Page 55 of Best Man Speaking

I can feel the racing of my heart and his breaths against my neck. The urge to run my fingers through his hair, to trail my fingertips over the places we’re still connected, is undeniable. I gift myself with the sensation of his heated skin beneath my fingertips as I gently stroke along his neck, a place where I’d like to press a kiss. Where, in my mind’s eye, I can see my lips touch.

And then it takes the final strength I have to begin disentangling our limbs.

The quiet of the afternoon seeps back in, the sound of the birds outside, the more distant sound of the street at the front of the house. Marcus stands to put his pants back on as I stretch like a cat along the length of the couch, happy to curl up here and nap for the foreseeable future.

“That was…” Marcus runs a hand through his mussed hair.

“Better than you remembered?” I say, attempting to finish what he’d started and somehow managing to voice my own thoughts because, wow, that was a whole lot more than I’d imagined it’d be.

“I was going to say it was worth a repeat. Would you agree?” he asks, curiosity coloring his tone.

“As far as bad decisions go, I’ll be happy to make this one a few more times,” I say with a small smile, finally standing.

Still completely naked, I walk to the small bathroom. I turn at the last moment, knowing Marcus staying here isn’t the best option if I’m going to make a clean break.

“You can show yourself out, I’m guessing?”

“Wham. Bam. Thank you, ma’am.” Marcus brings his hand to his heart in mock indignation before long strides lead him to me. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and my traitorous heart flutters.

Rolling my eyes, I present him with my favored middle finger, then close the bathroom door behind me.

It’s just about to click shut when I hear him call, “My truck’s yours tomorrow. If you want a hand with the boxes, just let me know where and when.”

Before I can think better of it, I open the bathroom door and poke my head out. “Fine. You can shower with me, but you better not hog all the hot water.”

He drops his pants back to the floor and heads straight for me, saying, “I wouldn’t ever dream of it. Now, that middle finger of yours—next time I see it aimed at me? I plan on biting it.”

Marcus Goddamn Scott.

Penetrative,p-in-vsex with him once—just one, single time—and suddenly, he’s everywhere. I’d been under the assumption orgasms made life easier; surely, it was a scientific fact I’d read somewhere. Yet, he’s somehow managed to hook his claws intothe deepest, darkest, and even most insignificant recesses of my mind.

My body might’ve been feeling limber and relaxed, if not a little tender in places, but the fact that I couldn’t seem to stop imagining the ways in which he’d kissed me, the firmness of his hands on my skin, and the strength with which he’d held me was problematic.

Especially problematic for a woman who had a task. A task that included the use of said man’s truck.

When I’d messaged Marcus late last night, I’d somehow assumed he’d be lending me his truck for the day, not that it’d come with him as my personal driver and constant companion. I was grateful for the extra set of arms—arms that were, without a doubt, a lot stronger and more physically capable than my own. Without complaint, the owner of those arms had lifted the half-dozen boxes and black bags into his truck’s bed and hadn’t said a word about the one-too-many boxes I hadn’t yet been able to part with and the journals still littering the floor.

That, however, was where my thankfulness ended since every time I glanced his way or caught a whiff of his cologne, I was hit with flashbacks of his body slipping inside of mine.

Agreeing to play nice with Marcus at Julian’s request was one thing. Agreeing toplaywith him when we were alone was set to be an issue. But mostly, I was concerned by the way the all-consuming sadness of letting go of my past was pierced so singularly by his presence.

“You’re not keeping your gran’s house, then?” Marcus asks, his eyes quickly meeting mine before moving back to the road ahead of us. We hadn’t spoken about her at all since I’d returned, so the fact he’s bringing her up now is no shocker, considering today’s task. “I’ve seen that it’s up for sale.”

“In a perfect world? Maybe. But she told me to use it for a home, for a fresh start, in whatever way I saw fit. That’shopefully what I’m doing,” I answer honestly, aware of my own boundaries in this conversation and wondering just how far he’ll attempt to push against them.

“She was a good woman,” Marcus says with a nod, as if confirming an indisputable fact.

I’m curious about his memories of her after all the times he’d picked me up from her house and the hours we’d spent sitting in her kitchen or making out in her attic. I hadn’t been interested in my parents seeing me with Marcus; their opinions had never had a positive impact. My gran, however, had been generous in his company but also happy to keep a watchful eye on both of us.

“That’s something we can agree on. She was outrageously stubborn but never too busy to listen or help.”

“She was also incredibly generous. I had a lot of respect for her.”

I can’t help but wonder how this seeming respect didn’t lead to his attendance at her funeral, where he’d been markedly absent and willing to hurt me even in the face of her passing.

But I can’t ask, not yet. Not until I’m ready for this easy peace between us to end.

“All the belongings, the boxes…that couldn’t have been easy.” He continues to look ahead, seemingly finding this way easier, and I’m grateful for it. This vulnerability is new territory for us. Baby steps are called for.

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