Page 72 of Best Man Speaking

I pause before taking a second bite. “At fifteen, your lack of knowledge about women was understandable.”

“I’ve never claimed to be an expert. To be honest, I enjoy the research too much to stop the learning process.” He smiles, and as ridiculous as he sounds, everything inside me tingles.

“You know, you’re not as ‘bad boy’ as you think you are.” I pull my feet up onto my chair, still cold, regardless of the socks Marcus had given me to wear.

“And you’re not as desperate to leave my company as you think you are. What of it?”

His question brings me back to the muddle of my own mind. My unreasonable enjoyment of his company. My nerves around what comes next.

“I can’t stand you,” I snap back with the predictability of an elastic band, but there isn’t any heat to my words; they’re simply a form of muscle memory at this point.

Marcus laughs, not big and brash, but a deep chuckle of amusement.

“Liar.”

I lean forward with a small smile. “It’d hurt more if I was the only one in the room.”

“Ouch,” he mocks, a hand clutching to his impressively shaped chest. At the widening of my smile, he says, “You know I worry about how much pleasure you take from imagining me harmed.”

“What can I say? It’s satisfying, and there’s no mess involved.” I shrug.

Marcus smirks and leans in close, but instead of replying, he steals the olive from my last bite of pizza. His satisfied look has me rolling my eyes, and silence falls between us.

“Are you excited for Vegas?” he asks.

“The land of questionable life choices? I’m not sure I need any more encouragement in that area.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or curious.”

“Possibly both.”

There’s something I want to ask for, and I wonder how much I’ll berate myself for it in the aftermath. But my conversation with Erica today makes me feel brave.

Stupidly so.

“What is it you want to do in Vegas, Hallie?” Marcus asks playfully, cajolingly.

I try to remind myself that I’m made from stern stuff. That this is something I want, not something I need. That my passport is only feet away, and a flight out of here can happen this very night.

Death by mortification could also be in the cards, the hope being it would be both quick and painless.

I breathe deep, my heart picking up speed in my chest. “I want to try something in Vegas,” I say, my voice clear and strong and a whole lot steadier than expected. “A sex thing.” His eyes light up at the mention of the three-letter word. “I want us to not use a condom.”

“You want me bare?” he asks, as if he hasn’t heard me correctly.

The silence in the room is all-encompassing as he awaits my response.

“Yes.”

“Why?” He asks the question with a pained look as if he couldn’t possibly conceive of why I’d want this.

“I’m curious,” I respond assuredly with a small shrug.

It sounds ridiculous, and I know it. It’s no big thing, but it can also be a risk, even with a person you love and trust.

And this isn’t that, but I want it regardless.

I’ve read about it, watched it, and I’m desperate to feel it. I’m curious to know if he’ll feel hotter and if I’ll be wetter. What the slip and slide of us together will be like without anything in between. What it’ll be like afterward when I can still feel him inside me.

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