She taps the pause button on her phone lying on the television stand, silencing the instrumental version of a song that sounds familiar–maybe from Taylor Swift’s Evermore or Folklore album? It’s the same album to me.
“What’s that look on your face for?” Brooke asks.
“Huh? I was thinking how much I know about Maci.”
Her face scrunches a bit, and it’s fucking cute. “That’s a weird thing to be thinking about.”
I nod toward her phone and the opened music app. “She plays this a lot.”
“I hate to break it to you, but she’s kind of spoken for.”
I chuckle. “I didn’t mean like that.” The realization hits me all at once, like a piece of self-help advice you’ve been told a hundred times but none of them make a difference until the one time , at the right moment. What if I do have time for a girlfriend? Time to learn the little things that make up who someone is? It’s probably wrong to think of it in terms of business, but I check off daily tasks that get me closer to goals each day. I don’t expect to complete them all at once. I know a person is different, but . . . If I have time to add on investments . . .
She looks at me, perplexed, then sighs when I don’t answer. “Okay, well I’m going downstairs to meet up with Dad. I’ll see you down there?”
“Yeah. I’ll be right down.”
I follow her with my eyes until the door clicks behind her, then look at the nightstand. Picking up her book, I flip through the pages, stopping when I reach her bookmark. She’s almost to the end. I shake the curiosity of how this book is affecting her, pushing away the memory of when she already admitted to me that they make her want sex. Set in my plan to find out, I take ten minutes to change into gray slacks and a black button-up, clean up my beard and refresh with a bit of sandalwood aftershave.
And once again, ten minutes is all it takes for me to miss the mark.
Again.
Stepping off the elevator directly into the bar area, I spot Brooke immediately from the back. I also see a man who looks vaguely familiar leaning against the marbled bartop. He’s standing way too close for my liking, and when it hits me that he’s her ex, he’s suddenly way too close for comfort. I could pretend it’s fake boyfriend duties being taken seriously, but I can already tell that’s not what this is.
Beau is so focused on Brooke’s tits that he doesn’t notice me until I’m within reach of them. Not even bothering to eavesdrop on their conversation, I steady myself behind Brooke, taking in a confident breath before grazing my fingers up her arm.
She was already stiff but becomes even more so under my touch. Though, she doesn’t retreat from where our skin connects, and I take it as all the consent I need right now. I brush her beach waves over one shoulder before gripping her hip lightly and bending enough to press my lips to her neck. “Hello, love,” I whisper.
She spins into me–likely in an attempt to hide her shock from Beau, which is confirmed by her wide eyes, the green and golden specks in them competing for real estate. “Hey,” she whispers, her eyes flickering back and forth across my face as if a look alone will help her dissect my unfamiliar actions.
I thread my fingers through her hair, taking a firm grip on the side of her face, hoping she feels my sincerity as I brush my thumb across her jaw. “Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s okay,” she says, and I release her, turning to face Beau.
“Hey, man. Marcus.” I extend a hand.
He takes it. “Beau.”
“Ahhh. The man with the underwear,” I say intentionally at full volume. I can usually keep my snark to myself, but this would have been such a missed opportunity.
Brooke tries to hold back a laugh but ends up with some mix of a snort and a chuckle, and I wish I didn’t have to wait another second to kiss her. I contemplate if I could get away with it. She’d probably go along with it for the sake of the plan, but it’s not worth it.
“Excuse me?” Beau asks, his rocks glass frozen part way to his mouth. Isn’t this a wine event?
“Ignore him.” Brooke smiles and play slaps me in the chest. But instead of taking her hand back, she settles it at my waist, pulling herself to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, her head fitting perfectly against my chest. Fucking hell that feels good. “Marcus is my boyfriend,” she says with a confidence that makes me question why she even needs me to tell this douchecanoe to fuck off.
“Boyfriend?” Beau repeats.
“You don’t mind if I steal my girl for a while, do you?”
He stumbles over his words–something I’d believe is actually rare for him as the well-known lawyer he is. “Yeah. Uhh. Sure. No problem. I’ll catch up with you later, Brooke.”
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug and lets me guide her away from her ex .
“Come on.” The idea I came up with earlier today seems even more risky. Adrenaline courses through my veins stronger than the shot of whiskey I took before coming down here. I racked my brain for ways I could help Brooke . . . take the edge off–while also not crossing the line she secured in place when it comes to our physical fake relationship.
“Where to?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t hesitate, and a pang of guilt hits me knowing she still doesn’t have any clue what my net worth is.
I lead her down the dark hallway full of doors leading to conference rooms. She lets me take her hand and tug her inside an empty room lit only by the wall of windows to the starlit night.
“What are we doing here?”
“Are you okay?” I question her, pulling her from the door I closed behind us and the peephole window on it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me again.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” I brush my thumb across her cheek but quickly drop my hand. “I hope I didn’t cross a line earlier.”
The questions in her eyes are visible even with just the glow of the moon.
“Touching you. The way that I did,” I clarify.
“Oh. It’s fine. You were doing your job, following the plan. Thank you.”
“Do you feel any better? Now that Beau knows you have a boyfriend.”
“A little. Not sure if he caught the surprise on my face when you kissed me. He may be a dick but he can still read me after a decade of knowing each other, you know? ”
“Yeah. We’ll just have to keep it up. Make it believable.” This new plan forming in my mind is not only to make these people believe we’re together but to make Brooke believe that maybe we should give this a shot for real. “Is anyone else here that you know?”
She sighs. “I didn’t expect them to be, but they are.”
“Who?”
“You saw Beau. But his mom is here too. She’s a real piece of work. Especially when she’s around my mom, who is also on her way. Why she wants to be at an event thrown by my dad, I have no idea. Just a warning, they might be here in an attempt to get Beau and me together. I can’t imagine any other reason they’d ‘lower’ themselves to a not five-star hotel.”
“We will just have to show them that’s not an option.”
She groans. “This is so stressful and so unnecessary. Like, I’m an adult. I should get to choose who I want to be with.”
“And you don’t want to be with Beau.” It comes out as a cross between a statement and a question. Even though she’s made it clear, I still feel the need for confirmation.
“I want to be with you.”
Her words catch me off guard, stealing my voice. Fucking hell. What way did she mean that? I laugh to jump-start my thoughts. “Probably good considering I’m your boyfriend.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes search mine.
“On that note . . .” I shove my hand in my pocket, wrapping my fist around what’s inside. “I know you have a rule. About the physical aspect of this fake relationship.”
“Yeah . . .”
“And that you usually use meditation or yoga or Thai tea to relax, to distract yourself.”
“Yeah . . .” she repeats but with even more uncertainty .
“You can’t use those tactics at a party.”
“Those are really the only ways I block out things that disrupt my inner peace.”
“Then you need something strong enough to distract yourself. What’s the next best thing?”
She laughs and the sweetness in it sparks something inside me. “I’d say an orgasm, but you can’t use those at a party either. At least not this kind of party.”
I hold my hand between us, opening my fingers to reveal a purple bullet in my palm.
“Is that a . . .”
“Yes.”
“What exactly is happening here?”
“Preferably an orgasm.”
Her eyes widen. “Not at a party it’s not.”
“You said you trust me.”
“Yeah, but I can’t use a vibrator in the middle of a crowded room.”
I quirk a brow. “I can.”
“You definitely can’t.”
I pull my phone from my pocket, tapping on the recently downloaded app. “Sure I can.” I smirk, flashing her the screen that clearly shows controls for the vibrator. “I’ll be right outside.” I nod toward the door. “You get this situated.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“No.”
I pause at her rejection, curling my fingers around the bullet and searching her face for any tell. “Because you really don’t want to?”
Her fallen gaze shoots to mine and locks on. “Because I do. ”
I bite back a smirk. “I’ll be waiting outside,” I remind her, reaching for her hand, turning it palm up and handing over the vibrator. “Make sure you put it in far enough.”
Her fingers grip my hand, not releasing me or pulling the toy away, and the extended contact makes my dick twitch. Fucking hell. She holds my gaze. “This is a bad idea.”
“Is it?” I don’t know what else to say because my thoughts have all blurred into inappropriate ones. I could just touch you myself. We could go back upstairs and have our own party instead.
After hesitating another moment, she finally pulls away from my touch, taking the vibrator with her. She doesn’t make another move. I take the hint, leaving her behind for the dimly lit hallway. Not even a minute later, she slowly steps through the door frame, tucking her sun-bleached waves behind her ear in the most innocent way–like she’s overcompensating for what she’s about to do. “Ready?”
“With a glass of wine, I will be,” she says, leading the way back to the party.
The event is set up like a ten-course meal, but with wine. Instead of being seated, the bar is lined with half-glasses of wine set in a specific order. I hand her a glass of white, holding off myself until the reds.
“Brooke?!” The screech hits my ears before Brooke’s wine is to her lips. She turns at the sound, holding her wine back toward me like she trusts I’ll hold it for her without asking. I do, in time for a girl who hardly looks old enough to drink to throw her arms around her.
“Magnolia!” She squeezes her friend’s neck in the embrace, giving me the impression she’s genuinely happy to see her. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says, pulling back and reaching for her wine again with a quiet “thank you” and the smallest moment of eye contact .
Magnolia leans in close enough to whisper, “Not for much longer. My boyfriend is picking me up in a few minutes outside.”
Brooke laughs like she’s in on a secret. “Not family approved?”
“You know my brother.” The girl rolls her eyes, then gives me a once-over. “Not in the way you used to, I’m happy to see.”
“This is Marcus.”
“Doesn’t look like the kind of boyfriend your family would approve of either.” She smirks, reaching for Brooke’s wine and taking a big sip before handing it back to her. Wait. Is that why Brooke agreed to bring me? Because I’m the opposite of the type of man her mom would want her to go for? Minus the whole rich thing, but that card isn’t face up.
“Yeah, well, only because they have terrible taste.”
Magnolia nods in agreement. “It was so good to see you. I’d love to stay, but . . .”
“No, I get it. Trust me. I’d leave with you if I could. Go have fun. We’ll catch up before I leave.”
“Promise.” Magnolia takes Brooke’s wine back effortlessly, finishing it in one gulp. “Thanks!” She’s out of sight before either of us can reply.
“She’s . . . something.”
“Beau’s sister,” Brooke tells me.
“Biological?” I quirk a brow, and Brooke laughs.
“Surprisingly, yes. Nothing alike. Magnolia is only seventeen, but we were pretty close. She even mailed me a few things she retrieved from Beau’s house when I ran away to Thailand.”
I’m about to comment when an older woman approaches. Considering Beau is tacked to her side, I’m assuming it’s his mother. We’re knocking this all out at once apparently. Brooke is standing close enough that I can feel her immediately tense beside me. Seeing a high-top table within reach, I direct her toward it as a meeting point and a barrier for this reunion.
Brooke follows my lead, setting her empty wine glass on the table. Without the alcohol to relax her, I’ll just have to give her something else. “Be good,” Brooke whispers like she can read my thoughts. I smirk, unsure if she catches it before addressing the woman in front of us. “Martha, hi.”
“Brooke, dear.” She runs her eyes over what she can see of Brooke’s outfit that isn’t blocked by the high table with the same disapproving tone her mother had. “It’s so nice you’re finally home. You can get back to your life.” It makes no sense to me that this woman of status is so set on Brooke being the one for her son. Besides the fact that he’d be lucky to have her, the simple fact that she doesn’t come from money seems like it would be enough to not encourage it. “And who do we have here?” She looks at me with disdain.
“Marcus Cole, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much.” I reach my hand for hers and she takes it begrudgingly.
“Oh, right. Your mother told me about him,” she tells Brooke like I’m no longer in the conversation.
Next to me, Brooke’s rage is building. I can tell in the way she’s squeezing her fist next to the bare skin on her leg as it barely brushes my slacks. She takes a controlled breath before anything she says. The girl needs to relax, and I’m here to take care of that.
I pull my phone from my pocket carefully, angling it under the table just enough I can see the screen. I tested the strength earlier, so I know level one shouldn’t feel stronger than a tickle. It startles Brooke nonetheless, and I have to bite back a laugh. She covers the small jolt between her legs with a cough, earning her a confused look from both her ex and his mom. “Are you alright?” Beau reaches for Brooke’s arm resting on the table, pretending to care about her. It’s all for show.
“Oh yeah, I’m good. Great actually.” She pulls away from his touch.
I tap my screen under the table, turning the intensity to the second level. Brooke reaches for her wine glass, pretending to sip from it even though it’s clear it’s empty. I pocket my phone, running my hand along her lower back and reaching my other for her glass. “Would you like more?”
She pulls her attention to me. “Mhmm.” The way she says it and the smirk she tacks on at the end makes it clear she’s not just talking about the wine.
“I’ll be back.” Before she can react, I press the softest kiss to her lips. It’s shallow and quick and everything in me begs to stay and make it longer and deeper. I pull back enough to still feel her breath and watch her face for any indication of what she’s thinking.
“Okay,” she whispers, her gaze stuck to mine until I step away without giving any attention to the other two. Before I’m out of earshot I hear Martha say, “Well that was a little inappropriate given the situation, don’t you think?”
I’m tempted to go back and put her in her place, but it’s a waste of breath. I’d rather give Brooke something more positive to think about. The bar is close enough that I can see her clearly but far enough away that I can’t make out any of the conversation.
I can read body language, though, and Brooke’s eyes shifting to me momentarily tell me exactly what she wants. She says something to the two of them, and I hit a button on my phone screen. It should send a strong pulse through the vibrator followed by a few short and slightly less intense ones. I wish it were my fingers under her dress, inside her, but I take what I can get, watching her subtly cross her legs at the ankle under the table. With one arm resting on the table, she folds her other hand over it, her fingers wrapping around her forearm.
I increase the intensity, skipping level three completely and watching her pretty pink nails dig into her skin. I waste a moment glancing at Beau and his mom to see no indication they think something is off. I know Brooke is purposely not looking at me. I’m not sure why, but I’d like to think her biting the corner of her lip and the way her eyes keep darting around the room are a reaction to what I’m doing to her.
Beau says something and Brooke pinches her lips together, from the looks of it barely managing a “Mhmm” sound with her soft nod. I imagine it comes out more like a squeak of pleasure, and I love everything about it except that my role in this is too indirect.
With a full wine glass in hand, and the next adjustment ready on my phone screen, I make my way back to the table. She hesitates before taking the glass from me, pulling her fingers from where they are digging into her skin. “Thank you,” she manages, her voice both soft and on edge–like she is on the edge.
“Anything for you, love.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her tight to me before pressing down on where my thumb was hovering over the button in my pocket. The vibrations should switch to steady, long pulses that I’m hoping push her over the edge .
Somehow managing to keep her reactions under control, Brooke’s arm bends, her hand linking with my fingers draped over her shoulder. She squeezes barely enough for me to notice, but a jolt of need courses through me. The way she’s leaning into me feels like the missing piece of my puzzle. Fuck. “As I was saying, Marcus is brilliant. He can code any app you could ever need.” A burst of pride blooms inside me, and I wonder if she genuinely believes I’m that talented.
“He certainly looks the part of a tech guy.” His mother’s tone makes it clear that’s not a compliment.
“There’s no consistent money in tech when it could crash at any moment. Completely unreliable,” Beau says as he attempts to burn a divide between our hands with his stare.
Technology is quite literally one of the most profitable industries. This guy graduated from Yale? I try to wrap my head around what Brooke could have seen in him, glancing over at her to see if she believes any of his bullshit.
I don’t think she even heard any of his bullshit.
Her eyes are locked on Beau’s as he talks. She’s biting hard on the smallest sliver of her lip. If I didn’t know what was happening behind the scenes–behind her panties–I would have thought she was entranced by him. It looks like she’s entranced by him and his words. It seems he thinks so too as he leans ever so slightly toward her, still rambling on about a technology article he read in the newspaper the other day.
She won’t look at me, and while I’m hoping it’s simply because the movement would break her control, I can’t handle her attention on him this way, not when I’m playing with her like this. I tap my screen under the table once more, maxing out the intensity. An involuntary twitch shoots through Brooke. To anyone else, it would probably seem like a chill, which is exactly how she plays it off. “It’s a little cold in here. Could we go get my jacket?” Her fingers tighten against where they hold mine, damp with sweat.
“I’m sure Matthew can be a gentleman and get it for you,” Beau’s mom suggests. Does she seriously believe her match-making is subtle or effective?
“It’s Marcus,” Brooke snaps, struggling to keep her composure, but I’d be willing to bet it has nothing to do with her ex-future mother-in-law. Anyone paying attention could see that the way her cheeks are flushed, there’s no way she’s cold unless she has a fever. “I’m not feeling well anyway, I think it’s best if we call it a night.”
I give a slight nod to our company, faking pleasantries only to get out of here sooner. Beau tries to say something to Brooke, but she ignores him completely, guiding me away. I imagine she’s heading toward the elevator, but instead of pushing the buttons, she veers right, heading down the hallway toward the conference rooms.
I barely have time to slide in the room behind her, the heavy door closing behind us. She twists into the wall, her forehead pressing against it with a heavy breath. Her breathing comes quickly in short pants. If she’s this fucking turned on, I have no idea how she was holding it together in a room full of people the way she made me believe she was. With her forearm pressed into the wall above her head, she looks at me sideways. “Turn it off,” she practically cries.
“Why?” I know damn well she hasn't come yet, and I refuse to leave this room until she does.
“I can’t handle it. I can’t . . .” she trails off before adding so softly I almost miss it, “let go.”
I take a step, invading her space, close enough to touch her, to feel the heat radiating from her body. “Let go of what?” I’m praying to fucking god she’s not talking about the douchewad on the other side of this wall.
“Just let go. It’s making me mad,” she huffs out.
Ahh. “Stage fright?”
She glares, and I chuckle. “No. That part . . . got me closer than I expected.” Her breaths are still shallow like she’s genuinely struggling to get a deep one. “But this was supposed to bring me relief. Now I’m just on edge.”
“So fall over it.”
“You act like it’s that simple.”
“Isn’t it? Most things in life are a choice. A mindset shift.” I roll the sleeves of my button-up over my forearms like my body knows what I’m going to do next before my mind does.
“Stop giving me pep talks from your stupid books and put me out of my misery.” She sighs, twisting her body away from me like she’ll lean against the wall. I slide in behind her, pulling her back flush to my chest by her hips. She gasps. “Wh-what are you doing?” she stammers.
“Putting you out of your misery,” I whisper against her ear. I pull my phone from my pocket, lowering the intensity of the vibrator to two before stashing my device again. The moment the buzzing inside her settles, she relaxes against me like she can breathe again.
With my phone back in the pocket of my slacks, my hand takes a firm grip on her waist. “What are you doing?” she asks again, this time in a whisper.
“Brooke,” I murmur against her ear. “Leaving this conference room before you come might kill me. What’s it going to take?” Testing the waters, I run my hand over her thigh. Her breathing immediately picks back up, and I hope she’s too distracted to notice my heart rate doing the same.
“The rules,” she breathes .
“The name of the game is getting you out of stressful situations while we’re here. Is it not?” A chill rakes through her with my hot breath on her ear.
She nods, her eyes fluttering closed.
I let my thumb brush over the fabric covering the apex of her thigh. “Tell me you want my help.”
She presses into me more with a whisper of a moan, her ass grinding against my cock. Goddamn. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want to make this girl come right now.
I press a kiss to her neck. “Let me break the rule,” I say against her skin.
“Marcus.” The sound of my name on her desperate lips makes me never want to hear it said by anyone else again. “Yes. Please, yes.”
Fucking hell, her begging is hot. With her confirmation, I increase the pressure of my fingers as I trail them to her inner thigh, my other hand gripping her hip, holding her in place.
I inch my fingers closer, feeling the warmth of her body. When I get to the hem of her dress, I push it up until I’ve got a firm grip on her inner thigh. I rub my thumb across the silk separating us, damp to my touch. The realization sends a twitch straight to my dick, bringing him to attention against Brooke’s ass. A groan escapes both of us as I hook a finger on the side of her panties and pull it across her sensitive skin.
My middle finger makes contact first, rubbing small circles against her clit. Her head falls to my shoulder. I slide my finger down, toying with her opening. Fucking hell, she’s so turned on and sexy. It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to not bend her over the conference table and fuck her until she sees stars. But patience has treated me well in the past, and I intend to keep it that way .
She sucks in a breath when I slip inside her. I stay shallow, my palm pressed against her clit and I make slow circles inside her. I add a second finger, switching to pumping in and out of her slowly and deeper with each thrust. “Rules are overrated,” she says in a sedated voice before biting the corner of her lip with her eyes closed, her head locking into place on my chest.
The next one is deep enough I feel the small vibration against my fingertips. Her hips buck, and I fuck her with my hand, pinning her against me as I do. She tightens ever so slightly around my fingers–closer, but not there. She presses her hips into my hand, trying to chase the feeling. My other hand tightens on her hip, grinding her ass against my hardening cock. Fucking hell, she feels good. I’m not even inside her, but I decide at this moment I’ll do what it takes to make sure that happens.
It feels like forever, and I savor every moment my brain is focused on the present moment in a way it never is. I shift my fingers inside her. Taking my time. Playing. Reveling in her soft skin and the smell of the fresh saltwater spray in her hair. The small twitches from her paired with the faint vibrating coming from inside her. I have all the time in the world for this, but I’m abruptly reminded she doesn’t feel the same when her head tips toward my neck in defeat, a groan leaving her as she stops fucking my hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Panic spikes through me thinking she’s regretting letting me touch her.
“I can’t do it. I can’t get there.”
A sigh of relief leaves me. Fucking hell, she scared me. “Why not?” My tone isn’t accusatory. It’s curious.
“I don’t know. I’m in my head.”
“How so?” I don’t remove my fingers, but I slow their pace. In and out. Steady .
From this angle, I can see her eyes flutter closed again as she stays nuzzled to my chest. “It’s too much work. It takes too long. Your hand is tired. You’re annoyed.”
“None of those things are true.”
“I don’t know how to not believe them. There’s no way you’re not frustrated.”
“Why would I be frustrated?”
“Because you’re on a mission rigged to fail.” She’s whispering but her voice sounds louder in the dark.
I chuckle.
She tenses, and I hold my fingers in place, keeping her pinned to me with my palm in case she tries to move away. “Is this funny?”
“Nah. I’m just not worried about it. It’s not me. It’s you.”
She spins in my arms so quickly that my fingers slip out of her. “Excuse me?”
With the fingers that haven’t just been inside her, I tilt her chin so she’s looking at me. I want to kiss her so damn bad. “I’m not annoyed because I’m confident I can do this.”
“Of course you are.” She rolls her eyes, trying to take her head with them and out of my grasp. I hold tight enough to her face that she’s trapped. “You’re Marcus Cole. Successful businessman. You always get what you want.” She doesn’t say it, but somehow I’ve just been lumped into a category with her ex. The way she acts like she has me pegged without knowing I’m rich terrifies me for how she’ll feel once she finds out.
“What I want is to give you the best fucking orgasm of your life, Brooke Fields. So good you’ll be relaxed through the end of the trip, regardless of how long we’re here. Got it?”
“This isn’t part of your job description. ”
I debate my words. “Maybe not. But I’m going to do it anyway. We just have to break down your block. It would help if I knew what it was.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She tugs at the hem of her dress until it’s in place.
Fuck. I felt like we made progress tonight. I had hoped that her letting me get physically close would move us toward a real relationship, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Not wanting to push her away more, I ask, “Do you want to go back to the party? Hang out with your dad?”
“No. I’d rather go back to the room.”
“Alright, let’s go.” I let her lead the way, following behind her with enough room to give her space, racking my brain for all the ways I could have made that go differently.
When she’s done washing her face and changing, Brooke opens the bathroom door in a way that invites me inside. When I join her, she’s standing in front of the mirror in nothing but my T-shirt, with her toothbrush in her mouth. Fucking hell, seeing my clothes hang on her body does too much to me. I never want her to take it off just as much as I’m not so sure I can handle seeing it on her much longer.
She glances at me, holding my toothbrush toward me, all ready to go.
“Thank you.” I take it from her, brushing my teeth next to her, the only sound in the small space. It’s awkward and miserable. If my way of relaxing her isn’t working tonight, I’ll have to settle for her way.
We crawl into bed from either side, still without a word. She reaches for her bedside lamp and flicks it off. “You don’t have to go to bed. I know it’s early. ”
“I’m a morning person.” It’s still earlier than I usually go to sleep, but I’m smart enough to know pulling my laptop out right now probably isn’t the best idea.
“Alright.” She’s definitely not alright .
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” Her words feel even further away than the three feet between us on the bed.
“Either how you’re doing after seeing Beau twice in one day. Or whatever else you want to get off your chest about me.”
She glances up from where she was staring at her fingers running over the seam of the comforter. “What about you?”
“Me touching you. Pushing the line you set for us.”
She chews on the corner of her lip. “I hate seeing him. I was wrong. I think it’s worse than seeing my mom.”
It takes everything in me to refrain from a smirk at the way she immediately decides talking about me is actually the harder path. “Why do you think that is?”
She sighs. “It makes me hate myself a little–that I let myself be controlled by someone for so long.”
“But you left. Not everyone is strong enough to do that.”
She shakes her head. “You didn’t see me earlier. At the store. I shouldn’t have even let him near me, let alone fix my stupid dress. It’s like being in his vicinity activates a spell where any respect for myself immediately disappears.”
“I didn’t get that impression when we were downstairs.”
Her eyes fall back to the comforter. “Because you were there. I don’t know, that gave me courage or something. You and your stupid pep talks about confidence and self-worth. Sometimes I truly can’t believe I thought I loved him.”
“Did you? ”
“I’m not really a fan of the whole ‘I love you’ thing.” The way she sighs makes it seem like she thinks the entire concept of love is made up.
“The ‘I love you’ thing . . .?”
“Love is such a simple word that should hold so much power. But it's overused and abused to the point where it feels like it’s lost all meaning. Things you do embody love far better than the word ever could, anyway.” She shrugs.
“But ignoring the word doesn’t make the feeling cease to exist,” I argue.
“No. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m the one who abused the word. I said it back to Beau whenever he said it even though I know he did it out of obligation. I said it in an attempt to convince myself it was true.”
“Did you ever believe it?” Shut the fuck up, man. The last thing I need to do is talk about falling in love with a fake and temporary girlfriend if she doesn’t feel like there’s potential here for her.
“You know when you see a word too many times and it feels like it’s spelled wrong? Or say it too much and it doesn’t sound like a word anymore?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“That’s how loving Beau felt. Confusing, unclear, made-up. But someone tells you it’s right, so you stick with it. The next time I fall in love . . . The words aren’t what makes the feeling clear. I’d like to think I’d know if someone loves me regardless of if they say the words or not.”
“You will.”
Every time she shares her perspective on some aspect of life, I’m stunned. She makes me think about things in ways I’ve never considered before. It’s engaging in a way I’ve been craving with every single girl I’ve taken on a date .
“Yeah.” She picks at the hem of my shirt she’s wearing, revealing her inner thigh but not noticing.
Not knowing what else to say–and in an attempt to keep from ripping her clothes off–I reach my arm out. The motion raises her gaze. She looks at me like I grew an extra limb, scrunching her face at my unspoken demand. “I’m not Maci, but I am her favorite, so I’m the next best thing.”
She chuckles, hesitating.
I motion to her with my fingers in a way I wish I could do inside her again. What the fuck was that thought? She continues to make it clear she doesn’t want that from me. I’m just her fake boyfriend and only option for a friend right now, and that makes me her temporary safe space. Fucking hell. It’s going to be a long week. Hoping she doesn’t magically have access to my thoughts, I give her a pointed look. She holds it for a moment, then scoots down on the bed, twisting her body sideways until her head is on my lap. The blanket pools mostly in front of her as she curls up, her backside covered by nothing but my shirt. She takes a deep breath and readjusts a couple of times before she’s comfortable.
When she stills, I drop my hand to her soft blonde waves, noting the faint smell of coconut and ocean. She stiffens for a moment at the touch but doesn’t move away. Instead, she reaches up, locking her fingers on my thigh where my shorts have slightly pushed up as I run my hand over her hair repeatedly.
Reaching over her for the remote, I flip the TV on and scan a few channels. Junk. Click. Trash. Click. Stupid. This is why I hardly watch TV. Click. Black and white fills the screen, an iconic face and voice filling the screen as Lucy shoves chocolate into her shirt. Brooke glances up at me, and I set the remote down, this time moving my hand to her back. I scratch in small circles, resisting the urge to feel our skin touch.
Before the episode ends, Brooke’s breathing levels out, and not long after, I drift off to sleep too.