Page 86 of Best Man Speaking

Marcus:Positive.

Hallie:Prove it.

Marcus:I plan to, over and over again.

Hallie:Presumptuous much?

Marcus:A man can only hope.

Hallie:You know what they say about hope, it breeds eternal misery.

Marcus:Funnily enough, misery isn’t what I find between your thighs.

Hallie:No. It’s what I find when I’m in your company.

Marcus:I’m going to make you pay for that.

Hallie:Promise?

Marcus:Promise

I don’t reply again, and Marcus returns to his seat, his thigh pressing against mine once more. When I slip my hand under the table, I find his palm already there, waiting, his fingers interlacing with my own on the leg of his pants. And for now, it’s enough.

I’m like a thief in the night as I make my way into my hotel, to a room that isn’t mine, trying to look inconspicuous as my heels click on the marble floors beneath me. I’m fully aware this is Vegas and the staff are hardly interested in the comings and goings of a singular woman, yet I can’t help but be on edge, as if someone is going to call, “Hey, you, with the sex intentions! Where do you think you’re going?”

Obviously, there’s no such interest shown in my presence.

I ride up to the room alone, encapsulated in the mirror-lined box. I get close to my reflection, check my makeup, and nervously take my hair from where it’s down around my shoulders and twist it up into a loose bun on my head. It’s a nervous giveaway, but I can’t have my hair touching my face and brushing my shoulders right now. It only puts me more on edge. It does, however, look good with my nude strappy heels and baby pink, long-sleeved minidress. It’s a modern take on a 1970sstyle I’d bought from Andrea, and it’s more feminine than what I normally wear. But I’m not hating the softer colors or the softer look.

The elevator doors slide open, and I make my way through the quiet halls, my shoes no longer making a single sound on the carpeted floors. Ironically, it’s the cushion of the carpet that gives me the first feeling of unsteadiness, as if the ground beneath me is no longer as solid as expected.

Room key in hand, I send a quick text to Marcus, letting him know I’m here. I walk for moments that seem like years, plagued by an incessant fluttering in my stomach. I smile at nothing and no one, unable to remember how long it’s been since I’ve felt this way, perched right on the edge between good nerves and bad nerves.

Instead of the text reply I was expecting, the room door opens, and the butterflies residing within me beat their wings double time. In front of me stands Marcus, bare-chested and fresh from the shower. His hair is wet, slicked back, with droplets of water present on his skin, begging to be licked. I grant myself permission to glance down since, really, it’d be cruel not to, and while he isn’t wearing a towel, I’m not disappointed by his low-slung sweatpants.

Marcus raises a brow at my obvious perusal of his body, but neither of us says a word as he opens the door, inviting me in. I feel a little silly dressed in the outfit that I went out in earlier, but I don’t even have time to slip off my shoes before he takes me by the hand, pulling me inside.

Excited as I am to be here and as giddy as I felt waiting at the door only moments ago, I’m once again reminded of the unsteadiness of my walk in the hallway, of how unusually quiet Marcus has been tonight. I push the feeling down and bring my attention back to the current moment and to the man I’ve been crushing on for longer than I care to admit. The bedroomdoor clicks shut, and then his body is next to mine, his thumb brushing my lower lip.

“Hi.”

I smile because there really isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be, and I hope he can see it in my eyes. I might not be ready to say the words, but I have no choice in how I feel them. “Hi.”

“Have you had a good night?” he whispers, walking me backward toward the bed.

“Yeah, Erica had a great time,” I respond just as quietly.

Marcus pauses in his movements, holding my body still with his. “No, I asked if you had a good time.”

I laugh, keeping the sound small. “I had a good night. I should be more embarrassed to tell you that I spent more time than necessary looking at my phone.”

“Oh yeah? Were you waiting for an important call?”

“A hot date, actually.”

“Huh. Did he end up calling?”

“Nah, I got your text first.”

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