Marco’s fingers entwined with mine, and his grip put me at ease. “I was dating a senior. He was the quarterback for our football team. My best friend and I got into a fight. She told me that my boyfriend had come on to her at a party. I didn’t believe her. How could I? Why would my boyfriend try and hook up with my best friend?”
And suddenly I could feel the pressure of my braces as they were applied when I was thirteen.
The time I slipped and fell in the hall at school and tried to shrug it off, but still my cheeks had burned the color of my burgundy skirt.
The first kiss that had me drawing hearts on my notebook.
The first dance with the homecoming king. I was royalty, for just one night.
And then . . . the first time my heart was split open, and I was delivered the earth-shattering kind of pain that only a teen knows.
As I retold Marco my story, I was officially a teenager again.
And I didn’t like it.
I forced the awkwardness from my mind. “Apparently, our lack of, um, sex, was reason enough for him to go behind my back. My best friend and I got into a horrible fight, and then she said men are all jerks, especially football players. They all cheat.” I shook my head and turned my cheek to look at Marco. His lips were soft, hovering slightly apart.
“I actually defended him. Crazy, right? But then my friend told me that even my saint of a father had once cheated on my mother. I went ballistic after that. Our mothers were also best friends. My friend told me that my dad had an affair at the start of his football career, a year after my mom and him were married. My mother had told my friend’s mom . . .”
His forehead creased with concern, and I wondered what he was thinking. Did he think I was pathetic for allowing this one incident to cloud my judgment, to allow me to make sweeping generalizations about all men in sports? He was probably right, but many men I had encountered in my job solidified this discovery, making it difficult to hope for anything else.
I watched Marco swallow, and he shut his eyes for a moment. His dark lashes splayed against his tanned skin. “I am so sorry, Maggie.”
He reopened his eyes and I lifted a shoulder, my silent way of saying, “Hey, no worries.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“My mom?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. I asked her about it. I didn’t believe my friend, of course. My mom tried to lie at first, but I was always good at reading her, and finally she told me the story. My dad had the affair when he was on the road.”
The muscles in Marco’s jaw tensed at my words. I wasn’t sure if he was angry with my father or just upset at how he’d triggered my belief that athletes were cheaters. “The news ended up in the tabloids before he had the chance to talk to my mother. They separated for a few months, but eventually she took him back. It was hard for me to understand her decision. And it destroyed the perfect image I had of my dad. He was my world—the reason I loved sports.”
Marco remained quiet, so I continued, “She begged me to forgive him. And she asked me to keep the information from my sisters.”
“Have you forgiven him?” Marco finally spoke as he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“Yes and no. I think if I truly forgave him, then I wouldn’t still have my rules.” My lips tilted into a semi-smile, trying to ease the moment.
“But you never gave up your love of sports. You didn’t let this knowledge taint your love of the game.”
“Touché.” It was weird that we were having this conversation while both naked in bed. But maybe that was what made it easy, in a sense. We were both exposed to what made us who we were.
“Whatever happened with your boyfriend?”
I waved my free hand in the air as if my ex were no big deal, even though it was him who set my world of distrust in motion. “We broke up, of course.”
“And you haven’t dated an athlete since?”
I released an exaggerated breath. “Nope. Just your lucky self.” I laughed, trying to break the tension. How had we gone from three rounds of hot, steamy sex to cheaters and heartbreak?
“Thank you for telling me why you do not trust. But I need you to do something for me, Maggie.” He sat up in bed, his legs hanging over the side, and he pressed his palms to the mattress. His back was to me now, and I sat up.
“What is it?” I bit my lip.
“I understand your fear of getting hurt, but please do not live your life in fear. Open yourself up to meeting the right man, regardless of whom he may be. I would hate to see such an amazing and beautiful woman closing herself off to love.”
He pushed up off the bed and looked at me. I wet my lips and nodded at him as if it were possible for me to give up over a decade of fear at his recommendation. But maybe it was possible if I did find the right man. Maybe it was Marco . . .
Marco started for my bathroom, rolling his neck and arching his shoulders as he moved. “Marco.”
He stopped in the doorway of the bathroom but didn’t turn around.
“Are you okay?” I gulped.
He pressed a hand to the doorframe, and I had to fight the urge to drink in the sight of his tall, toned body. It wasn’t the time for my body to react, to desire another round of life-altering sex.
He lowered his head. “Sometimes life is not fair.” He dropped his hand to his side and proceeded into the bathroom.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I shifted to the edge of the bed and swung my legs down, clutching the bed sheet to my chest.
He finally turned, but his eyes were cast down, his lips firm. “It’s not fair that I meet a woman like you—and I can’t have you.”
“Marco.” I rose to my feet, but I had no idea what to say. My lips remained open, but no sound escaped from my mouth. I kept my eyes on him, and a deep sadness spiraled through me.
Then he turned away from me.
And I let him.
Fifteen
“I can’t believe he had to cancel at the last minute. So strange.” Will shoved his cell into his pocket.
I rolled my shoulders back and gripped my neck, hoping Will wouldn’t notice the storm of tension pouring through me. It was likely to land on his head if I didn’t watch myself.
“So all he said was he had to go to London?” Will studied me as he sat across from me.
I adjusted the shades I’d worn to hide my lack of sleep as well as shield my thoughts. “That’s what his text said. That, and he’d be back in time for the charity event tomorrow night.” Which reminded me—I had nothing to wear.
Marco had showered and left my hotel room before the sun rose this morning. He said a few words to me, kissed me on the forehead, and left. A couple of hours later, I received a text telling me that he was on his way to the airport for Heathrow.
Would he skip out of the country just to avoid me? Things were awkward between us, but Marco didn’t seem like such a coward.
“How’d things end last night?” Will’s question had me looking up from my hands, where I had been absorbed in studying my freshly painted pink nails as if they were the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.
I looked up just as the waiter appeared at our table.
“Can I have a cappuccino?” Will ordered, giving me a minute to come up with an answer.
“It’s after eleven.” The waiter pressed his hands to the top of one of the empty chairs at our table and stared at Will.
“And that means?” Will opened his palms in the air, a smile on his lips.
“We don’t drink cappuccino after eleven. It is too heavy for the stomach. Not good for you.” The man flicked his wrist in the air, waving his hand as if Will had said something insulting.
“Oh.” Will glanced at me, grinned, and then looked back at the waiter. “My bad.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “What do you recommend?”
“Espresso. Or coffee no milk. These are good choices.”
I tried to stifle my laugh as I watched Will negotiate his drink with the waiter. I hoped I
was off the hook about his question, but once our server had disappeared, Will’s eyes were on me.
I tried my hand at deflection. “How was your night with Maria?”
“Not so fast.” He crossed his arms, his muscles bulging beneath the short sleeves of his gray T-shirt. The color reminded me of Marco’s eyes.
“Marco dropped me off at the hotel after we danced for a bit.”
“And that’s it?”
Why did I have a feeling that he already knew the answer?
“What?” I mouthed and shook my head.
“So you didn’t shag?”
“Shag? Are we in the seventies?” I chuckled and hoped my second attempt at bypassing his question would work. “Are you going to see Maria when you’re back in New York?”
He was the one now taking a drink. How did he like being on the receiving end of the questions?
“I don’t know.” He set his glass down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You still avoiding Travis’s calls?”
Now that was another topic I wasn’t in the mood for. I didn’t want to get lectured by Travis about my failure to produce any kind of results—I’d been acting so out of character for the last week, I wasn’t sure if Travis would recognize me back in New York.
Lori was heading our way, saving me from answering Will. Thank God. “She’s here.”
Will peeked over his shoulder at Lori, who looked a stunning cross between Kate Beckinsale and Kiera Knightly. She planted kisses on both my cheeks once I stood and repeated the gesture with Will. She looked fresh and didn’t appear to be nursing a hangover—so far so good.
“Glad you could come,” I said once we all sat back down. I was worried about her after last night. Since I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye at the club, I had called her this morning.
The three of us chatted until Will finished his espresso. He pushed to his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Since the plans have been canceled, I’m going to take advantage and go shopping. I need a suit for tomorrow.”
“I’ll go with you. Maybe you can help me find a dress, Lori? I have no clue what to wear.”
Will laughed his fake laugh, which sounded like a hyena’s cry. “I have no interest in spending my entire day dress shopping. Have fun with that.”
“Ha ha. You know I’m not that kind of girl.” I shot Lori a look as we stood up from the little round table at the café. “No offense if you are.”
“None taken. And I’m not that girl, either.”
“I knew I liked you for a reason,” I joked.
As Lori and I started down the street together, sans Will, a bus stopped next to us, and I looked over to see a picture of the football team on its side. Some jackass had put an X on Marco’s face, which made my blood heat.
Lori’s hand was on my wrist. “You okay?”
I swallowed back an unexpected lump of emotion and looked at Lori as we waited for the crosswalk sign to give us the green light. “I’ll be fine.” I sighed. “How about you? I didn’t want to bring anything up in front of Will, but how are you and Sean?”
We maneuvered through a crowd of lunchtime traffic as people crossed the street. “We’ll be okay.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I mean, I’m pissed off, but if this is what he wants to do, then I have to support it, right?” She rubbed her arms, despite the warm temperature, and put on her sunglasses. Classic.
I knew that move from old habit. She was hiding her emotions, and I couldn’t blame her. I wanted to hide mine as well. I wanted to bury myself in a fortress of pillows and hide like I used to do when I was a kid with my sisters.
“Can I ask a question?” I broke the silence that had been hovering between us.
She halted in front of a boutique, her fingers grasping the door handle. She looked over her shoulder at me. “Sure.”
“Why is Sean so interested in trying to keep Marco from quitting, if he is going pro?”
She rolled her tongue over her teeth and pulled the door open, motioning for me to walk ahead.
“I mean,” I continued, “I thought he was interested in Marco playing because he was his agent . . .”
“He’s worried about Marco. He doesn’t think he’s making the right choice, and he doesn’t want him to have any regrets, I guess.” She pushed her sunglasses into her hair.
“And what do you think?” I studied her dark eyes.
“I think Marco’s like Sean. He’s going to become depressed and miserable not playing.” She wet her lips and looked away from me as a store attendant approached. They began conversing in Italian as I thought about what she’d said.
Imagining a depressed Marco was too much to bear. I squeezed out the thought and went through the racks.
Twenty dresses and three shops later, however, I realized that I was that girl. At least for today.
I tried to tell myself it had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to impress Marco. He’d seen me naked. Hell, he’d devoured almost every inch of me. What did some fluffy, girly-girl dress matter, after that?
“I think that’s the one.”
Lori was sitting in a chair and looking at me as I made a mock twirl in front of her. I smoothed a hand over my stomach and studied myself in the mirror. “You sure?”
“He’ll lose his bloody damn mind seeing you in that dress.”
I blanched at her comment. “Wh—what do you mean? Who?”
Lori faked a laugh. “Marco, of course.”
“Why would you think that about Marco?” I gulped and fidgeted with the material of the dress at my hips.
“Because you have that ‘I’ve just been fucked’ glow. And not just any fuck—a damn well bloody good one. And you left the club last night with Marco, I’m betting.”
My jaw edged open in surprise at her words. I hadn’t expected Lori to have a sailor’s mouth, or to see right through me. “I, um . . .”
Lori smiled and held her hand up. “My advice is to run while you can before you get hurt.”
I frowned. Okay, so Lori was probably in a bad mood because of her argument with Sean last night. She had been singing a different tune at her art gallery opening.
“I leave for New York in a little over a week. I have no intention of—”
Lori shook her head. “Maggie, you’ve already fallen, haven’t you?”
“What?” I gasped. “No. That’s crazy. I mean, I barely know him, and I am not—well, just . . . no! I’m . . . we’re not . . .” I cleared my throat. “I thought you said not to believe the stereotypes about athletes?” Confusion captured my face as I creased my forehead and pressed my lips together.
“The problem isn’t the cheating. The problem is they always love the game more.”
***
I couldn’t be in my hotel room. The things Marco and I had done in there . . . Despite the fact that cleaning service had already been in my room, all I could smell was Marco.
I was sitting in the lobby of my hotel, my pen in hand, my notebook page filled with two giant words: Super Bowl.
I still couldn’t tolerate the idea that my beloved editor had hung the Super bowl story out in front of me like a damn carrot. Pissed off, I crossed out the words on my paper, then slammed my notebook shut.
My phone buzzed, alerting me to a text. That or another Twitter notification. My social media accounts were always butting in.
I had checked Marco’s Twitter that morning like some creepy stalker. He had over a million people following him. He had his own damn hashtag. The topic of late was all about his quitting, of course. I’d wanted to Tweet that they should just leave the man alone, but I abstained. I even resisted becoming one of his many followers.
I held my phone tight in my hands, studying the message Marco had sent.
How are you? I’m sorry I canceled today.
Why did he cancel? Why was he in London? Why did he act like an aloof ass when he left me that morning? What did he mean by he wanted me but couldn’t have me?
My brain ached fr
om the torrent of questions in my mind. I didn’t know how to respond to him.
My eyes drifted up and I caught sight of Sean, dressed in faded denim jeans and a white tee. I jumped to my feet.
Sean headed my way, shoving his aviator sunglasses up into his wavy blonde hair. He broke into a smile and gave me a quick, one-armed hug.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I know we planned on getting together next week—”
He waved a hand and pushed a chair in front of mine. “It’s no problem. Really.” He sank down and pressed his hands to his thighs. “You saw Lori today, right?” He looked up at me as I sat.
I placed my notebook on the side table and laced my fingers together on my lap. “Yeah, um, we went dress shopping.”
He nodded, and then rubbed his jaw, his eyes darting to the floor. “How’d she seem?”
Huh. So they hadn’t talked. “She wasn’t in the greatest of moods, but I think she was okay.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
What could I say? “Maybe you should talk to her.”
He leaned back in his seat and dragged his palms down his face, releasing a soft groan. “She’s angry with me. I don’t think she’ll talk.” He cleared his throat and opened his eyes wide. “Anyway, I’m sorry. We’re not here about me.” His shoulders flinched as if a chill had seized him. “Fire away with your questions.”
Shit. Part of me knew I should stay out of Lori and Sean’s relationship and do my job, but another part of me wanted to help them.
Instead, I reached for my notebook and flipped it open to a blank page.
A fresh start. Just what I needed.
My pen slipped free and hit the floor. Sean grabbed it and held it in front of me. “Here.”
“Thanks.” I stared down at my paper in a daze, the pen light between my fingers.
“Maggie?”
“Huh?”
“Did you want to ask me something about Marco?”
“Yeah.” I needed to get my shit together. Jeez. “Has he always loved football?”
Sean snorted. “He’s played ever since he was a kid.” Sean paused for a moment, which had me looking up. “He’s one of those irritating guys who is just so damn good you really want to hate him, but then you realize how much practice he puts into being that good . . . and you only have yourself to blame.”
Forever Rome (Forever #1) Page 16
