Page 14 of Best Man Speaking

“Honestly? Yeah, it’s weird.” I lean back in my chair, hoping that I, too, come across as confident and not as desperate for space as I suddenly feel. “I knew I’d see you at some point, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t have to be this soon or this often.”

What I don’t bother to add is that I’d been shocked to see him at dinner last night and at just how much it’d thrown me off.

His lips move into a small, ironic smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know you were going to be at dinner either. Leave it to my brother to know just how to upset a good night.”

“Thanks,” I say, not committing to another round of insults instantly.

If Marcus notices my lack of thrill at being around him again, he has a funny way of showing it.

“What are you up to today?” He nods toward my laptop and settles himself fully into the seat across from me, almost mimicking my posture.

He looks relaxed and in control, unperturbed by my presence.

I hate him for it.

I can’t help but hope he’s faking it too, as “comfortable” is not a word I’d use to describe my own body language, let alone my life at the moment.

“Sadly, life administration—booking a bigger place to stay while I’m here.”

I let the last little bit of information hang, knowing—or perhaps more accurately, assuming—Marcus remembers the strained and pained relationship between me and my family.

Before he can reply, a pretty young waitress with strawberry blond hair pops up at the table with an overly friendly smile. Setting a coffee down in front of him, she says, “Hey! I thought I’d bring you over your regular. I hope that’s okay.”

Her voice is only just on the bearable side of bubbly.

“Thanks, Steph, I really appreciate it,” says Marcus, throwing a charming look in her direction. The dimple that comes out to play in his left cheek as he smiles is a punch to my gut, and I’m caught off guard, more than glad he isn’t looking my way.

Thrilled with his response and without even glancing in my direction,Stephmoves back over to her station behind the counter.

Erica is nowhere in sight.

Marcus picks up his coffee and takes a sip.

I’m unable to ignore the way the tendons in his neck flex so smoothly as he swallows. It’s indecent and only serves to frustrate me further.

I pull myself together in an instant. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes—he doesn’t get that level of friendliness from me anymore.

Marcus has always been popular with women, and it’s no surprise his appeal has gotten more acute with age. Although, I would’ve liked to assume he had better sense than to date a woman in a place he comes to regularly as a customer and is obviously too young for him.

None of which is any ofmybusiness.

It’s just my mind’s jealous way of acknowledging that he’d aged not just well, but annoyingly well. The young, hot guy I’d known at eighteen is now a ruggedly handsome man; of that, there is no doubt.

“Well, you seem to be popular here,” I say with a quick glance over to where two staff members stand, smiling and looking over in our general direction. “I didn’t get this much attention before you arrived.”

“It’s probably not quite what you think,” Marcus says with a small smile, not bothering to look over at the counter to confirm what I’d said for himself.

“I’ll have to take your word on it.”

His word hadn’t meant anything to me for a long time—and for a good reason.

Something must have changed in my facial expression to give away my train of thought because Marcus leans forward, his large hand coming to rest over my wrist.

“Hal,” he says, pausing as if my nickname on his tongue takes a moment to get around.

My eyes are locked on where our skin touches, his palm hot and overly distracting. His fingertips rest against my pulse point, giving it a squeeze.

I breathe.

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