by Sarah Skye
So I tell him that.
He rises from the couch in one motion and sweeps me literally off my feet and into his arms. His arms are strong and brace me, let me go limp and surrender everything to him for that brief moment.
It’s a sweet relief to surrender, even for a second. To not worry. To feel like someone has caught me, has me covered. I know it’s just passion and lust, but for a moment? It’s nice on a lot of levels.
But that moment is over, and I take my bag with shaky hands and leave so he can jerk off and go take care of my Gram.
When I fall face down into my pillow that night, there is no guilt. No doubt. There is my intuition shouting about how right this was. There is my heart, saying that whatever was, what is is good.
And, when I flip over to my back and slip my hand between my legs, there is my body, saying that whoever made the move, it’s a move I will make again.
15
MARCO
Is it possible to out-run a boner? I hope so.
Because that’s what I’m currently trying to do as I jog the six miles from my condo to the warehouse district where I’m due to meet Morgan in twenty minutes.
It’s been three days since that night at my place, when arguing with her somehow turned into one of the hottest nights of my life.
And we didn’t even sleep together.
Hence the perma-boner I’ve been nursing for the past few days. I took care of it that night before heading to Nina’s, of course. But I haven’t jerked off since then. Just the thought of doing that at Morgan’s grandma’s place felt like a whole new level of sleazy. I got by with killer running sessions twice a day and exchanging sexy texts with Morgan whenever she had free time.
My feet pound the pavement, and I hit the last mile of the run. At this pace, my heart feels like it’s on the brink of exploding, and that’s a good thing. That means blood is being diverted from my dick to my lungs and my heart. But it’s gonna take everything in me not to grab her when I see her, back her against the nearest wall, and finish what we started Friday night.
I wipe the cascade of sweat from my brow, thankful that Nina insisted on having today and tomorrow to herself. I can tell she appreciates my presence and my help, but she’s getting stronger by the day and aching to have her house to herself without me there hovering over her.
I don’t blame her. If I were in her situation, I’d want alone time too. The doctor green-lighted up to thirty-six hours on her own, after her check-up Wednesday when she demonstrated her ability to administer her insulin by herself. I’m pretty damn proud to have taught her that, no lie. In a week or so, I’ll be moving back to my place completely.
Personally, I was only too happy to take off early this morning after making sure she was set for the day. Morgan seemed pretty damn happy too when I texted her asking to meet up after her photoshoot.
I glance down at my phone in my hand to check the time and see that I’ll beat her to the coffee place, my pace is so insane. Suddenly my stomach flips, and it almost makes me stop dead in my tracks. Has that ever happened to me before? Has the thought of someone made me this giddy ever?
I pick up speed for the last half-mile. My lungs are officially on fire, and I’m one thousand percent certain this feeling has never, ever hit me before.
Damn, this woman. She’s remarkable in every sense of the word. It’s not just that she’s beautiful. It’s the way she fights for everything she’s passionate about, from her job to her grandma. It’s the way she isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with me, whether we’re joking around or hashing it out.
It’s the way she looks at me like she actually cares about me.
A lump lodges in my throat. I cough it away, focusing on the burn in my chest as I pump my legs faster and faster.
Those ocean blue eyes. The way they look right through me. Every single time. Not to intimidate or scold, but to truly see me. Like she’s glimpsing every part of me, past the sarcasm and the bullshit.
Like she’s looking into the deepest part of me… and actually liking what she sees.
At the last quarter mile, the opening bars of Taylor Swift’s “Style” from my running playlist echo in my ear. Instantly I’m catapulted back to three nights ago when Morgan sang the hell out of that song while looking right at me.
Glimpsing every part of me… and actually liking what she sees.
My chest suddenly feels like it’s on fire in a completely different way. I round the corner, the coffee shop in full view now. My jello legs slow to a walk, and I stack my hands on top of my head to help even out my breathing as I cool down.
Push those mushy feelings aside, Woodruff. Focus on making up for lost time on Friday night.
I pull up my texts and message Morgan.
Me: Hey. Here a bit early. What are you in the mood for?
Morgan: Mmm idk. Something yummy.
Me: Yummy, huh? Any flavor specifically on your tongue today?
Morgan: Yeah. Yours. ;)
I almost trip on the pavement. I shouldn’t be surprised. Most of the messages we exchanged this weekend bore a similar tone. I just can’t get over messages like that from someone like her. Morgan is a flirt, and I fucking love it.
Me: Oh, really? That’s a request I’m more than happy to indulge. Don’t think they have much for us at this coffee shop, though. Maybe we should hurry back to my place, but be warned: You might need some caffeine for all I’ve got planned.
Morgan: Is that so? In that case, a double shot of espresso, please.
I grin to myself as I slip my phone and earbuds into my shorts pocket and reach for the door to the coffee shop. But someone is leaving just as I’m trying to walk in, so I step back to make room for them.
“Sorry,” I mutter before I even look at the person. But when I do, I halt dead in my tracks.
“Marco.”
My name dies on my older brother’s lips as he stares at me. His eyes are wide for a split second before he frowns, and his mouth makes that familiar disapproving purse.
I swallow back the shock. “Leo.”
It’s been almost two months since we’ve seen each other—since that shitshow night at the restaurant when I lashed out at him and my parents and announced I was done with them forever.
Instead of muttering another word to each other, we just stand and glare. Then the door opens, and out walk our parents, who freeze the second they see me. Like a reflex, my stomach muscles harden as I brace myself.
Mom reins in her expression from mildly shocked to neutral after a few seconds. But Dad’s face assumes that disappointed glare—the default setting whenever he looks at me.
“Marco,” he says as he smooths a hand over his silver tie. “Interesting running into you here. I didn’t know you spent time in this part of town.”
“I could say the same for you.” I hate the bitterness in my voice. I hate how, even after weeks of no contact, that underlying pain resurfaces at just the sight of them. I hate that all the joy and excitement coursing through me just seconds ago are long gone now that they’re here.
“We’re scouting locations for the new office. Normal job stuff. You wouldn’t understand.” The smugness in Leo’s tone makes me want to punch him.
He smooths a hand over his hair before adjusting his tie, which is a shade lighter than Dad’s. I almost laugh. The lengths Leo goes to mirror Dad are mind blowing.
I turn to Dad. “So you’ve still got him on the payroll then? Even after all the work hours he wastes on long lunches and hotel stays?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leo’s jaw tighten. Surprisingly, he stays quiet.
Dad purses his lips, his expression indignant. “We had a talk about it. We all make mistakes.”
I roll my eyes as a bitter laugh falls from my lips. His well of forgiveness for Leo’s fuckups is endless. Never for me though.
I ignore him and look over at Mom. “You’re here checking out offices with them?”
She waves a hand, the look on her f
ace a mix of disinterest and irritation. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
She doesn’t even look at me when she talks. I bite my lip to keep from muttering what a terrible liar she is. My guess is she had another cosmetic procedure at whatever new clinic just opened up here, or she was meeting some guy she’s got on the side.
“Hope everything’s alright.” Despite everything, I really do mean it. I hope she’s okay. I hope they’re all okay. I just don’t want to be around them.
Dad’s chest heaves with a sigh, the disapproving wrinkle in his brow practically tattooed in his skin. “What have you been up to, Marco? Still jobless?”
Leo makes a scoffing noise behind the rim of his coffee cup. It’s like a weird sort of one-upmanship he and Dad seem to be partaking in. See who can make me feel like shit first.
But I’m not interested in playing.
“Yeah, I am. It’s fucking awesome not working some soul-sucking job that I don’t give a shit about.”
Their eyes go wide as Mom peers around, clearly hoping that no one heard me.
Dad shakes his head. “You’re classless when you talk like that.”
“I don’t care what you think about me.”
When I catch Leo muttering “ungrateful shit” to himself, I twist my head to him.
“What did you say?”
“I said, you’re an ungrateful shit.”
Mom scolds him to keep his voice down, but he ignores her.
“What a waste you are,” Leo says. “Some unemployed leech living on the millions that Grandma Sofia left you. She’d be so fucking embarrassed to see you a jobless loser.”
A dam bursts inside of me. I step forward so I’m in his space.
“Don’t you dare speak for her.”
I plant my hand on his chest to shove him, but Dad wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me away.
“So you’re just sitting around doing nothing? Still? I can’t believe you.”
I yank my arm out of his grip and step back. My blood pumps fire.
“No, actually. I’m taking care of a friend’s grandmother. I think Grandma Sofia would be pretty damn proud that I’m helping people and not just focused on money or figuring out how to screw people out of their money.”
My heart is thudding so fast, my chest starts to ache. I force myself to swallow and take a breath. The vilest sneer spreads across Dad’s face. He steps up to me, his broad form imposing, threatening. I know this stance. He’s used it on me a million times. When I was a kid, he’d lean into my space to scold me or to tell me just how badly I disappointed him in school or at whatever sport I was playing. He never did it in public like this, though.
“I knew it,” he says, his voice an angry growl. “This whole time, I knew you were too soft to do anything worthwhile, Marco. I’ll admit, I was upset when you didn’t choose investment banking. But then you became a corporate lawyer. I was fine with it. At least that’s a respectable career. Lucrative. Prestigious. Solid earning potential. But then you go and screw it all up, and this is what you do after that? You’re some low-level peon who cleans bedpans and hands out medication now? Pathetic.”
I slam him against the brick wall the second he finishes speaking. The “oof” sound he makes rivals the thud from the impact. When I pull my hand away from him, he doubles over, gasping for air. Part of me is in shock, thinking holy shit, did I really just shove my dad into a brick wall? And part of me is numb, thinking he deserved it after all the horrible and hurtful things he’s done to me.
Leo takes a swing at me, but I block him and shove him away.
“Marco!”
Morgan’s shriek pulls me out of my rage. I turn around and see her standing several feet behind me. My mind races, wondering just how much she saw and heard. Probably a lot, judging by the look of horror on her face.
Suddenly, I’m aching to shrink into myself, to melt into the pavement below me and disappear forever. Damn Dr. Imana and his talk about growth. This feels like poison, not progress.
But Morgan hurries to my side and turns to look at my family, who is staring at her in confusion. Her brows are pinched in a viciously cold glare.
“Marco is the best caretaker I could ever want for my grandmother. He’s so kind and doting and loving. How dare you criticize him for that.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to say more, but she shakes her hand. I realize then that her eyes are glistening with tears. I clench my jaw, angry that my family made her feel this way. Disgusted that she heard them talking about what a loser I am. Irrationally fearful that she thinks it too.
No.
Even in this nightmare moment, I know we’re past that. That she means what she says. This may be the worst fucking moment she could possibly witness between me and my family, but the way she stands by me—the way she defends me—heartens me to the core.
My parents and Leo stare at her, their jaws set tight like they’re just now realizing this fiasco is happening in public, in full view of dozens of people.
“You know what?” Morgan scoffs. “None of you are worth speaking another word to. Except to say this: You don’t deserve Marco. He’s a million times better than all of you.”
She pulls me away and leads me by the hand to where her car is parked, just around the corner. I fall into her passenger seat as she hops behind the wheel. When she doesn’t turn the car on right away I look over to her.
“Are you okay?”
She laces her fingers in mine, and it’s almost too much. There’s so much care in that gesture, in her voice, in the way she’s looking at me.
I scrub my free hand over my face. “No. I’m not.”
When I look over at her, her eyes shine with unshed tears. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”
As she drives to my condo, I’m in a daze. Not once does she take her hand from mine, not even when traffic gets hairy. It means more than she’ll ever know. If I had the strength to speak, I’d tell her. But all I can do is sit and stare ahead and process what the hell just happened.
Twenty minutes later we’re in my living room, and Morgan is fetching the pizza she ordered from the delivery guy at the door. I stand up to pay, but she gestures for me to sit back down.
“Don’t you dare.”
I start to smile at the firmness in her voice. She plops the box on my coffee table, opens it, and points. “Eat.”
I nod and shove a slice in my mouth. I’m barely through the second slice before my stomach starts to churn. I catch my reflection in the window nearby and nearly jolt. Dried sweat stains dot my shirt and my hair is mussed to hell. Jesus, I’m a wreck.
I toss the half-eaten piece back onto the grease-soaked cardboard.
“I can’t eat anymore,” I mutter.
She stops chewing before setting down her piece and taking my hand once more. “It’s okay.”
As she finishes up, I lean back against the couch and tug my hands through my hair, unsure of what to say.
“Sorry you had to see that,” I finally say.
“Stop it. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
I ask her the question I’ve been wondering ever since I turned around and saw her standing there, watching my fucked up family explode.
“How much did you see?”
Her gaze falls to her lap. “I walked up right as your dad made that dig at you for being jobless.”
“Great.” I pull my lips into my mouth and sit up, my brain fried, utterly clueless on where to start or how to explain.
“Is that how your family has always talked to you?”
I bite my tongue. For a second, I wonder just how much I should say. I don’t want to hide anything from her. She’s been honest about everything with me so far. She’s let me see her at her most vulnerable—crying and worried sick over Gram. I shouldn’t feel scared to be truthful with her too. I know without a doubt she’ll understand.
Besides, she’s the only person I trust to say any of
this to.
“Pretty much, yeah,” I say softly.
Her shoulders hunch over as she curls her lip. “But they’re so mean to you.” Her voice breaks at the end, and she pauses to swallow. “Why are they like that?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. That’s how they do things. I always felt like I wasn’t wanted, like that was normal.”
And then I tell her everything. How for as long as I can remember my parents have been cold and detached toward me. How I’ve never seen them display one ounce of affection toward each other either. How they’ve cheated on each other their entire marriage. How my older brother was only ever interested in pushing me around and making fun of me. How we never hug. How my family only cares about status and money. How I’ve never heard my parents or Leo tell me they love me. How my grandma was the only loving and affectionate person I’ve ever known. How the last time I ever heard anyone tell me they love me was with her when I was twelve, right before she died.
The whole time Morgan listens quietly, holding my hand in hers, eyes wide as she absorbs it all.
“That night we ran into each other at the restaurant? I was with them. They were berating me for ruining things with Harmony and for being an unemployed loser for the millionth time. I just snapped. Not because they were wrong—I know I’m terrible for the things I did. But I was just tired of being their punching bag. Yeah, I fucked up. I know I did so many horrible things. But they’ve done just as many. And I was tired of being singled out when they were no different from me.”
She nods along, her brows furrowed in concern.
“And that’s when I realized I didn’t want them in my life anymore. They’re such a toxic influence. All I ever saw growing up was my parents’ dysfunctional example, and that shaped the adult I became. I knew I needed to change. So I, um, I started seeing a therapist. That’s where I go when I’m not with Nina on Fridays. That’s where I was coming from when I ran into you before the photoshoot last week and that day when you had a flat tire. I’m learning how to undo a lot of the damage my family did—and that I did. I’m trying to be different, be better. At least I hope I will someday.”
