Page 71 of Best Man Speaking

There’s a short silence on the line, and then, “You know, I don’t know what she ever saw in you.”

Both you and me, mister, but I don’t bother to answer him. Don’t bother to gratify him with an agreement or a fight. Instead, I let him stew in the silence and let myself stew in the truth of it.

“How is she?” he finally asks. And the question is so…parental. He really could just be a dad asking how his daughter is. I think of Hallie today and how she looked. A little tired, unsure, sad, and then, right at the end, grateful and maybe even happy. Always beautiful. But none of that is mine to share.

“She’s fine,” I say instead.

“Have you—” he starts.

“Let me stop you right there,” I say, jumping in before he can finish his thought. “Your daughter still barely wants to look at me, let alone trust me enough to bring you up and have it be anything other than negative.”

“Have you even tried?”

“Yes.” And it wasn’t even a lie—I just hadn’t tried very hard, not willing to risk having her shut me out altogether. “But I’m not going to push it.”

“You’ll change your mind.”

But I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t go ahead with this unless I had Hallie’s consent first, and if she said no, well, it wasn’t an option. Because backing out from supporting these young people wasn’t an option for me.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hallie

It’s evening by the time I kick off my sneakers at Marcus’s door and make my way inside. It’s not lost on me how comfortable I feel in this house after only a few short weeks. I’d spent the rest of my afternoon with Erica and Jules, happy to sit in their company, drink coffee, and hear funny outtakes from Julian as he graded papers. I’m about a thousand times calmer than when I’d gotten there, but I still need further distraction.

“Don’t bite my head off, but I already ordered the pizzas,” calls Marcus from the living room, most likely from the couch. “I’m not attempting to be an all-knowing asshole—I just wanted to take one thing off your to-do list.”

His defensiveness makes me smile, though not a kernel of distrust unfurls in my mind. Oh, how far we’ve come.

“In order to what? Replace it with your own name?” I ask with a laugh.

I’m in the room to watch as his head falls back in mock frustration, bumping against the wall behind him. “I should be offended, but if you’re offering to put it there, I’m not saying no.”

“How long ago did you order?” I ask, disapproval written into my voice as I consider the way he’s spread out so invitingly before me.

Gray sweats and a worn navy shirt grace his body, his hair still a little damp from a recent shower. It’s a different look than the man who met me earlier today, the one with the suit pants and collared shirt, but I like them both just the same.

“About ten minutes ago, and it’s too late to pretend you want to change it.”

Now I smile. “I don’t really care what you ordered. I just want to make sure we aren’t going to be interrupted.” He looks up as I make my way over to him on the couch, where I straddle his thighs, pulling a condom from my back pocket.

“What’s going on with you tonight? You’ve gone from jumping my bones to hardly saying a word,” Marcus inquires from across the table.

The last piece of pizza in the box sits poised between us.

Considering all the promises of not spending unnecessary time together, things had certainly gotten cozy fast. If I were being honest, we’d blown our own rules to shit about as quickly as we’d created them. We touched all the time, and the way we hung out together after we had sex was basically snuggling. He helped me with the difficult things, and his presence at the cemetery today was monumental. Everything had changed.

Pushing the thought aside, I raise my brows at his unexpected interest. “You really want to hear all my life woes?”

“Not really.” The corners of his lips lift in the most annoyingly attractive way.

“You’re such an ass.”

“And yet, here you sit,” Marcus quips, flicking the cap of his beer bottle at me. Dark hair ruffled and a day’s worth of scruff on his face, he couldn’t look more at ease.

“Are you five?” I ask with fake annoyance at his childish behavior. I take the last slice and bite into it in retaliation.

“No, fifteen, actually.”

---