Page 2 of Best Man Speaking

“Me too. I’d love to be able to see the stars from my bed one day.”

“You will.”

I take confidence from his tone and think of my future self in this house with its red front door, the kitchen that’ll smell like home-cooked meals, and the stars I’ll be able to see from bed.

My parents’ house is unsurprisingly quiet when Marcus finally convinces me it’s time to go home.

It’s the first time he’s been in my bedroom, not because he isn’t allowed—I actually have no idea if I’m not supposed to have him here—but because I didn’t want him to associate me withthis place, with its coldness and sterility. This home that isn’t a home but a display house for a display life.

My room is a strategic mess, with wardrobe doors flung open to display pictures of all the places in the world I can’t wait to see. Close them, and it’s just another room in a cookie-cutter house.

Head tipped upside down, I towel dry my hair, taking peeks at Marcus where he reclines on the pale-blue pillows of my bed.

“I love you, you know,” I say as I stand up straight, flipping my hair back, only to have it fall around my face.

“I know,” he replies smugly, and I’m certain he feels the same way, even if he doesn’t say the words as often as I do. Weirdly, it’s his tone that gives me confidence. It’s the same one he used every week for months on end when he’d find me alone in the library to ask if I was ready to be more than just friends with him. My best friend’s brother, the one with the fuckboy reputation, only faltered in his smugness the day I finally said yes.

He reaches out, snagging me and pulling me down to the bed. He tucks me in beside him, my head on his chest.

“You fit good here,” Marcus murmurs into my still-damp hair and squeezes me in a little tighter.

We lie together until, finally, the tension from my body eases. And then, because grief is wicked, my sadness rises once more. This time, I push it down and lift my face to his.

I’ve had enough tears for today.

Tentatively, I touch my lips to his, tracing my fingertips along his jaw, down his neck, over his heart, and beyond the muscles of his stomach before finding their way under his shirt.

“Hallie,” Marcus groans against my neck as I continue to wander lower. “Slow down.”

I ignore him, sucking on his lower lip. I’m desperate to be lost in him, in his touch, in us.

I kiss him again and again, pressing closer, my tongue curious, our legs twining. With the heat of his skin steadying me, I slip a finger into the belt loops on his pants, and with the lightest of tugs, I roll us onto our sides. The change in positions aligns our hips, causing pleasure to rocket through my veins. He is hard between my thighs, and nothing has ever felt more perfect, more needed.

I struggle to let him go, even for the single moment it takes for me to sit and pull my shirt over my head. I unclip my bra, and Marcus curses.

“Hallie. Do you really think this is the best idea?” he asks, voice torn, and I’m grateful to him for checking.

He’s always making sure everyone around him is okay, but no one more than me.

“I’m sure,” I breathe, pulling him back toward me. Over me.

Uncertainty flicks across his features, and I worry he’ll refuse, even though it’d be okay if he did.

I swallow a sigh of relief when he cups my face with both his palms and presses his lips to mine. I run my hands beneath his shirt, lifting it up and over his head, bringing our chests flush against each other, our hearts closer.

I know in that moment, he’s what I want, what I’ll always want. That what we have together is everything.

Marcus moves away to remove his pants, getting a condom from his wallet. I tell him I have one, too, if we need it.

He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, and then our hands move lower, our bodies twisting, the pleasureimmeasurable. Each of his touches is full of reverence, and he takes his time as he explores, encouraging me to explore. He might be the one with more experience, but my curiosity is immense. His reaction to my touch emboldens me, the rough texture growing in his voice filling me with confidence. Andwhen he moves above me, asking for a final time if I’m sure, there’s no word for me other than “yes.”

There’s a pinch, a breath suspended, but it doesn’t hurt. Nothing about us hurts.

Marcus twines his fingers with mine, and he doesn’t let go.

Later, Marcus quietly puts on his shirt. “You going to promise to marry me now?” It’s not the first time he’s asked, but it’s the first time I don’t laugh or try to brush it off with a maybeif you’re lucky. I know he wants exactly what his parents had. To be happy and grounded and here. But there’s a whole world I need to see. That I want to see with him. I think of his reassurance from earlier and remind myself that we’ll figure it out, we have time, thatit’ll be okay.

“Yeah,” I finally reply, my voice sleepy and low in the dark room. “I’ll marry you.”

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